PREJ UDICE
events, the issue of many years gone by, if I fail with my pen, having ever wielded the foil in preference to the book-making trade. However, the many who have succeeded an fait to writing fictious stories of the dead, characters that emanated from the author only nemi'ne contradicente. Of the many I have spoken of, the greater part whom I was personally known to, nobility, gentry, &c. now living, I leave them to say, if in one instance I have deviated from the truth. Indeed, bold as I have been to venture my lines for the press, such embellish- ments as fiction, however they may amuse, are far beyond my endeavours to impose by invention, or impose on those who have patience to read my lteminiscences; and whatever may be the opinions of my friends, should they put the question to me pourguoi, what could possibly tempt me to become an author, a fencing master too, and to write about himself, they are welcome to my reply, “It was my poverty, not my will consents.” Chasm: doit penser (‘1 301°.
PREJUDICE.
Retired in a village for several years, those I was known to there were surprised (though only two miles from Bath) at my want of curiosity to go to the theatre, especially when visited by London actors, leading stars, astonishing the country, being a Pays-cm. During the space of seven years, only three times they had my company; it was far different years ago, when my constant practice (living in Bolton Row), particularly on Tuesdays and Saturdays (having my entrée at all the theatres), on those nights in my way visiting the opera, attracted by the Bravura song in the first act, and the dance (always then two ballets, pastoral and serieux); next, Drury
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