“Thee had better turn Quaker, Sally; thy long face would suit well their sober dress.”

She was, as we have said, of a naturally cheerful disposition; but her false views of religion led her to believe that “by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better,” and she shed more tears, and offered up more petitions for forgiveness, over occasional irresistible merriment than I have space to record.

She accepted the book from her brother, read it, and, needing some explanation of portions of it, wrote to one of the Friends in Philadelphia whose acquaintance she had made on the vessel.  A correspondence ensued, which resulted after some months in her entire conversion to Quakerism.

She had now reached, she thought, a resting-place for her weary, sore-travailed spirit; and, like a tired pilgrim, she dropped all her burdens beside this fresh stream, from whose waters she expected to drink such cooling draughts.  The quiet of the little meeting-house in Charleston, the absence of ornament and ceremony, the silent worship by the few members, the affectionate thee and thou, all soothed her restless soul for a while, and a sweet calm fell upon her.  But she believed that God constantly spoke to her heart, directing her by the still, small voice; and the fidelity with which she obeyed this invisible guide was not only a real detriment to her spiritual progress, but the cause of much distress to her.

When, as sometimes happened from various causes, she failed in obedience, her mental suffering was intense, and in abject humility she accepted as punishment any mortification or sorrow that came to her afterwards.  As a sequence to this hallucination, she also had visions at various times, and saw and communed with spirits, and did not hesitate to acknowledge their influence and to respect their intimations.  So marvellously real were her feelings on these points that her immediate friends, though greatly deploring their effect upon her, seldom ventured any remonstrance against them.  Now, under the influence of her new belief, the impression of a divine call to be made upon her deepened, and soon took shape in the persuasion that it was to be a call to the ministry.  Her soul recoiled at the very thought of work so solemn, and she prayed the Lord to spare her; but the more she prayed, the stronger and clearer the intimations became, until she felt that no loop-hole of escape was left her from obedience to her Master’s will.  From the publicity the work involved, she intuitively shrank.  Her natural sensitiveness and all the prejudices of her life rebelled against it, and she could not look forward to it without fear and trembling.  Every meeting now found her, she says, like a craven, dreading to hear the summons which would oblige her to rise and open her lips before the two or three gathered there.  Vainly did she try to “hide herself from the Lord.”  The evidence came distinctly to her one morning that some words of admonition were required