

                             James Fenimore Cooper

                            The Last of the Mohicans

                              A Narrative of 1757

 »Mislike me not, for my complexion,
 The shadowed livery of the burnished sun.«
                                               The Merchant of Venice, II.i.1-2.
 

                                    Preface

The reader, who takes up these volumes, in expectation of finding an imaginary
and romantic picture of things which never had an existence, will probably lay
them aside, disappointed. The work is exactly what it professes to be in its
title-page - a narrative. As it relates, however, to matters which may not be
universally understood, especially by the more imaginative sex, some of whom,
under the impression that it is a fiction, may be induced to read the book, it
becomes the interest of the author to explain a few of the obscurities of the
historical allusions. He is admonished to discharge this duty, by the bitter cup
of experience, which has often proved to him, that however ignorant the public
may be of any thing before it is presented to their eyes, the instant it has
been subjected to that terrible ordeal, they, individually and collectively, and
he may add, intuitively, know more of it than the agent of the discovery; and
yet, that, in direct opposition to this incontrovertible fact, it is a very
unsafe experiment either for a writer or a projector to trust to the inventive
powers of any one but himself. Therefore, nothing which can well be explained,
should be left a mystery. Such an expedient would only impart a peculiar
pleasure to readers of that description, who find a strange gratification in
spending more of their time in making books, than of their money in buying them.
With this preliminary explanation of his reasons for introducing so many
unintelligible words, in the very threshold of his undertaking, the author will
commence his task. Of course, nothing will, or need be told, with which any one,
in the smallest degree acquainted with Indian antiquities, is not already
familiar.
    The greatest difficulty with which the student of Indian history has to
contend, is the utter confusion that pervades the names. When, however, it is
recollected, that the Dutch, the English, and the French, each took a
conqueror's liberty in this particular; that the natives themselves not only
speak different languages, and even dialects of those languages, but that they
are also fond of multiplying their appellations, the difficulty is more a matter
of regret than of surprise. It is hoped, that whatever other faults may exist in
the following pages, their obscurity will be thought to arise from this
