These were my reasons for troubling my
reader with any record, long or short, of experiments relating to so
truly base a subject as my own body; and I am earnest with the reader
that he will not forget them, or so far misapprehend me as to believe it
possible that I would condescend to so rascally a subject for its own
sake, or indeed for any less object than that of general benefit to
others. Such an animal as the self-observing valetudinarian I know there
is; I have met him myself occasionally, and I know that he is the worst
imaginable _heautontimoroumenos_; aggravating and sustaining, by calling
into distinct consciousness, every symptom that would else perhaps, under
a different direction given to the thoughts, become evanescent. But as
to myself, so profound is my contempt for this undignified and selfish
habit, that I could as little condescend to it as I could to spend my
time in watching a poor servant girl, to whom at this moment I hear some
lad or other making love at the back of my house. Is it for a
Transcendental Philosopher to feel any curiosity on such an occasion? Or
can I, whose life is worth only eight and a half years' purchase, be
supposed to have leisure for such trivial employments? However, to put
this out of question, I shall say one thing, which will perhaps shock
some readers, but I am sure it ought not to do so, considering the
motives on which I say it.
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