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, is not
4 and 4 and 4 and 4, 16?" "Yes, how did you find it out?"
You showed me the counterpane which was napped.