"Who would have suspected so great a philosopher of having so
much heart!" thought I, leaving the bedroom to go downstairs
again.
The Professor had done his breakfast, and was anxious to begin
the sitting; so I took out my chalks and paper, and set to work
at once--I seated on one pile of books and he on another.
"Fine anatomical preparations in my room, are there not, Mr.
Kerby?" said the old gentleman. "Did you notice a very
interesting and perfect arrangement of the intestinal ganglia?
They form the subject of an important chapter in my great work."
"I am afraid you will think me very ignorant," I replied. "But I
really do not know the intestinal ganglia when I see them. The
object I noticed with most curiosity in your room was something
more on a level with my own small capacity."
"And what was that?" asked the Professor.
"The figure of the stuffed poodle. I suppose he was a favorite of
yours?"
"Of mine? No, no; a young woman's favorite, sir, before I was
born; and a very remarkable dog, too. The vital principle in that
poodle, Mr. Kerby, must have been singularly intensified. He
lived to a fabulous old age, and he was clever enough to play an
important part of his own in what you English call a Romance of
Real Life! If I could only have dissected that poodle, I would
have put him into my book; he should have headed my chapter on
the Vital Principle of Beasts.
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