page after page with
little labor and much credit. I remember being praised for my love of the
Bible, because I had learned by heart all the epistle of St. James's,
while, as a matter of fact, the desire to distinguish myself was a far
more impelling motive than any love of "the holy book;" the dignified
cadences pleased my ear, and were swiftly caught and reproduced, and I
was proud of the easy fashion in which I mastered and recited page after
page. Another source of "carnal pride"--little suspected, I fear, by my
dear instructress--was found in the often-recurring prayer meetings. In
these the children were called on to take a part, and we were bidden pray
aloud; this proceeding was naturally a sore trial, and being endued with
an inordinate amount of "false pride"--the fear of appearing ridiculous,
_i.e._, with self conceit--it was a great trouble when the summons came:
"Annie dear, will you speak to our Lord". But the plunge once made, and
the trembling voice steadied, enthusiasm and facility for cadenced speech
always swallowed up the nervous "fear of breaking down", and I fear me
that the prevailing thought was more often that God must think I prayed
very nicely, than that I was a "miserable sinner", asking "pardon for the
sake of Jesus Christ". The sense of sin, the contrition for man's fallen
state, which are required by Evangelicalism, can never be truly felt by
any child; but whenever a sensitive, dreamy, and enthusiastic child comes
under strong Evangelistic influence, it is sure to manifest "signs of
saving grace". As far as I can judge now, the total effect of the
Calvinistic training was to make me somewhat morbid, but this tendency
was counteracted by the healthier tone of my mother's thought, and the
natural gay buoyancy of my nature rose swiftly whenever the pressure of
the teaching that I was "a child of sin", and could "not naturally please
God", was removed.

In the spring of 1861, Miss Marryat announced her intention of going
abroad, and asked my dear mother to let me accompany her. A little nephew
whom she had adopted was suffering from cataract, and she desired to
place him under the care of the famous Duesseldorf oculist. Amy Marryat
had been recalled home soon after the death of her mother, who had died
in giving birth to the child adopted by Miss Marryat, and named at her
desire after her favorite brother Frederick (Captain Marryat). Her place
had been taken by a girl a few months older than my