I was too solemnly impressed by the grandeur of being at Braddock's
Field to have hinted that anything could be wrong. But for my own share
in the violation I was painfully penitent.

This was not new, for there were a long series of years in which the
principal business of six days of every week, was repentance for the
very poor use made of the seventh, and from this dreary treadmill of sin
and sorrow, no faith ever could or did free me. I never could see
salvation in Christ apart from salvation from sin, and while the sin
remained the salvation was doubtful and the sorrow certain.

On the afternoon of that first Sabbath, a number of young lady pupils
came to the Bee-hive for a visit, and as I afterwards learned to inspect
and name the two new girls, when I was promptly and unanimously dubbed
"Wax Doll." After a time, one remarked that they must go and study their
"ancient history lesson." I caught greedily at the words, ancient
history. Ah, if I could only be permitted to study such a lesson! No
such progress or promotion seemed open to me; but the thought interfered
with my prayers, and followed me into the realm of sleep. So when that
class was called next forenoon, I was alert, and what was my surprise,
to hear those privileged girls stumbling over the story of Sampson?
Could it be possible that was ancient history? How did it come to pass
that every one did not know all about Sampson, the man who had laid his
Lead on Delilah's wicked lap, to be shorn of his strength. If there is
any thing in that account, or any lesson to be drawn from it, with which
I was not then familiar, it is something I have never learned. Indeed, I
seemed to have completed my theological education before I did my
twelfth year.

One morning, Mrs. Olever sent for me, and told me she had learned my