By what means I have acquired the facility of expressing my thoughts upon paper, it is not my intention to divulge. It is true that I have made an important discovery--that I have gained possession of a secret which mankind would give worlds to possess; but I owe too little gratitude to any member of the human race to be induced to part with it. I am old: nearly fifteen winters have passed over my head since I first drew breath, and in the course of nature death cannot be far distant. My discovery shall shortly perish with me; and the same ditch or dunghill shall witness the dissolution of both. Of my parentage I can record but little, as I remember nothing whatever of my father, and my unfortunate mother was hanged shortly after having given me birth. Alas! my recollections of her are tinged with any but pleasurable emotions, for to her I owe much of the misery with which my career has been chequered. Had she conducted herself with prudence, and been satisfied to have selected a mate from amongst the many dogs of her own degree who solicited her paw, my existence might have been passed in happy, because unnoticed obscurity. But no: stern destiny decreed that it should be otherwise, and had marked me for misfortune ere even I was born. Let not the reader start to hear me mention _destiny_: if he object to my opinions on this subject, he has a wide field open to him for reply in the pages of the daily press, which, CUR though I be, I am, by virtue of the discovery already alluded to, in the habit of reading; and he may rely upon it I am prepared to defend every position I advance. Why should I not mention destiny? I am a rigid fatalist, and well for me that I am. What else would enable me to bear up against the scoff and scorn of man? What else would steel my feelings against the blows of stones, thrown by the hands of such cowardly insensible men as he who published the philippic against our race, which has called forth this reply? What else would console me, when the staff of the churlish boor comes across my back, or when the urchin-rout attach the terrible _kettle_ to my trembling tail? What supports me under such heart-rending circumstances, save the feeling that all is fixed--that such is my sad _destiny_, against which my barking or my struggling would avail me nought? But I digress--it is facts and not feelings that it is my province to record.