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. From a child I took an interest in historical tales, and felt delight in listening to my mother’s memories of early days. She recollected the American war, and spoke of a family dispute amongst her elders, which lasted just as long—ten years. Excitement in William Pitt’s day she brought vividly before me; and she told how Thelwall, the orator, delivered revolutionary harangues, and being attacked by a mob, he was glad to escape by clambering over the roofs of houses. The trials of Horne Tooke, Hardy, and others, and Erskine’s famous speeches in their defence, were in my boyhood modern incidents. Objects in the city excited archæological tastes. The Norman keep, Herbert de Lozinga’s Cathedral, Erpingham Gate, the Grammar School, the Bishop’s palace, with ruins in the garden, dilapidated towers on the edge of the river, Guild Hall, St. Andrew’s Hall, and the Old Men’s Hospital—these had for me a mighty charm, creating fancies by day and dreams by night. The East Anglian city had not old houses such as Prout found on the Continent, but it contained picturesque, tumble-down tenements, and other “bits,” sketched in “Highways and Byeways of Old Norwich.” The sight of these created a habit of looking after ancient quaint remains, which has never forsaken me.