MMAR--HIS PROLOGUE.

(_From A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett, of the State of
Tennessee. Written by Himself. 1834._)

[Illustration: ~Alamo, San Antonio, Texas.~]

I don't know of anything in my book to be criticised on by honourable
men. Is it on my spelling?--that's not my trade. Is it on my
grammar?--I hadn't time to learn it, and make no pretensions to it.
Is it on the order and arrangement of my book?--I never wrote one
before, and never read very many; and, of course, know mighty little
about that. Will it be on the authorship of the book?--this I claim,
and I'll hang on to it, like a wax plaster. The whole book is my own,
and every sentiment and sentence in it. I would not be such a fool, or
knave either, as to deny that I have had it hastily run over by a
friend or so, and that some little alterations have been made in the
spelling and grammar; and I am not so sure that it is not the worse of
even that, for I despise this way of spelling contrary to nature. And
as for grammar, it's pretty much a thing of nothing at last, after all
the fuss that's made about it. In some places, I wouldn't suffer
either the spelling, or grammar, or anything else to be touch'd; and
therefore it will be found in my own way.

But if anybody complains that I have had it looked over, I can only
say to him, her, or them--as the case may be--that while critics were
learning grammar, and learning to spell, I, and "Doctor Jackson,
L. L. D." were fighting in the wars; and if our books, and messages,
and proclamations, and cabinet writings, and so forth, and so on,
should need a little looking over, and a little correcting of the
spelling and grammar to make them fit for use, it's just nobody's
business. Big men have more important matters to attend to than
crossing their _t's_ and dotting their _i's_--, and such like small
things.

ON A BEAR HUNT.

(_From the Life of David Crockett. Written by Himself. 1834._)

It was mighty dark, and was difficult to see my way or anything else.
When I got up the hill, I found I had passed the dogs, and so I turned
and went to them. I found, when I got there, they had treed the bear
in a large forked poplar, and it was setting in the fork. I could see
the lump, but not plain enough to shoot with any certainty, as there
was no moonlight; and so I set in to hunting for some dry brush to
make me a light; but I could find none.

At last I thought I could shoot by guess, and kill him; so I