My kith and kin had died at the stake, bearing testimony against popery and prelacy; had fought on those fields where Scotchmen charged in solid columns, singing psalms; and though I was wax at all other points, I was granite on "The Solemn League and Covenant." With the convictions of others I did not interfere, but when attacked would "render a reason." My assailants denounced theological seminaries as "preacher-factories"-- informed me that "neither Dr.Black nor any of his congregation ever had religion," and that only by getting it could any one be saved.

My husband became proud of my defense, and the boys grew disrespectful to their religious guides.

Their mother became anxious about their souls, so the efforts for my conversion were redoubled.
From the first the preachers disapproved of my being permitted to go to my meeting, and especially to my husband accompanying me.

He refused to go, on the ground that he had not been invited to commune, and as I sank in the deep waters of affliction, I did so need the pulpit teachings of my old pastor, which seemed to lift me and set my feet upon a rock.

One day I walked the seven miles and back, when the family carriage went to take two preachers to an appointment; three horses stood in the old stone barn, and my husband at home with his mother.