had much to do with this experience.  Her account of it shows, also, that her mind was unhappily affected by certain false notions of the Christian life and ordinances then, and still, more or less prevalent—­notions based upon a too narrow and legal conception of the Gospel.  Hence, her shrinking from the Lord’s table as a place of “torture,” instead of regarding it in its true character, as instituted on purpose to feed hungry souls, like her own, with bread from heaven.  But for all that, the experience was a blessed reality and, as these pages will attest, wrought a lasting change in her religious life.  No doubt the Spirit of God was leading her through all its dark and terrible mazes.  It virtually ended a conflict which the intensely proud elements of her nature rendered inevitable, if she was to become a true heroine of faith—­the conflict between her Master’s will and her own.  Her Master conquered, and henceforth to her dying hour His will was the sovereign law of her existence, and its sweetest joy also.

The following extracts from letters to her cousin, George E. Shipman, of New York, now widely known as the founder of a Foundling Home at Chicago, will throw additional light upon her state of mind at this period.  Mr. Shipman was the friend to whom the account of her experience already mentioned was addressed.  He had just spent several weeks in Portland, and to his Christian sympathy, kindness, and counsels while there and during the two following years, she felt herself very deeply indebted. [4]

PORTLAND, August 22, 1840.

I am always wondering if any body in the world is the better off for my being in it.  And so if I was of any comfort to you, I am very glad of it.  I do want, I confess, the privilege of offering you sometimes the wine and oil of consolation, and if I do it in such a way as to cause pain with my unskilful hand, why, you must forgive me....  Mr. ——­ talked to me as if he imagined me a blue-stocking.  Just because my sister wears spectacles, folks take it for granted that I also am literary.

Aug. 25th.—­You ask if I find it easy to engage in religious meditation, referring in particular to that on our final rest.  This is another of my trials.  I can not meditate upon anything, except indeed it be something quite the opposite of what I wish to occupy my mind.  You know that some Christians are able in their solitary walks and rides to hold, all the time, communion with God.  I can very seldom do this.  Yesterday I was obliged to take a long walk alone, and it was made very delightful in this way; so that I quite forgot that I was alone....  I am beginning to feel, that I have enough to do without looking out for a great, wide place in which to work, and to appreciate the simple lines: 

  “The trivial round, the common task,
  Would furnish all we ought to ask;
  Room to deny ourselves; a road
  To bring us daily nearer God.”