' When too much praise of any genius annoyed him, he
professed hugely to admire the talent shewn by his pig. He had spent
much time and contrivance in confining the poor beast to one enclosure
in his pen, but pig, by great strokes of judgment, had found out
how to let a board down, and had foiled him. For all that, he still
thought man the most plastic little fellow in the planet, and he liked
Nero's death, 'Qualis artifex pereo!' better than most history. He
worships a man that will manifest any truth to him. At one time he had
inquired and read a good deal about America. Landor's principle was
mere rebellion, and that he feared was the American principle. The
best thing he knew of that country was, that in it a man can have meat
for his labour. He had read in Stewart's book, that when he inquired
in a New York hotel for the Boots, he had been shown across the
street, and had found Mungo in his own house dining on roast turkey.
"We talked of books. Plato he does not read, and he disparaged
Socrates; and, when pressed, persisted in making Mirabeau a hero.
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