I cannot account for the flame of rage which it awakened in my bosom.  My dear, excellent Father had beaten me, not very severely, without ill-temper, and with the most genuine desire to improve me.  But he was not well-advised especially so far as the ‘dedication to the Lord’s service’ was concerned.  This same ‘dedication’ had ministered to my vanity, and there are some natures which are not improved by being humiliated.  I have to confess with shame that I went about the house for some days with a murderous hatred of my Father locked within my bosom.  He did not suspect that the chastisement had not been wholly efficacious, and he bore me no malice; so that after a while, I forgot and thus forgave him.  But I do not regard physical punishment as a wise element in the education of proud and sensitive children.

My theological misdeeds culminated, however, in an act so puerile and preposterous that I should not venture to record it if it did not throw some glimmering of light on the subject which I have proposed to myself in writing these pages.  My mind continued to dwell on the mysterious question of prayer.  It puzzled me greatly to know why, if we were God’s children, and if he was watching over us by night and day, we might not supplicate for toys and sweets and smart clothes as well as for the conversion of the heathen.  Just at this juncture, we had a special service at the Room, at which our attention was particularly called to what we always spoke of as ‘the field of missionary labour’.  The East was represented among ‘the saints’ by an excellent Irish peer, who had, in his early youth, converted and married a lady of colour; this Asiatic shared in our Sunday morning meetings, and was an object of helpless terror to me; I shrank from her amiable caresses, and vaguely identified her with a personage much spoken of in our family circle, the ‘Personal Devil’.

All these matters drew my thoughts to the subject of idolatry, which was severely censured at the missionary meeting.  I cross-examined my Father very closely as to the nature of this sin, and pinned him down to the categorical statement that idolatry consisted in praying to anyone or anything but God himself.  Wood and stone, in the words of the hymn, were peculiarly liable to be bowed down to by the heathen in their blindness.  I pressed my Father further on this subject, and he assured me that God would be very angry, and would signify His anger, if anyone, in a Christian country, bowed down to wood and stone.  I cannot recall why I was so pertinacious on this subject, but I remember that my Father became a little restive under my cross-examination.  I determined, however, to test the matter for myself, and one morning, when both my parents were safely out of the house, I prepared for the great act of heresy.  I was in the morning-room on the ground-floor, where, with much labour, I hoisted a small chair on to the table close to the window.  My heart was now beating as if it would leap out of my side, but I pursued my experiment.  I knelt down on the carpet in front of the table and looking up I said my daily prayer in a loud voice, only substituting the address ‘Oh Chair!’ for the habitual one.