<p><strong>What am I to say for my book?</strong> Caleb and Joshua brought back from Palestine a formidable bunch of grapes; alas! my book produces naught so nourishing; and for the matter of that, we live in an age when people prefer a definition to any quantity of fruit. I wonder, would a negative be found enticing? for, from the negative point of view, I flatter myself this volume has a certain stamp. Although it runs to considerably upwards of two hundred pages, it contains not a single reference to the imbecility of God's universe, nor so much as a single hint that I could have made a better one myself. -- I really do not know where my head can have been. I seem to have forgotten all that makes it glorious to be man. -- 'Tis an omission that renders the book philosophically unimportant; but I am in hopes the eccentricity may please in frivolous circles. To the friend who accompanied me I owe many thanks already, indeed I wish I owed him nothing else; but at this moment I feel towards him an almost exaggerated tenderness. He, at least, will become my reader: -- if it were only to follow his own travels alongside of mine. -- R.L.S.</p>