e thing often
repeated, [when] one obtains so vivid an image, that it cannot be
separated from memory: because I clearly remember which way the cow ran,
which would not probably have been told me. My memory here is an obscure
picture, in which from not recollecting any pain I am scarcely conscious
of its reference to myself.

1813.

When I was four years and a half old I went to the sea, and stayed
there some weeks. I remember many things, but with the exception of the
maidservants (and these are not individualised) I recollect none of
my family who were there. I remember either myself or Catherine being
naughty, and being shut up in a room and trying to break the windows. I
have an obscure picture of a house before my eyes, and of a neighbouring
small shop, where the owner gave me one fig, but which to my great joy
turned out to be two: this fig was given me that the man might kiss the
maidservant. I remember a common walk to a kind of well, on the road
to which was a cottage shaded with damascene (Chapter I./2. Damson
is derived from Damascene; the fruit was formerly known as a "Damask
Prune.") trees, inhabited by an old man, called a hermit, with white
hair, who used to give us damascenes. I know not whether the damascenes,
or the reverence and indistinct fear for this old man produced the
greatest effect on my memory. I remember when going there crossing in
the carriage a broad ford, and fear and astonishment of white foaming
water has made a vivid impression. I think memory of events commences
abruptly; that is, I remember these earliest things quite as clearly as
others very much later in life, which were equally impressed on me. Some
very early recollections are connected with fear at Parkfield and with
poor Betty Harvey. I remember with horror her story of people being
pushed into the canal by the towing rope, by going the wrong side of the
horse. I had the greatest horror of this story--keen instinct against
death. Some other recollections are those of vanity--namely, thinking
that people were admiring me, in one instance for perseverance and
another for boldness in climbing a low tree, and what is odder, a
consciousness, as if instinctive, that I was vain, and contempt of
myself. My supposed admirer was old Peter Haile the bricklayer, and
the tree the mountain ash on the lawn. All my recollections seem to be
connected most closely with myself; now Catherine (Catherine Darwin)
seems to recollect scenes where