“O noble and sublime animal,” he said to himself in a tone of emotion, “you cannot imagine what profound and admirable thoughts the sight of you inspires me with! No, you have not yet attained the intellectual and moral development that can raise you to the height of a psychologico-anthropo-zoological sentiment; but your forms are not the less marvellous; they attest, by their harmonious completeness, the grandeur of nature; for whatever may be said on the subject by materialists—beings possessed neither of sound logic nor of reasoning powers—that has not all been made in a day, but has taken thousands of ages to bring to this degree of æsthetic perfection. Yes, the passage from the mineral to the vegetable form, from the vegetable to the animal form, is immeasurable, without speaking of intermediaries; for, from the thistle state to that of the oak, and from the oyster state to that of the bull, the distance is prodigious. Therefore, Frantz Mathéus, admire within yourself that interior force, called God, soul, life, or by any other name, and which ceaselessly works towards the perfection of types and the development of individuality in matter.” He paused, plunged in mute ecstasy. Now, while Mathéus was addressing these reflections aloud to himself, the boards of the vent-hole through which forage was thrown down to the cattle slid quietly in its groove, and the chubby-faced head of Coucou Peter was passed through the aperture. The fiddler’s surprise may easily be imagined when he discovered his illustrious master haranguing a bull. “My eye!”—he said to himself, “I do believe he wants to convert him!” At the same time a singular idea flashed on his mind. “Ha! ha! ha! it would be a good joke,” he cried; “wait a bit, the bull’s going to answer you!” He joined his hands before his mouth, and roared— “Oh! oh! oh! great Doctor Mathéus—I am very—very unhappy!” At these words the illustrious philosopher fell back in alarm. “What is this?” he stammered, looking around him with staring eyes. “What—what do I hear?” But he could see nothing; Coucou Peter’s head was hidden by a pile of straw in the rack, and this excellent disciple laughed till his sides were almost split. After awhile, he went on in bellowing tones— “Oh! oh! oh! I am very unhappy! I was the great Nebuchadnezzar. I thought of nothing but drinking and eating, and so I lost my place on the Ladder of Beings! Oh! oh! oh! I’m very unhappy.” But the Doctor, though at first dumfounded, recognised the fiddler’s voice. “Coucou Peter,” he cried, “how dare you profane the most sublime philosophy? Do you imagine me so foolish as to give credence to vain illusions?” Coucou Peter came out of the barn, laughing with all his might. “Ha! ha! ha! what a joke! what a joke, Doctor Frantz! When I saw you talking to the bull, it came into my head to have a bit of fun.” Mathéus himself could not help laughing, for he had, at first, been taken in.