"As my father was a Congregational minister, I believe Aunt Harriet,
though the highest of High Church women, felt some scruples as to
whether it was desirable that my religious education should be
entirely out of the sphere of my birth. Therefore when this
catechetical exercise was finished she would say, 'Now, niece, you
have to learn another catechism, because your father is a Presbyterian
minister,'--and then she would endeavor to make me commit to memory
the Assembly catechism.
"At this lengthening of exercise I secretly murmured. I was rather
pleased at the first question in the Church catechism, which is
certainly quite on the level of any child's understanding,--'What is
your name?' It was such an easy good start, I could say it so loud and
clear, and I was accustomed to compare it with the first question in
the Primer, 'What is the chief end of man?' as vastly more difficult
for me to answer. In fact, between my aunt's secret unbelief and my
own childish impatience of too much catechism, the matter was
indefinitely postponed after a few ineffectual attempts, and I was
overjoyed to hear her announce privately to grandmother that she
thought it would be time enough for Harriet to learn the Presbyterian
catechism when she went home."
Mingled with this superabundance of catechism and plentiful needlework
the child was treated to copious extracts from Lowth's Isaiah,
Buchanan's Researches in Asia, Bishop Heber's Life, and Dr.
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