I am—that is to say I was—a great man; but I am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge. The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with both hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius—my father wept for joy and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before I was breeched. I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to understand that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous, he might, by merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams. When I came of age my father asked me, one day, if I would step with him into his study. “My son,” said he, when we were seated, “what is the chief end of your existence?” “My father,” I answered, “it is the study of Nosology.” “And what, Robert,” he inquired, “is Nosology?” “Sir,” I said, “it is the science of Noses.” “And can you tell me,” he demanded, “what is the meaning of a nose?” “A nose, my father;” I replied, greatly softened, “has been variously defined by about a thousand different authors.” [Here I pulled out my watch.] “It is now noon or thereabouts—we shall have time enough to get through with them all before midnight. To commence then:—The nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance—that bump—that excrescence—that—” “Will do, Robert,” interrupted the good old gentleman. “I am thunderstruck at the extent of your information—I am positively—upon my soul.” [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart.] “Come here!” [Here he took me by the arm.] “Your education may now be considered as finished—it is high time you should scuffle for yourself—and you cannot do a better thing than merely follow your nose—so—so—so—” [Here he kicked me downstairs and out of the door.]—“so get out of my house, and God bless you!” As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by the paternal advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith. All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar. “Wonderful genius!” said the Quarterly. “Superb physiologist!” said the Westminster. “Clever fellow!” said the Foreign. “Fine writer!” said the Edinburgh. “Profound thinker!” said the Dublin. “Great man!” said Bentley. “Divine soul!” said Fraser. “One of us!” said Blackwood. “Who can he be?” said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.