The Reminiscences of an Astronomer | Page 9

Simon Newcomb
was cut off. It
does seem a little singular that, well known as my tastes were to those
around me, we never met a soul to say, "That boy ought to be
educated." So far as I know, my father's idea of making me a lawyer
met with nothing but ridicule from the neighbors. Did not a lawyer
have to know Latin and have money to pursue his studies? In my own
daydreams I was a farmer driving his own team; in my mother's a
preacher, though she had regretfully to admit that I might never be
good enough for this profession.
[1] The actual sixth was my late excellent and esteemed cousin, Judge
Simon Bolivar Newcomb, of New Mexico.
[2] He had evidently forgotten the home instruction from my aunts,
received more than a year previous to the date he mentions.
[3] The grandfather of President Schurman of Cornell University. I
retain a dreamy impression of two half-grown or nearly grown boys,
perhaps between fourteen and eighteen years of age, one of whom
became, I believe, the father of the president.

II
DOCTOR FOSHAY
In the summer of 1851, when I had passed the age of sixteen, we lived
in a little school district a mile or two from the town of Yarmouth, N. S.
Late in the summer we had a visit from a maternal uncle and aunt. As I
had not seen Moncton since I was six years old, and as I wanted very
much to visit my grandfather Prince once more, it was arranged that I
should accompany them on their return home. An additional reason for
this was that my mother's health had quite failed; there was no prospect
of my doing anything where I was, and it was hoped that something
might turn up at Moncton. There was but one difficulty; the visitors had
driven to St. John in their own little carriage, which would hold only
two people; so they could not take me back. I must therefore find my
own way from St. John to Moncton.
We crossed the Bay of Fundy in a little sailing vessel. Among the
passengers was an English ship captain who had just been wrecked off
the coast of Newfoundland, and had the saved remnant of his crew with
him. On the morning of our departure the weather was stormy, so that
our vessel did not put to sea--a precaution for which the captain
passenger expressed great contempt. He did not understand how a
vessel should delay going to see on account of a little storm.
The walk of one hundred miles from St. John to Moncton was for me,
at that time, a much less formidable undertaking than it would appear
in our times and latitude. A thirty-mile tramp was a bagatelle, and
houses of entertainment--farmhouses where a traveler could rest or eat
for a few pennies--were scattered along the road. But there was one
great difficulty at the start. My instructions had been to follow the
telegraph wires. I soon found that the line of telegraph came into the
town from one direction, passed through it, and then left, not in the
opposite direction, but perhaps at right angles to it. In which direction
was the line to be followed? It was difficult to make known what I
wanted. "Why, my boy, you can't walk to Moncton," was one answer.

In a shop the clerks thought I wanted to ride on the telegraph, and, with
much chuckling, directed me to the telegraph office where the man in
charge would send me on. I tried in one direction which I thought could
not be right, then I started off in the opposite one; but it soon became
evident that that branch led up the river to Frederickton. So I had to
retrace my steps and take the original line, which proved to be the right
one.
The very first night I found that my grandfather's name was one to
conjure with. I passed it with a hearty old farmer who, on learning who
I was, entertained me with tales of Mr. Prince. The quality which most
impressed the host was his enormous physical strength. He was rather
below the usual stature and, as I remember him, very slightly built. Yet
he could shoulder a barrel of flour and lift a hogshead of molasses on
its end, feats of strength which only the most powerful men in the
region were equal to.
On reaching my destination, I was not many days in learning that my
grandfather was a believer in the maxims of "Poor Richard's Almanac,"
and disapproved of the aimless way in which I had been bred. He began
to suggest the desirableness of my learning to do something to make a
living. I thought of certain mechanical
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