The Reminiscences of an Astronomer | Page 4

me as the one by which alone I could learn to write
good English. The learning of anything, especially of arithmetic and
grammar, by the glib repetition of rules was a system that he held in
contempt. With the public, ability to recite the rules of such subjects as
those went farther than any actual demonstration of the power to cipher
correctly or write grammatically.
So far as the economic condition of society and the general mode of
living and thinking were concerned, I might claim to have lived in the
time of the American Revolution. A railway was something read or
heard about with wonder; a steamer had never ploughed the waters of
Wallace Bay. Nearly everything necessary for the daily life of the
people had to be made on the spot, and even at home. The work of the
men and boys was "from sun to sun,"--I might almost say from daylight
to darkness,--as they tilled the ground, mended the fences, or cut
lumber, wood, and stone for export to more favored climes. The
spinning wheel and the loom were almost a necessary part of the
furniture of any well-ordered house; the exceptions were among people
rich enough to buy their own clothes, or so poor and miserable that they
had to wear the cast-off rags of their more fortunate neighbors. The
women and girls sheared the sheep, carded the wool, spun the yarn,
wove the homespun cloth, and made the clothes. In the haying season
they amused themselves by joining in the raking of hay, in which they
had to be particularly active if rain was threatened; but any man would
have lost caste who allowed wife or daughter to engage in heavy work
outside the house.
The contrast between the social conditions and those which surround
even the poorest classes at the present day have had a profound

influence upon my views of economic subjects. The conception which
the masses of the present time have of how their ancestors lived in the
early years of the century are so vague and shadowy as not to influence
their conduct at the present time.
What we now call school training, the pursuit of fixed studies at stated
hours under the constant guidance of a teacher, I could scarcely be said
to have enjoyed. For the most part, when I attended my father's school
at all, I came and went with entire freedom, and this for causes which,
as we shall see, he had reasons for deeming good.
It would seem that I was rather precocious. I was taught the alphabet by
my aunts before I was four years old, and I was reading the Bible in
class and beginning geography when I was six.
One curious feature of my reading I do not remember to have seen
noticed in the case of children. The printed words, for the most part,
brought no well-defined images to my mind; none at least that were
retained in their connection. I remember one instance of this. We were
at Bedeque, Prince Edward Island. During the absence of my father, the
school was kept for a time by Mr. Bacon. The class in reading had that
chapter in the New Testament in which the treason of Judas is
described. It was then examined on the subject. To the question what
Judas did, no one could return an answer until it came my turn. I had a
vague impression of some one hanging himself, and so I said quite at
random that he hanged himself. It was with a qualm of conscience that
I went to the head of the class.
Arithmetic was commenced at the age of five, my father drawing me to
school day by day on a little sled during the winter. Just what progress I
made at that time I do not recall. Long years afterward, my father, at
my request, wrote me a letter describing my early education, extracts
from which I shall ask permission to reproduce, instead of attempting
to treat the matter myself. The letter, covering twelve closely written
foolscap pages, was probably dashed off at a sitting without supposing
any eye but my own would ever see it:--
June 8th, '58.

I will now proceed to write, according to your request, about your early
life.
While in your fifth year, your mother spoke several times of the
propriety of teaching you the first rudiments of book-learning; but I
insisted that you should not be taught the first letter until you became
five. [2] I think, though, that at about four, or four and a half I taught
you to count, as far, perhaps, as 100.
When a little over four and a half, one evening, as I came home from
school, you ran to me, and asked, "Father,