PREFACE.

SENSE my frend Mr. Thompson has made a book out of my letters, I spose I must put a preface to it; for that and the bindin and the title-page is the most important part of a book now-a-days-and one without a preface in frunt would be like a log cabin with no string hangin out at the dore. People can git along without the cider, if they can only git into the house and so they can do without the sense in a book if they can only have some sort of a interduction to its contents.

Well, I do blieve if I was a author I would sooner rite a dozen books nor one preface; it's a great deal easier to rite a heap of nonsense than it is to put a good face on it after it's rit-and I don't know when I've had a job that's puzzled me so much how to begin it. I've looked over a whole heap of books to see how other riters done, but they all seem to be about the same thing. They all feel a monstrous desire to benefit the public one way or other-some is anxious to tell all they know about certain matters, jest for the good of the public-some wants to edify the public-some has been swaded by frends to give ther book to the public-and others has been induced to publish ther ritins jest for the benefit of futer generations-but not one of 'em ever had a idee to make a cent for themselves! Now, none of these excuses don't zactly meet my case. I don't spose the public

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cept it is them as is courtin-will be much benefited by readin my letters-I'm sure Mr. Thompson wouldn't went to all the expense jest to please his frends, and for my part I'm perfectly willin to let posterity rite ther own books. So I don't see any other way than to jest come rite out with the naked truth-and that is, that my book was made jest a purpose to sell and make money. Ther aint a single lie in the book, and I'm termined ther shant be none in the preface.

When Mr. Thompson fust rit me word he was gwine to put my letters in a book, I felt sort o' skeered, for fear them bominable criticks mought take hold of it and tare it all to flinders-as they always nabs a' most every thing that's got a kiver on; but when I come to think, I remembered ther was two ways of gittin into a field-under, as well as over the fence. Well, the criticks is like a pretty considerable high fence round the public taste, and books gits into the world of letters jest as hogs does into a tater patch-some over and some under. Now and then one gits hung, and the way it gits peppered is distressin-but them that gits in under the fence is jest as safe as them that gits in over. Seein as I is per

fectly satisfied with the under route, I dont think the criticks will tackle my book-if they does all I can say is, I give 'em joy with ther small potaters. JOSEPH JONES.

Pineville, (Ga.) April 10, 1843.

NEW-YORK

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MAJOR JONES'S LETTERS.

LETTER I.

Pineville, May 28th, 1842. TO MR. THOMPSON :-Dear Sir-Ever sense you was down to Pineville, it's been on my mind to rite you a letter, but the boys lowed I'd better not, cause you mought take me off bout my spellin and dictionary. But something happened to me tother night, so monstrous provokin, that I can't help tellin you about it, so you can put other young chaps on ther gard. It all come of chawin so much tobacker, and I reckon I've wished there was no sich plagy stuff, more'n five hundred times sense it happened.

You know the Stallinses lives on the plantation in the summer and goes to town in the winter. Well, Miss Mary Stallins, who you know is the darlinest gal in the county, come home tother day to see her folks. You know she's been to the Female College, down to Macon, for most a year now. Before she went, she used to be jest as plain as a old shoe, and used to go fishin and huckleberryin with us, with nothin but a calico sun-bonnet on, and was the wildest thing you ever saw. Well, I always used to have a sort of a sneakin notion of Mary Stallins,

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and so when she come, I brushed up, and was ter

mined to have a rite serious talk with her bout old matters; not knowin but she mought be captivated by some of them Macon fellers.

So, sure enough, off I started, unbeknowin to anybody, and rode rite over to the plantation—(you know ours is rite jinin the widder Stallinses.) Well, when I got thar, I felt a little sort o' sheepish; but I soon got over that, when Miss Carline said, (but she didn't mean me to hear her,) “There, Pinny, (that's Miss Mary's nick-name, you know,) there's your

bo come."

Miss Mary looked mighty sort o' redish when I shuck her hand and told her howdy; and she made a sort of a stoop over and a dodge back, like the little gals does to the school-marm, and said "Good evenin, Mr. Jones," (she used to always call me jest Joe.)

"Take a chair, Joseph," said Miss Carline; and we sot down in the parlor, and I begun talkin to Miss Mary bout Macon, and the long ride she had, and the bad roads, and the monstrous hot weather, and the like.

She didn't say much, but was in a mighty good humor and laughed a heap. I told her I never seed sich a change in anybody. Nor I never did. Why, she didn't look like the same gal-good gracious! she looked so nice and trim-jest like some of them pictures what they have in Mr. Graham's Magazinewith her hair all komed down longside of her face, as slick and shiny as a mahogany burow. When she laughed she didn't open her mouth like she used

to; and she set up strait and still in her chair, and looked so different, but so monstrous pretty! I ax'd her a heap of questions, bout how she liked Macon, and the Female College, and so forth; and she told me a heap bout 'em. But old Miss Stallins and Miss Carline and Miss Kesiah, and all of 'em, kep all the time interruptin us, axin bout mother-if she was well, and if she was gwine to the Spring church next Sunday, and what luck she had with her soap, and all sich stuff and I do believe I told the old woman more'n twenty times that mother's old turkyhen was settin on fourteen eggs.

Well, I wasn't to be backed out that-a-way—so I kep it a goin the best I could, til bimeby old Miss Stallins let her knitin fall three or four times, and then begun to nod and snap back like a fishin-pole that was all the time gitin bites. I seed the gals lookin at oneanother and pinchin oneanother's elbows, and Miss Mary said she wondered what time it was, and said the College disciplines, or somethin like that, didn't low late hours. I seed how the game was gwine-but howsumever, I kep talkin to her like a cotton gin in packin time, as hard as I could clip it, til bimeby the old lady went to bed, and arter a bit the gals all cleared, and left Miss Mary to herself. That was jest the thing I wanted.

Well, she sot on one side of the fire-place, and I sot on tother, so I could spit on the hath, whar ther was nothin but a lighterd chunk burnin to give light. Well, we talked and talked, and I know you would like to hear all we talked about, but that would be