I am not so brave as you； I could not endure it. Now that you are through it and know how bitter a trial it is， promise that you will save me from the same experience. You are so good and noble I know you will not betray me."
In this supreme moment of misery and disgrace， her loving words and warm embrace were like balm to my bruised soul and I readily promised all she asked. The girl had penetrated the weak point of my character. I loved flattery. Through that means she got my composition in the first place， pledged me to silence in the second place， and so confused my moral perceptions that I really thought it praiseworthy to shelter her from what I had suffered.
However， without betrayal on my part， the trick came to light through the very means she took to make concealment sure. After compositions were read they were handed over to a certain teacher for criticism. Miss ？had copied mine， and returned to me the original. I had not copied hers， so the two were in the same handwriting杘ne with my name outside and one with Miss ？s.
As I stood well in school， both for scholarship and behavior， my sudden fall from grace occasioned no end of discussion. So， as soon as the teacher discovered the two compositions in Miss ？s writing， she came to me to inquire how I got one of Miss ？s compositions. She said， "Where is yours that you wrote for that day？"
Taking it from my portfolio， I replied， "Here it is."
She then asked， "Did you copy it from her book？"
I replied， "No； I wrote it myself."
"Then why did you not read your own？"
"We agreed to change，" said I.
"Did you know that Miss ？had copied that from the book of another young lady？"
"No， not until I was accused of doing it myself before the whole school."
"Why did you not defend yourself on the spot？"
"I could not speak， neither did I know what to say."
"Why have you allowed yourself to remain in such a false position for a whole week？"
"I do not know."
"Suppose I had not found this out， did you intend to keep silent？"
"Yes，" I replied.
"Did Miss ？ask you to do so？"
"Yes."
I had been a great favorite with this teacher， but she was so disgusted with my stupidity， as she called my timidity， that she said：
"Really， my child， you have not acted in this matter as if you had ordinary common sense."
So little do grown people， in familiar surroundings， appreciate the confusion of a child's faculties， under new and trying experiences. When poor Miss ？s turn came to stand up before the whole school and take the burden on her own shoulders she had so cunningly laid on mine， I readily shed the tears for her I could not summon for myself. This was my first sad lesson in human duplicity.
This episode， unfortunately， destroyed in a measure my confidence in my companions and made me suspicious even of those who came to me with appreciative words. Up to this time I had accepted all things as they seemed on the surface. Now I began to wonder what lay behind the visible conditions about me. Perhaps the experience was beneficial， as it is quite necessary for a young girl， thrown wholly on herself for the first time among strangers， to learn caution in all she says and does. The atmosphere of home life， where all disguises and pretensions are thrown off， is quite different from a large school of girls， with the petty jealousies and antagnonisms that arise in daily competition in their dress， studies， accomplishments， and amusements.
The next happening in Troy that seriously influenced my character was the advent of the Rev. Charles G. Finney， a pulpit orator， who， as a terrifier of human souls， proved himself the equal of Savonarola. He held a protracted meeting in the Rev. Dr. Beaman's church， which many of my schoolmates attended.
The result of six weeks of untiring effort on the part of Mr. Finney and his confreres was one of those intense revival seasons that swept over the city and through the seminary like an epidemic， attacking in its worst form the most susceptible. Owing to my gloomy Calvinistic training in the old Scotch Presbyterian church， and my vivid imagination， I was one of the first victims. We attended all the public services， beside the daily prayer and experience meetings held in the seminary. Our studies， for the time， held a subordinated place to the more important duty of saving our souls.
To state the idea of conversion and salvation as then understood， one can readily see from our present standpoint that nothing could be more puzzling and harrowing to the young mind. The revival fairly started， the most excitable were soon on the anxious seat. There we learned the total depravity of human nature and the sinner's awful danger of everlasting punishment. This was enlarged upon until the most innocent girl believed herself a monster of iniquity and felt certain of eternal damnation. Then God's hatred of sin was emphasized and his irreconcilable position toward the sinner so justified that one felt like a miserable， helpless， forsaken worm of the dust in trying to approach him， even in prayer.
Having brought you into a condition of profound humility， the only cardinal virtue for one under conviction， in the depths of your despair you were told that it required no herculean effort on your part to be transformed into an angel， to be reconciled to God， to escape endless perdition. The way to salvation was short and simple. We had naught to do but to repent and believe and give our hearts to Jesus， who was ever ready to receive them. How to do all this was the puzzling question. Talking with Dr. Finney one day， I said： "I cannot understand what I am to do. If you should tell me to go to the top of the church steeple and jump off， I would readily do it， if thereby I could save my soul； but I do not know how to go to Jesus."
"Repent and believe， " said he， "that is all you have to do to be happy here and hereafter."
"I am very sorry，" I replied， "for all the evil I have done， and I believe all you tell me， and the more sincerely I believe， the more unhappy I am."
