PREFACE.
I am glad to be told by those who live in the world, that it
has lately become fashionable to read prefaces. I wished to
say a few words, by way of introduction, to a work which
may be deemed too slight to need a preface, but which will
doubtless be acknowledged to require some recommendation.
I claim for these straggling and cloudy crayon-sketches of
life and manners in the remoter parts of Michigan, the merit
of general truth of outline. Beyond this I venture not to
aspire. I felt somewhat tempted to set forth my little book
as being entirely, what it is very nearly—a veritable history;
an unimpeachable transcript of reality; a rough picture,
in detached parts, but pentagraphed from the life;' a sort of
“Emigrant's Guide:”—considering with myself that these
my adventurous journeyings and tarryings beyond the confines
of civilization, might fairly be held to confer the traveller's
privilege. But conscience prevailed, and I must honestly
confess, that there be glosses, and colourings, and
lights, if not shadows, for which the author is alone accountable.
Journals published entire and unaltered, should be
Parthian darts, sent abroad only when one's back is turned.
To throw them in the teeth of one's every-day associates
might diminish one's popularity rather inconveniently. I
would desire the courteous reader to bear in mind, however,
that whatever is quite unnatural, or absolutely incredible, in
the few incidents which diversify the following pages, is to
be received as literally true. It is only in the most common-place
parts (if there be comparisons) that I have any leasing-making
to answer for.
It will of course be observed that Miss Mitford's charming
sketches of village life must have suggested the form of my
rude attempt. I dare not flatter myself that any one will be
led to accuse me of further imitation of a deservedly popular
writer. And with such brief salvo, I make my humble
curtsey.
