_Written by Himself_.
_From Blackwood's Magazine._
This is a pleasant piece of satire upon the _autobiographic_ mania of
the present day. The original article extends to twenty pages, and is
throughout a masterly graphic sketch. We have marked a few extracts,
which we shall endeavour to connect.
"A R--t! a R--t! clap to the door."
POPE.
As I intend to write the following pages entirely for my own amusement,
and as they will most probably never meet the eye of mortal man,
who alone can decipher them, it is unnecessary for me to make any
observations on the doctrine of metempsychosis, to which indeed my reader
(if there shall ever be one) may perhaps not be inclined 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.
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