Acknowledgment

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EASTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, to wit:

BE IT Remembered, that on the first day of April, in the forty-sixth
year of the independence of the United States of America,
A. D. 1822, H. C. Carey & I. Lea, of the said district, have
deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof they
claim as authors in the words following, to wit:

In conformity to the act of the congress of the United States,
intituled “An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing
the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors
of such copies, during the times therein mentioned.” And
also to the act, entitled, “An act supplementary to an act entitled,
“An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies
of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of such
copies during the times therein mentioned,” and extending the
benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical
and other prints.”

D. CALDWELL,
Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania

PREFACE. —DEDICATION.

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I hate Prefaces. I hate Dedications. Enough
for the one to say, that here is an American story;
that the child of Logan was an American; that he
was brave, wicked, and miserable, and that he
and I are descendants from Logan the Mingo
Chief. And for the other, the Dedication, I have
just about as much, and no more to say.

I do not dedicate my book to any body; for I
know nobody worth dedicating it to. I have no
friends, no children, no wife, no home;—no relations,
no well-wishers;—nobody to love, and
nobody to care for. To whom shall I; to whom
can I dedicate it? To my Maker! It is unworthy
of him. To my countrymen? They are unworthy
of me. For the men of past ages I have very
little veneration; for those of the present, none at
all. To whom shall I entrust it? Who will care
for me, by to-morrow? Who will do battle for my
book, when I am gone? Will posterity? Yea, posterity
will do me justice. To posterity then—to
the winds!—I bequeath it! I devote it—as a Roman
would his enemy, to the fierce and unsparing
charities of another world—to a generation of
spirits—to the shadowy and crowned potentates of
hereafter. I—I—I have done—the blood of the
red man is growing cold—farewell—farewell forever!—

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