ADVENTURES

OF

UNCLE SAM, &c.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

"WHAT! another history of the war? We cannot be always reading" exclaims a Smoking Lounger, while he strikes his silver headed rattan against the doorpost of the Bookseller. Softly, my friend, the work professes to be the Adventures of your own dear Uncle, if you are a native American, or of your Uncle-in-Law, if you are not. And shall we, a scientific people, suffer events as large as life, and feats of valor, even more wonderful than the characters concerned in them, to pass down the lane of time on the tattered wing of tradition! Shall deeds of fame hard earned in iron fields of argument flutter on to future times, like the treaties of savages, on the tongues of women, mutilated, distorted, exaggerated and defrauded of half their beauty?.

Shall the adventures of a hero, equally renowned for his valor, wisdom and humanity, boast only the windy immortality of being tossed from tongue to ear? Shall deeds that deserve to be inscribed on Pyramids, be sent begging to the tea-table, to sit for their pictures before female artists? Forbid it quills! Forbid it ink! For bid it Printer's types, and Printer's devils. But admit

ting (for argument's sake only) that our subject were trivial, have we not the example of high authority for undertaking a work of this kind? Do we not annually read a report of wire-drawn longitude, from the treasury Department, treating wholly of what, every creditor to government will declare, on his honor, is a very trifle. But away with such a forbidden thought! Has not the New World some claim, to the honors of the resurgent age of chivalry? Shall Amadis de Gaul, Don Quixote and Earl Strongbow, confer unfading glories on the respective countries which were the theatres of their exploits; and miser-like, pocket all the renown of romantic chivalry? Forbid it Uncle Sam, and all his sons!

"But who is the Author of this strange work? What does he call himself? Tid Fid Faddy? this cannot be his real name, a mere fiction." Aye, but honest friend, what is there, in these degenerate days that does always pass by its real, deserved name? does villany, knavery, deception, put on no flattering disguises, and will you quarrel with a name, which to say the least, cannot raise your expectations? But on the other hand : Do not honesty, patriotism, nay, does not religion itself, often suffer from counterfeits and masquerades? Do you smell no deception in the proffered benevolence of the Demagogue, whose ardent fire of love for you, licks up the last morsel of happiness from the altar of Freedom, whose fraternal squeeze would unbotton the last pitiful cent from your purse. Ah, then do not censure the modest reserve of an author, who only claims the privilege of doing good unseen: neither will you do well to envy him; for if his work should fall beneath the notice of criticism, you may safely fancy

to yourself that you see the chagrin exuding from the corners of both his eyes; but if any wind of public opinion should puff a little praise in his ear, remember that he must still offer it up to his own heart in secret, and he has lived long enough in the world to know, that he that serves himself, has an awkward servant, and a scurvy master.

"But what are his pretensions to literature? does he presume to enter the lists with Gulliver, Cervantes and Defoe "Now again thou hast nearly grappled thy game, but that the Author recollects, most opportunely, the importance, dignity and majesty of his subject, which must ever challenge the attention of the public, even in the the hands of the most illiterate scribe.

"But again; art thou a philosophic statesman? Art skilled in the anatomy of Gunboats and Seventy fours? Hast ever been chairman of a Committee of Ways and Means? Hast ever presided at a public Dinner ?" Not entirely all this; his faculties have, indeed, been plodding over his Country's Credit and attempting to trace its Anatomical outline, from the skeleton which our State surgeons have generously exhibited for the inspection of the curious. He has taken some few lectures on the new and fascinating science of spending two dollars, where one would do as well, and in imitation of certain industrious Committees has reported progress and obtained leave to sit again. Now honest friend, if you will make a halt in your enquiries, the Author will tell you at once, quite as much about himself as you will have patience to hear, and then without any parade or ceremony, will introduce you to the subject. The person to whom the public and yourself, are about to be indebted (and to whom he sincerely wishes you

But

ting (for argument's sake only) that our subject wer trivial, have we not the example of high authority fo undertaking a work of this kind? Do we not annuall read a report of wire-drawn longitude, from the treasur Department, treating wholly of what, every creditor t government will declare, on his honor, is a very trifl away with such a forbidden thought! Has not th New World some claim, to the honors of the resurger age of chivalry? Shall Amadis de Gaul, Don Quixot and Earl Strongbow, confer unfading glories on th respective countries which were the theatres of the exploits; and miser-like, pocket all the renown of r mantic chivalry? Forbid it Uncle Sam, and all h sons !

"But who is the Author of this strange work? Wha does he call himself? Tid Fid Faddy? this cannot be h real name,- —a mere fiction." Aye, but honest frien what is there, in these degenerate days that does a ways pass by its real, deserved name? does villany knavery, deception, put on no flattering disguises, an will you quarrel with a name, which to say the leas cannot raise your expectations? But on the other hand Do not honesty, patriotism, nay, does not religion itsel often suffer from counterfeits and masquerades? D you smell no deception in the proffered benevolence the Demagogue, whose ardent fire of love for yo licks up the last morsel of happiness from the altar Freedom, whose fraternal squeeze would unbotton t last pitiful cent from your purse. Ah, then do n censure the modest reserve of an author, who on claims the privilege of doing good unseen: neither w you do well to envy him; for if his work should fa beneath the notice of criticism, you may safely fand

to yourself that you see the chagrin exuding from the corners of both his eyes; but if any wind of public opinion should puff a little praise in his ear, remember that he must still offer it up to his own heart in secret, and he has lived long enough in the world to know, that he that serves himself, has an awkward servant, and a scurvy master.

"But what are his pretensions to literature? does he presume to enter the lists with Gulliver, Cervantes and Defoe ?" Now again thou hast nearly grappled thy game, but that the Author recollects, most opportunely, the importance, dignity and majesty of his subject, which must ever challenge the attention of the public, even in the the hands of the most illiterate scribe.

"But again; art thou a philosophic statesman? Art skilled in the anatomy of Gunboats and Seventy fours ? Hast ever been chairman of a Committee of Ways and Means? Hast ever presided at a public Dinner ?" Not entirely all this; his faculties have, indeed, been plodding over his Country's Credit and attempting to trace its Anatomical outline, from the skeleton which our State surgeons have generously exhibited for the inspection of the curious. He has taken some few lectures on the new and fascinating science of spending two dollars, where one would do as well, and in imitation of certain industrious Committees has reported progress and obtained leave to sit again. Now honest friend, if you will make a halt in your enquiries, the Author will tell you at once, quite as much about himself as you will have patience to hear, and then without any parade or ceremony, will introduce you to the subject. The person to whom the public and yourself, are about to be indebted (and to whom he sincerely wishes you