As late as 1843-1845 Puritan orthodoxy still held sway over nearly the whole of New England; and the gloomy doctrines of Jonathan Edwards, now called his “philosophy,” held a mighty grasp on the minds of the people, all other denominations being frowned upon. The Episcopal church was considered “little better than the Catholic,” and the Universalists and the Unitarians were treated with even less tolerance by the “Evangelicals” than any sect outside these denominations is treated to-day. The charge against the Unitarians was that they did not believe _all_ of the Bible, and that they preached “mere morality rather than religion.” My mother, who had sat under the preaching of the Rev. Paul Dean, in Boston, had early drifted away from her hereditary church and its beliefs; but she had always sent her children to the Congregational church and Sunday-school, not wishing, perhaps, to run the same risk for their souls that she was willing to take for her own, thus keeping us on the “safe side,” as it was called, with regard to our eternal salvation. Consequently, we were well taught in the belief of a literal devil, in a lake of brimstone and fire, and in the “wrath of a just God.” The terrors of an imaginative child’s mind, into which these monstrous doctrines were poured, can hardly be described, and their lasting effect need not be dwelt upon. It was natural that young people who had minds of their own should be attracted to the new doctrine of a Father’s love, as well as to the ministers who preached it; and thus in a short time the mill girls and boys made a large part of the congregation of those “unbelieving” sects which had come to disturb the “ancient solitary reign” of primitive New England orthodoxy. I used often to wish that I could go to the Episcopal Sunday-school, because their little girls were not afraid of the devil, were allowed to dance, and had so much nicer books in their Sunday-school library. “Little Henry and his Bearer,” and “The Lady of the Manor,” in which was the story of “The Beautiful Estelle,” were lent to me; and the last-named was a delight and an inspiration. But the little “orthodox” girls were not allowed to read even religious novels; and one of my work-mates, whose name would surprise the reader, and who afterwards outgrew such prejudices, took me to task for buying a paper copy of Scott’s “Redgauntlet,” saying, “Why, Hattie, do you not know that it is a _novel_?” We had frequent discussions among ourselves on the different texts of the Bible, and debated such questions as, “Is it a sin to read novels?” “Is it right to read secular books on Sunday?” or, “Is it wicked to play cards or checkers?” By this it will be seen that we were made more familiar with the form, than with the spirit or the teaching, of Christianity.