CHAPTER I.

THE AUTHOR'S PEDIGREE,--ALSO THAT OF HIS FATHER.


The philosopher who broaches a new theory is bound to furnish, at
least, some elementary proofs of the reasonableness of his
positions, and the historian who ventures to record marvels that
have hitherto been hid from human knowledge, owes it to a decent
regard to the opinions of others, to produce some credible testimony
in favor of his veracity. I am peculiarly placed in regard to these
two great essentials having little more than its plausibility to
offer in favor of my philosophy, and no other witness than myself to
establish the important facts that are now about to be laid before
the reading world for the first time. In this dilemma, I fully feel
the weight of responsibility under which I stand; for there are
truths of so little apparent probability as to appear fictitious,
and fictions so like the truth that the ordinary observer is very
apt to affirm that he was an eye-witness to their existence: two
facts that all our historians would do well to bear in mind, since a
knowledge of the circumstances might spare them the mortification of
having testimony that cost a deal of trouble, discredited in the one
case, and save a vast deal of painful and unnecessary labor, in the
other. Thrown upon myself, therefore, for what the French call les
pieces justificatives of my theories, as well as of my facts, I see
no better way to prepare the reader to believe me, than by giving an
unvarnished the result of the orange-woman's application; for had my
worthy ancestor been subjected to the happy accidents and generous
caprices of voluntary charity, it is more than probable I should be
driven to throw a veil over those important years of his life that