The Story of My Life

STORY OF MY LIFE.

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1808-24.

I was born in Slater Street, Liverpool, on the 25th day of September 1808. My father, Mr Philip Meadows Taylor, was the only surviving son of the Rev. Philip Taylor, of Old Court, Harold's Cross, in the county of Dublin. My mother was the youngest daughter of Bertram Mitford, Esq., of Mitford Castle, in the county of Northumberland, one of the most ancient Saxon families of England, which still flourishes, from its origin, beyond the Conquest, to the present time, in the enjoyment of its ancient privileges and estates.

My father's ancestors were of a North Lancashire family, and have been traced to Lancaster, where they were known in the fifteenth century. They reckoned many men of sterling worth and reputation among their number; and one, Dr John Taylor, author of the 'Hebrew Concordance,' is well known to this day. The Taylors intermarried with the Martineau family, after

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the former had removed to Norwich, which became their stronghold; and there the pleasant friendly gatherings and intercourse with Mr and Mrs Barbauld, Sir J. E. Smith, and other celebrities of the time, are not yet forgotten.

Without making any boast of pedigree, I can at least claim descent from two ancient families of Englandone Puritan, the other Royalist-and my parents faithfully preserved these hereditary distinctions to the last.

My father was educated partly in Germany, and there learnt to appreciate the advantages of rifles over ordinary muskets. He assisted in raising a volunteer rifle corps in Liverpool, which he commanded as executive captain, the Earl of Derby being the colonel; and thus had, I believe, the merit of being the first to introduce the rifle system into England. This fact was recognised by the War Office at a comparatively late period. In 1807, my father and mother were married at Walton Church, Lancashire. Five sons were the issue of this marriage, three of whom survive, I being the eldest.

Soon after my birth my father removed from Slater Street to Brookfield, a pretty country-house near Liverpool; and later, for convenience in business, then very prosperous, to a house in Rodney Street, the most fashionable locality in the town at that time. I remember but little of Brookfield; and indeed my first memories of Rodney Street are dim and vague. The chief one is of my being attacked with croup, followed by a long severe illness, which changed me from a healthy, sturdy child into an ailing, delicate one, and necessitated my being sent to Ireland, to the care of my grandfather and aunts, for change of air. I grew querulous and weak, and, I fear, was a trouble in the house. I had

1808-24.]

TWO NARROW ESCAPES.

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named myself "King Pippin," and remember lying on the rug in the room I am now sitting in, piping out miserably that "King can't" or "King won't" when required to do anything. I grew stronger, however, and soon became my grandfather's constant companion in his strolls about the garden, holding on by his finger, and gradually losing my awe of his deep sonorous voice and imposing manner, as was proved by a speech recorded against me, when, as he was seized by a violent fit of sneezing, I looked up in my grandfather's face, and said, gravely, "Grandpapa, what a chap you are for sneezing!"

In due course I returned to my parents in Rodney Street, and many memories flit across me while I write. On one occasion, while on a pond with some skaters at Street Court, Herefordshire, where my mother's sister resided, I had a narrow escape of my life. The ice broke under me, and I was with difficulty rescued—my cry being, "Help King! help King!"

I believe I could at this time read fairly, and could repeat a good deal by heart at the age of five. No great feat, truly; but I was never set up as a prodigy, nor did I begin Greek at three years old, like Mr Stuart Mill!

My wish was to become a merchant in those days, and, watching my opportunity, I ran away to find "papa's counting-house," and was discovered by a friend of my father's crying in the street, and restored to my dear mother, whose agony when she found I was missing was extreme. She feared I had been decoyed away for my beauty, and that she would never see me more. I was ordered to bed, without supper, by my father; but I well remember, as I lay there sobbing,

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