ed to give implicit
belief. It is unnecessary for me, therefore, to begin by alluding to my
former visit to this earth. I shall not even hint, whether if it ever
took place, it was in antediluvian ages, or during the Babylonian,
Grecian, or Roman glory; or in more modern times. Be assured, however,
gentle reader, (if any there ever be,) that I have the faculty of
observation--that I have seen many generations of men--that I have been
in almost every corner of the habitable world, and that I am intimately
acquainted with the history of mankind.--(Sir Walter Scott's Novels I
have listened to with the greatest attention!)--I have eat opium in
Constantinople--garlic in Italy--potatoes in Ireland. I have dabbled my
whiskers in Guava jelly--have drunk rack at Delhi, and at New South Wales
I have enjoyed the luxuries of Kangaroo soup and Opossum gravy. I have
been at the Highland-moors with young Englishmen--at Melton with young
Scotsmen, and at bathing-quarters with old dowagers and their daughters.
I have travelled in all ways--by seas--by land--on foot--on horseback--in
a carriage--in a ship--in a palanquin--in a muff; but the motion of the
camel I never could bear, it so jolted my poor old bones, and discomposed
my whole body. India never agreed well with me. The insects, not to
mention the serpents, annoyed me. The heat made me quite bilious; and,
indeed, I began to feel my liver affected. And however partial I
naturally was to perfumes, I soon had a great dislike to the strong smell
of musk, which I felt about myself, and which, as I observe every
historian agrees, very soon begins to appear in all of my species who
reside for any time in India. Musk should not of itself be disagreeable;
but to have it constantly below one's nose, and to have every thing you
touch smelling of it, you may easily conceive must be very annoying.

The Count de Buffon, whom we reckon one of our best historians, I see,
says we are an omnivorous animal, and that we only seem to prefer hard
substances to those which are tender or succulent. In this, however, he
is mistaken; at least I can answer for myself. I know, for my part, I
prefer mulligatawney and a tender young chicken, to an old pair of boots
or a well-picked bone.

I have the misfortune, my reader, whoever you may be, to belong to a
race to which you have an aversion; I may say a perfect horror. I am a
wretched proscribed animal. A lady would faint at the sight of me; and if
I should