e. I went all over
Harvard University under the guidance of Professor Ashley, to whom our
Chief Justice had given me a letter of introduction. He got up a
drawing-room meeting for me, at which I met Dr. Gordon Ames, pastor of
the Unitarian Church of the Disciples. He invited me to preach his
thanksgiving service for him on the following Thursday, which I was
delighted to do. Mrs. Ames was the factory inspector of women and
children in Massachusetts, and was probably the wisest woman I met in
my travels. She spoke to me of the evils of stimulating the religious
sentiment too young, and said that the hushed awe with which most
people spoke of God and His constant presence filled a child's mind
with fear.

She related an experience with her own child, who on going to bed had
asked if God was in the room. The child was told that God was always
besides us. After being left in darkness the child was heard sobbing,
and a return to the nursery elicited the confession, "Oh, mamma, I
can't bear to be left with no one but God." Better the simple
anthropomorphism which makes God like the good father, the generous
uncle, the indulgent grandfather, or the strong elder brother.

Such ideas as these of God were held by the heroines of the following
stories:--A little girl, a niece of the beloved Bishop Brooks, had done
wrong, and was told to confess her sin to God before she slept, and to
beg His forgiveness. When asked next day whether she had obeyed the
command, she said--"Oh, yes! I told God all about it, and God said,
'Don't mention it, Miss Brooks.'" A similar injunction was laid upon a
child brought up by a very severe and rather unjust aunt. Her reply
when asked if she had confessed her sin was "I told God what I had
done, and what you thought about it, and I just left it to Him." The
response of a third American girl (who was somewhat of a "pickle" and
had been reared among a number of boys) to the enquiry whether she had
asked forgiveness for a wrong done was--"Oh, yes; I told God exactly
what I had done, and He said, 'Great Scot, Elsie Murray, I know 500
little girls worse than you.'" To me this was a much healthier state of
mind than setting children weeping for their sins, as I have done
myself.

On my second visit to Boston I spent three weeks with the family of
William, Lloyd Garrison, son of the famous Abolitionist. The Chief
Justice had given me a letter of introduction to him, and I found him a
true-hearted humanit