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.