Note 10 — Chapter I · AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 1810-1843.

Of one of these, his friend, now over eighty years old, gives an account in the succeeding letter:—

Sauquoit, February 19, 1888.

Dear A.—I would like to give you some information of your uncle’s early life if I were well informed, but, I have only one little incident, and perhaps that would be of small account at the present era, though at the time it took place it was of great moment to us both as children. Asa lived with his parents at Paris Furnace, now Clayville. I lived where Mr. Bragg afterward built his new house. Well, we had a lovely teacher that summer by the name of Sally Stickney, living at Colonel Avery’s. She ruled by gentleness. For our class she had an old-fashioned two-shilling piece, with a hole through to insert a yard of blue ribbon. She put this over the head of the one that stood first in our class. So it traveled every night, all that summer, with some one of us, until the ribbon was worn and faded. But more than all that, the one that stood at the head on the last day of school was to be the owner of that two-shilling piece that we had watched with jealous eyes so many weeks, and studied Webster’s old spelling-book so hard to gain. I think our eyes must have magnified it, for I have never seen a coin since that seemed so large. I think it was the same in Asa’s eyes. Well, with hearts beating fast, and eyes on the coveted prize, we were called on the last day of school to spell; we took our places; I was at the head, Asa next. I missed and he went above me; my all was gone, but it was worse to have him point his finger at me and say out loud “kee-e-e.” I braved it without a tear; a few more words would end the strife. It came around to him, and he missed; how quick I went above him; but in an instant he dropped his head on the desk before him and wept as though his heart would break. School was dismissed, scholars were leaving; still he did not move, until our kind teacher came to him, whispered to him, soothed and petted him; then he jumped up and ran, I suppose wishing me in Halifax. I felt sorry for him and would have been willing to divide with him if he had not crowed over me so. I ran nearly all the way home—a good mile—with my treasure, in great haste to have some one tell me the best way to invest my money. I was told to go another three quarters of a mile to Stephen Savage’s store, spend it for calico, piece it up, to keep forever. I could get only one yard for my two-shilling piece, not nearly as good as can be bought now for three cents a yard. Not a trace of the quilt is left, nor of the old schoolhouse, or of those merry children; perhaps a few have wandered on to fourscore years. So it is little I can relate of his childhood, as the next year we moved from that district, but as years passed on I often heard of his rising fame with pleasure. If Eli Avery were living he would have been his best biographer in this place.

The time has flown so fast since all this transpired, it seems as if his tears had hardly dried before my grandchildren were studying his Botanies.

Two years ago the 9th day of September, when the doctor was visiting in Sauquoit, he called here and remarked, in his smiling way, “that he had got all over feeling badly about that.” I said, “And well you may when you have received so many honors since then.”

Your loving friend, Harriet Rogers.

A neighbor who survived to a great age also told a story of Dr. Gray’s boyhood, which he said he had from Dr. Gray’s father:—

One day he had been set to hoe a certain amount of corn, and his father found him reading instead of at his work. He gave him his choice, to finish his task and then read comfortably, or to sit there in the field all day in the hot sun, which one knows is no pleasant thing in August, and read. He chose the reading, and his father said then, “I made up my mind he might make something of a scholar, but he would never make a farmer!” And so his farther education was decided.