‘There are short periods of my life, during which, when endeavouring to
retrace them, I am surprised to find I can scarcely recollect any thing
of what happened, and this was one of them. How we got from the Isle of
Ely,—where we went,—what we did,—the reasons that induced my father and
mother to forsake the business of pedlars,—whether he returned to London
for a short time, and again sat down to what he called his trade,
namely, that of making, or rather mending shoes,—are questions which I
cannot answer. This interval, though not very long, must have been of
some duration; for the first remarkable fact that presents itself to my
mind, is the strong recollection I have of being at Coventry, walking
with my little sister in my arms in a large desolate back yard, at the
outskirts of the city. Through this yard, a deep open common sewer ran,
into which my sister either sprang, or fell by accident, where she must
almost instantly have been suffocated, had not I, instead of being
terrified, and running to call for help, immediately thrown myself on
the ground, and dragged her safely out. I ran, at once terrified and
rejoiced, to tell my father and mother what had happened, and was
rewarded by the praises I received from them for the good sense and
intrepidity I had shewn. It has been my good fortune to have saved more
lives than one, but this was the first.
‘In and of Coventry itself, I remember several little traits and
incidents. I was much taken with the virtue, beauty, and magnanimity of
Lady Godiva:—the misfortune that befel peeping Tom, was a fine mark of
divine justice; and I was equally delighted to think that all the people
had bread enough, as I supposed, when the oppressive toll was taken off.
Coventry Cross was then standing, and though greatly dilapidated, made
no little impression on my imagination, as I walked round and round it,
and gazed at its spiral forms, commensurate proportions, numerous little
recesses and figures, though half destroyed, that suggested ideas of
beauty, sanctity, and the events of past times. Not that I would have it
supposed that these ideas passed individually and distinctly through the
mind of an uninstructed boy, little more than eight years old, but the
effect of them altogether was such as I have here described.
‘My father, though active and of a strong constitution, was short,
slight-built, and wholly unable to contend with men in general. But he
was passionate, and free-spoken if he thought himself ill-used, and had
thus given offence to a powerful, brutal rival in the market, by whom he
was treated with great contempt, and threatened with personal
chastisement. I well remember the grief and indignation I then felt that
my father should be thus degraded; and that he, I, and all belonging to
him, should be unable to redress his wrongs.
‘This happened on a market-day; and I believe it was on the same day
that my father, thinking me almost perished with the cold, gave me a
pint of ale to drink, which so far inebriated me, that I was quite
ashamed. My father himself was a man of such sobriety, that I had heard
him often declare that he had never in his life been overcome with
liquor. Besides, I loved religious books, and they all informed me,
drunkenness was a great sin. I therefore took it very much to heart that
I should so early have been guilty of a crime, of which he was entirely
innocent. However, he consoled me by taking the blame upon himself for
giving me more drink that I could be supposed able to bear.
‘It was here that I saw a person of a very odd and almost unaccountable
appearance. I could not discover whether he was young or old; for he
seemed to be both. The size of his limbs, the form of his body, the
colour of his hair and face, were such as might have belonged to a boy
of eighteen; and to correspond with these he had something of
sprightliness in his manner: but his gait and deportment were those of
old age: he stooped in the shoulders, and he had the greatest number of
small wrinkles in his face that I have ever seen. The reason why I
mention many of these (in themselves perhaps insignificant)
circumstances, is, that the inquiring reader may be able to trace the
bent and progress of my mind, and how far I was prone to observation.