If we adhered to the usual plans of historical novel writers, we should,
in this instance, leave Smallbones to what must appear to have been his
inevitable fate, and then bring him on the stage again with a _coup de
theatre_, when least expected by the reader. But that is not our
intention; we consider that the interest of this our narration of bygone
events is quite sufficient, without condescending to what is called
claptrap; and there are so many people in our narrative continually
labouring under deception of one kind or another, that we need not add
to it by attempting to mystify our readers; who, on the contrary, we
shall take with us familiarly by the hand, and, like a faithful
historian, lead them through the events in the order in which they
occurred, and point out to them how they all lead to one common end.
With this intention in view, we shall now follow the fortunes of
Smallbones, whom we left floundering in about seven fathoms water.
The weather was warm, even sultry, as we said before; but
notwithstanding which, and notwithstanding he was a very tolerable
swimmer, considering that he was so thin, Smallbones did not like it.
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