<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
<p><i>The chief beauty of this book lies not so much in its
literary style</i>, <i>or in the extent and usefulness of the
information it conveys</i>, <i>as in its simple
truthfulness</i>. <i>Its pages form the record of events
that really happened</i>. <i>All that has been done is to
colour them</i>; <i>and</i>, <i>for this</i>, <i>no extra charge
has been made</i>. <i>George and Harris and Montmorency are
not poetic ideals</i>, <i>but things of flesh and
blood—especially George</i>, <i>who weighs about twelve
stone</i>. <i>Other works may excel this in dept of thought
and knowledge of human nature: other books may rival it in
originality and size</i>; <i>but</i>, <i>for hopeless and
incurable veracity</i>, <i>nothing yet discovered can surpass
it</i>. <i>This</i>, <i>more than all its other charms</i>,
<i>will</i>, <i>it is felt</i>, <i>make the volume precious in
the eye of the earnest reader</i>; <i>and will lend additional
weight to the lesson that the story teaches</i>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>August</i>, 1889.</p>
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