Many peculiar circumstances and events connected with my childhood throng the chambers of memory.  For some twelve months, when I was about eight years old, I repeatedly heard a voice, calling me distinctly by name, three times, in an ascending scale.  I thought this was my mother’s voice, and sometimes went to her, beseeching her to tell me what she wanted.  Her answer was always, “Nothing, child!  What do you mean?” Then I would say, “Mother, who did call me?  I heard somebody call Mary, three times!” This continued until I grew discouraged, and my mother was perplexed and anxious.

One day, when my cousin, Mehitable Huntoon, was visiting us, and I sat in a little chair by her side, in the same room with grandmother,—­the call again came, so loud that Mehitable heard it, though I had ceased to notice it.  Greatly surprised, my cousin turned to me and said, “Your mother is calling you!” but I answered not, till again the same call was thrice repeated.  Mehitable then said sharply, “Why don’t you go? your mother is calling you!” I then left the room, went to my mother, and once more asked her if she had summoned me?  She answered as always before.  Then I earnestly declared my cousin had heard the voice, and said that mother wanted me.  Accordingly she returned with me to grandmother’s room, and led my cousin into an adjoining apartment.  The door was ajar, and I listened with bated breath.  Mother told Mehitable all about this mysterious voice, and asked if she really did hear Mary’s name pronounced in audible tones.  My cousin answered quickly, and emphasized her affirmation.

That night, before going to rest, my mother read to me the Scriptural narrative of little Samuel, and bade me, when the voice called again, to reply as he did, “Speak, Lord; for Thy servant heareth.”  The voice came; but I was afraid, and did not answer.  Afterward I wept, and prayed that God would forgive me, resolving to do, next time, as my mother had bidden me.  When the call came again I did answer, in the words of Samuel, but never again to the material senses was that mysterious call repeated.

Is it not much that I may worship Him,
With naught my spirit’s breathings to control,
And feel His presence in the vast and dim
And whispering woods, where dying thunders roll
From the far cataracts?  Shall I not rejoice
That I have learned at last to know His voice
From man’s?—­I will rejoice!  My soaring soul
Now hath redeemed her birthright of the day,
And won, through clouds, to Him, her own unfettered way! 
—­Mrs. Hemans.

EARLY STUDIES

My father was taught to believe that my brain was too large for my body and so kept me much out of school, but I gained book-knowledge with far less labor than is usually requisite.  At ten years of age I was as familiar with Lindley Murray’s Grammar as with the Westminster Catechism; and the latter I had to repeat every Sunday.  My favorite studies were natural philosophy, logic, and moral science.  From my brother Albert I received lessons in the ancient tongues, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.  My brother studied Hebrew during his college vacations.  After my discovery of Christian Science, most of the knowledge I had gleaned from schoolbooks vanished like a dream.