INTRODUCTORY.
As almost every one who takes any interest in a book, has some desire or curiosity to know how or why it came to be written, and as there are some things of which he desires to speak particularly, the author, compiler, or editor of Prairie Flower, (whichever you please, reader,) has, after due consideration, decided on giving the information alluded to, in an introductory note to the present volume. While engaged in writing for the press, a tall, dark-visaged, keen-eyed individual entered his sanctum, early one morning, bearing in his hand a bundle of no inferior size. Having stared around the apartment, as if to assure himself there was no mistake, he coolly took the only remaining seat, when the following conversation occurred.
Stranger.—Mr. Scribblepen, I presume?
AUTHOR.—My name, sir!
Stranger.—He-e-m! (A pause.) Write novels, presume, Mr. Scribblepen?
Author.—When I have nothing better to do.
Stranger.—(After a little reflection.) Found them on fact, eh?
Author.—Sometimes, and sometimes draw rather freely on the imagination, as the case may be.
Stranger.—How would you like the idea of writing one THAT SHOULD CONTAIN
NOTHING BUT FACT?
Author.—(Becoming interested and laying down his pen.) Have no objections, provided there is fact enough, and of a nature sufficiently exciting to make the story interesting to the general reader.
Stranger.—(Smiling complacently, and tapping his bundle.) Got the documents here, and no mistake. Every word true, I pledge you my honor. Promise to work them up faithfully, and they are at your service.
Author.—(In doubt.) But how am I to know they contain only facts?
Stranger.—You have my word, sir!
Author.—Did you write them? Do they comprise a journal of your own adventures?
Stranger.—(A little testily.) No matter about either! They contain nothing but facts, and that is enough for any reasonable man to know.
Author.—But how am I to know this? You must remember you are a stranger to me, sir!
Stranger.—(Coloring, and carelessly placing his hand upon the breech of a pistol, barely seen protruding from beneath his waistcoat.) I allow no one to doubt my word, sir!
Author.—(A little nervous, and not caring to doubt such powerful testimony.) O! ah! I see it is all right, of course.
Stranger.—(Again smiling pleasantly.) So you will undertake the job, Mr. Scribblepen, and give facts in everything but the most important names?
Author.—I will try.
Stranger.—(Placing the package upon the table and rising as if to go.) You can have them, then. All I ask is that you will be a faithful chronicler. The names I wish changed, you will find marked. I have a desire to see the whole in print, and you may take all the profit and what ever credit you please, so you keep fact in view. The incidents are romantic, and sufficiently exciting for your purpose, with out embellishment. I shall keep an eye upon the publication, and you may see me again, or you may not: I make no promises. Good
