'Yesterday I went to the workhouse to spend the evening with the children; a prospect I have had in view for some time... I took them things for tea: I dreaded going on many accounts, fearing I should not feel at liberty to make any remarks I might wish to the children during their reading which it was my principal object in going to attend. I did not exactly see my way, however, I thought I would (as the Friends say) make my way. I found after tea they did not read till nearly eight, and I could not remain later than a little past seven. I spoke to the governess about it and she was quite willing to alter the hour, and so was the stewardess. I proposed reading a little pamphlet that has lately come out by Frederick Smith to the children. There was a solemnity during reading it; so that Ann Withers was in tears most of the time, and some of the children were disposed that way; afterwards, when we had finished, I endeavoured to weigh up whether I really had any thing to say to them or not; I thought that I had, and therefore took up the book as if to explain it; making my own remarks which appeared to affect the children and the governess so that those who were on the point of tears really wept. Now this event has made me feel rather odd; it is marvellous to me how I got courage to do it before Ann Withers.'