No More Learning

--hu! hu! hu! "--and the devil, dropping at once the
sanctity of his demeanor, opened to its fullest extent a mouth from
ear to ear, so as to display a set of jagged and fang-like teeth,
and, throwing back his head, laughed long, loudly, wickedly, and
uproariously, while the black dog, crouching down upon his haunches,
joined lustily in the chorus, and the tabby cat, flying off at a
tangent, stood up on end, and shrieked in the farthest corner of the
apartment.

Not so the philosopher; he was too much a man of the world either to
laugh like the dog, or by shrieks to betray the indecorous trepidation
of the cat. It must be confessed, he felt a little astonishment to see
the white letters which formed the words "Rituel Catholique" on the
book in his guest's pocket, momently changing both their color and their
import, and in a few seconds, in place of the original title the words
Regitre des Condamnes blazed forth in characters of red. This startling
circumstance, when Bon-Bon replied to his visiter's remark, imparted to
his manner an air of embarrassment which probably might, not otherwise
have been observed.

"Why sir," said the philosopher, "why sir, to speak sincerely--I I
imagine--I have some faint--some very faint idea--of the remarkable
honor-"

"Oh! --ah! --yes! --very well! " interrupted his Majesty; "say no more--I
see how it is. " And hereupon, taking off his green spectacles, he wiped
the glasses carefully with the sleeve of his coat, and deposited them in
his pocket.

If Bon-Bon had been astonished at the incident of the book, his
amazement was now much increased by the spectacle which here presented
itself to view. In raising his eyes, with a strong feeling of curiosity
to ascertain the color of his guest's, he found them by no means black,
as he had anticipated--nor gray, as might have been imagined--nor yet
hazel nor blue--nor indeed yellow nor red--nor purple--nor white--nor
green--nor any other color in the heavens above, or in the earth
beneath, or in the waters under the earth.
In short, Pierre Bon-Bon
not only saw plainly that his Majesty had no eyes whatsoever, but
could discover no indications of their having existed at any previous
period--for the space where eyes should naturally have been was, I am
constrained to say, simply a dead level of flesh.

It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to forbear making some
inquiry into the sources of so strange a phenomenon, and the reply of
his Majesty was at once prompt, dignified, and satisfactory.

"Eyes! my dear Bon-Bon--eyes! did you say? --oh! --ah! --I perceive! The
ridiculous prints, eh, which are in, circulation, have given you a false
idea of my personal appearance? Eyes! --true. Eyes, Pierre Bon-Bon,
are very well in their proper place--that, you would say, is the
head? --right--the head of a worm. To you, likewise, these optics
are indispensable--yet I will convince you that my vision is more
penetrating than your own. There is a cat I see in the corner--a pretty
cat--look at her--observe her well. Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold the
thoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which are
being engendered in her pericranium?