CHAPTER I.

UNCORKING A BOTTLE.

We left New York in the afternoon of -- day of May, 184-,
and embarked on board of the good Packet ship "Tyler"
for England. Our party consisted of the Reverend Mr.
Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, and Jube Japan, a
black servant of the Attache.

I love brevity--I am a man of few words, and, therefore,
constitutionally economical of them; but brevity is apt
to degenerate into obscurity. Writing a book, however,
and book-making, are two very different things: "spinning
a yarn" is mechanical, and book-making savours of trade,
and is the employment of a manufacturer. The author by
profession, weaves his web by the piece, and as there is
much competition in this branch of trade, extends it over
the greatest possible surface, so as to make the most of
his raw material. Hence every work of fancy is made to
reach to three volumes, otherwise it will not pay, and
a manufacture that does not requite the cost of production,
invariably and inevitably terminates in bankruptcy. A
thought, therefore, like a pound of cotton, must be well
spun out to be valuable. It is very contemptuous to say
of a man, that he has but one idea, but it is the highest
meed of praise that can be bestowed on a book. A man,
who writes thus, can write for ever.

Now, it is not only not my intention to write for ever,