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PREFACE TO VOL. I.

No traveller expects, when he sets out upon a journey, to meet only with smooth roads, cultivated fields, lovely gardens, wide-spread and magnificent scenery, a clear sky, and, at every stopping-place, inns filled with comforts, but goes forth prepared to have all these diversified with rugged roads, desolate fields, weedy and odorless gardens, lowering skies, and the inconveniences and discomforts of road-side accommodations. I cannot promise in my

book more than is contained in the combined volumes of art and nature.

Should any one, on opening this volume with the intention of reading it, expect to find everything in it captivating, or even agreeable, he will find himself mistaken. A good deal of the contents will, I fear, prove to the eral reader wholly uninteresting ; but this portion of the work may not be so regarded, by kind, and generous, and sympathizing friends. I have reference to those parts that are wholly personal to myself. I would gladly omit them, if, with justice to myself, or to those who cherish an interest in my reputation and destiny, as also to those who bear my name, and who are connected with me by the ties of consanguinity, I could do so.

Apart from these personal references, may I not hope that the reader will be repaid for the time spent in following me? And especially do I trust, that much may be found to interest, when, having got fairly in among the

genscenes of nature—vast—wild—boundless—I shall attempt a reflex of them; and when the incidents and events, which, in my journeyings, I have witnessed, are attempted to be portrayed, in which the Red Man of the forest is the chief actor, and wherein will be seen his habits, his principles, his occupations, and whatever attaches to him in his wilderness home.

But, even at the hazard of offending some—and really I shall not write a word with any such intention—I have concluded to cast these MEMOIRS upon the patronage, and kind indulgence of an enlightened and liberal public.

T. L. M'K. Cape Cottage, February, 1845.

DEDICATION OF VOL. I.

To MRS. JAMES MADISON.

MadamThere is such a thing as the memory of the heart. It is kept fresh and odorous by being cherished. Mine for your illustrious husband can never die. I delight in the contemplation of his purity_his patriotism-his statesmanship—and in his polished and beautiful writings. All these, and more, adorn his name, like gems, which time, instead of dimming, is every day making brighter and more glorious.

My first call to the performance of civil duties, in connection with the government, and to the discharge of a highly responsible trust, was from JAMES MADISON. I am proud of the honour of the confidence of such a man, and shall cherish, to my last hour, a grateful sense of it.

Your fame, madam, is so delicately and beautifully mingled with his, as to become identified with it. Such a blending I have never witnessed, in anything, except in the rainbow. In ease, and in dignity, in purity and patriotism, in the admiration and affection of millions, in the glory shed upon the highest place in the republic—all these, in the view of your countrymen, you shared, and continue to share, with him. If ‘his is the column that sustains the capitol, yours, madam, is the cap that ornaments it.

Entertaining such views, and cherishing such feelings, how could I do else than ask the privilege, and covet the honor, of dedicating these memoirs to you? The offering I know is a poor one: I wish it were more worthy of your acceptance; but it is an offering of the heart, and your permission, so kindly granted, to dedicate them to you, forms another link of friendship in the chain that binds me to you, and to the memory of JAMES MADISON.

THOMAS L. M'KENNEY. Cape Cottage, February, 1845.

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