My mother had a dream the night before, and saw in it her father lying on a bed, pale as ashes, which she interpreted as meaning something terrible would happen to him. When, at breakfast time, she was told by a gentleman of what had occurred, she coupled it with what she had seen in her sleep.
We were living at the time in a very old house with diamond-paned windows, a brick-paved entrance hall, and some rambling passages. I well remember the little bedroom in which I slept. There resided with us an old lady, widow of a Norwich gentleman, who had been a friend of the famous George Whitefield. She used to tell anecdotes of the popular preacher—how he called himself Dr. Squintum, and, when supping off cowheel, a dish he liked, would say, he wondered what people would think of his being so employed.
My mother had a strong verbal memory which her son has not inherited; and it enabled her to instruct and entertain me by reciting long extracts in prose and poetry. She was a great reader and did much to instruct and cultivate my mind by her frequent recitations. My education owes more to this, and other circumstances, than to schoolmasters under whom I was placed. However, of course, rudiments of knowledge fell to my lot in the usual way; but my culture in chief resulted from devouring books, from instructive conversation, and from the delight I felt in observing nature, and looking on what was ancient. When other boys were at play, I liked to get by myself and read; biography and history having for me pre-eminent charms. Lord Nelson had been dead only a few years at the time I speak of, and what I learnt about him as a Norfolk man immensely gratified my curiosity. His aunt was a friend of my grandmother, and great was my delight to see and hear such a distinguished lady; the gratification being enhanced by a bright shilling she slipped into my hand. The river Wensum, old trees by the water-side, the picturesque village of Thorpe, Whitlingham White House and woods, the uplands of Mousehold, walled-in gardens all over the city, wild hedgerows, sheltered nooks and corners under weeping willows, cattle feeding in green meadows, and swans swimming on the river—these objects afforded me an æsthetic education.