As a little boy I could not understand how a follower of Jesus could be a soldier. I did not know that grown men were also asking the same question. Years afterwards I remember coming across Rossetti’s biting sonnet—"Vox ecclesiæ, vox Christi"— "O’er weapons blessed for carnage, to fierce youth From evil age, the word has hissed along:— Ye are the Lord’s: go forth, destroy, be strong: Christ’s Church absolves ye from Christ’s law of ruth." I do not know what the Father would have thought of those words, for, like some of the Roundhead leaders of Cromwell’s time, he had been Chaplain as well as Captain of his company. If the war had broken out again, as the "Irreconcilables" believed it surely would, and if Oliver had refused to enlist on the ground that he was studying for Christ’s ministry, I think the Father would have cursed him. The other thing which worried me was a "gospel hymn," which we sang almost every Sunday. It had a swinging tune, but the words were horrible. There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Emanuel’s veins; And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains. Such a gory means of salvation seemed much more frightful to my childish imagination than the most sulphurous hell. These things I was told I would understand when I grew up. This was the answer to so many questions, that I got out of the habit of asking them. I believed that the Father was very wise and was willing to take his word for everything. At eleven he persuaded me "to make a profession of faith" and join the church. It is only within these latter, mellower years that I can look back on this incident without bitterness. It was so utterly unfair. The only thing I was made to understand was that I was taking very serious and irrevocable vows. This was impressed on me in every way. I was given a brand new outfit of clothes. I had never had new underwear and new shoes simultaneously with a new suit and hat before. Such things catch a child’s imagination. I had to stand up before the whole congregation and reply to un-understandable questions with answers I had learned by rote. Then for the first time I was given a share of the communion bread and wine. The solemnity of the occasion was emphasized. But there was no effort—at least no successful one—to make me understand what it was all about. When I became old enough to begin to think of such things, I found that I had already sworn to believe the same things as long as I lived. Try as hard as I can to remember the many kindnesses of my adoptive parents, realizing, as I surely do, how earnestly and prayerfully they strove to do the best for me, this folly remains my sharpest recollection of them. It was horribly unfair to a youngster who took his word seriously. But I never had what is called a "religious experience" until that summer in camp meeting when I was sixteen.