The Puddleford Papers; Or, Humors of the West

IKE TURTLE AND AUNT GRAVES. Marry? Me marry—marry a man—a great, awful man! —Page 160.
BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. New York: LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. 1875. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, By LEE AND SHEPARD, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, No. 19 Spring Lane.

Everybody who writes a book, is expected to introduce it with a preface; to hang out a sign, the more captivating the better, informing the public what kind of entertainment may be expected within. I am very sorry that I am obliged to say that many a one has been wofully deceived by these outside proclamations, and some one may be again.
I am unable to apologize to the public for inflicting this work upon it. It was not through the entreaty of friends that it was written. It is not the outpourings of a delicate constitution. (I weigh one hundred and sixty pounds.) I was not driven into it by a predestination to write, which was beyond my control. It is not offered for the benefit of a few near relatives, who have insisted upon seeing it in print; nor do I expect the public will tolerate it simply out of regard to my feelings, if their own feelings are not enlisted in its favor.

The book is filled with portraits of Puddleford and the Puddlefordians. The reader may never have seen the portrait of a genuine Puddlefordian. Bless me, how much that man has lost! If the reader does not like the painting after he has seen it, I cannot help it; it may be the fault of the original, or it may be from a want of skill in the painter.
Like the carrier-pigeon, let it go, to return with glad tidings, or none at all.
Many years have passed since Puddleford was first published. In the meanwhile the world has turned round and round, and so has Puddleford. The book, too, has been growing in size, from time to time, and some new matter has been now introduced.
The object of the book was not merely humor. It was hoped by the author that the reader would discover an undercurrent, showing strong points of human nature in the rough, and how at last the rugged rock becomes rounded and polished into the smooth stone—the iron cleaver turned into the tempered sword. How stern, honest men, who are driven to grapple and struggle with the hardships of a new country, meet and dispose of them in an irregular and home-made way, by striking at the root of the question, disregarding mere form. How the foundation of law, religion, and order is laid in strength, if not in beauty. How other generations build thereon the temple with its pillars and spire.