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Old St. Pancras Churchyard even now, though dominated by the huge gasometers of Wharf Road and backed against the roaring traffic of the Midland Railway, preserves something of the sylvan beauty which a hundred years ago made it the frequent trysting-place of Percy Shelley and Mary Godwin. As it happened, in the summer of 1890, when staying in London, I used to make the garden my resort for writing purposes and one day in July of that year I started some autobiographical notes. In a very casual way, and with long intervals between, the notes have been continued down to the present time. The volume therefore to which this is the Preface has been composed in somewhat disjointed fashion; and the discerning reader will probably perceive slight differences of style and outlook in its different portions, and perhaps also experience some uncer tainty as to the proper chronology of the events which it records. In order to mitigate the latter trouble I have from time to time inserted in square brackets.