A question of taste

‘My pretty dog, my good dog, my doggy dear, come and smell this excellent perfume, bought at the best scent-shop in the city.’

And the dog, wagging its tail, which is, I think, the poor creature’s substitute for a laugh or a smile, appreached and curiously placed its damp nose to the opened vial; recoiling with sudden fright, it growled at me in reproach.

‘Ah! Wretched dog, if I had offered you a mass of excrement you would have smelled it with delight, and probably devoured it. So even you, unworthy companion of my unhappy life, resemble the public, to whom one must never offer the delicate perfumes that exasperate, but carefully raked-up mire.’