conformed to all her duties, but was regarded as a shining light, destined to do much to build up the church.  She still retained most of her old friendships in the Episcopal church, which had not given up all hope of luring her back to its fold.  Altogether, life had gone smoothly with her, and she was well satisfied.  The change which she now contemplated was a revolution.  It was to break up all the old habits and associations, disturb life-long friendships, and, stripping her of the attractions of society and church intercourse, leave her standing alone, a spectacle to the eyes of those who gazed, a wonder and a grief to her friends.  But all this Sarah had warned her of, and all this she felt able to endure.  Self-sacrifice, self-immolation, in fact, was what Sarah taught; and, although Angelina never learned the lesson fully, she made a conscientious effort to understand and practise it.  She began very shortly after Sarah’s arrival at home.  In January her diary records the following offering made to the Moloch of Quakerism:—­

“To-day I have torn up my novels.  My mind has long been troubled about them.  I did not dare either to sell them or lend them out, and yet I had not resolution to destroy them until this morning, when, in much mercy, strength was granted.”

Sarah in her diary thus refers to this act:  “This morning my dear Angelina proposed destroying Scott’s novels, which she had purchased before she was serious.  Perhaps I strengthened her a little, and accordingly they were cut up.  She also gave me some elegant articles to stuff a cushion, believing that, as we were commanded to lead holy and unblamable lives, so we must not sanction sin in others by giving them what we had put away ourselves.”

Angelina also says, “A great deal of my finery, too, I have put beyond the reach of anyone.”

An explanation of this is given in a copy of a paper which was put into the cushion alluded to by Sarah.  The copy is in her handwriting.

“Believing that if ever the contents of this cushion, in the lapse of years, come to be inspected (when, mayhap, its present covering should be destroyed by time and service), they will excite some curiosity in those who will behold the strange assemblage of handsome lace veils, flounces, and trimmings, and caps, this may inform them that in the winter of 1827-8, Sarah M. Grimke, being on a visit to her friends in Charleston, undertook the economical task of making a rag carpet, and with the shreds thereof concluded to stuff this cushion.  Having made known her intention, she solicited contributions from all the family, which they furnished liberally, and several of them having relinquished the vanities of the world to seek a better inheritance, they threw into the treasury much which they had once used to decorate the poor tabernacle of clay.  Now it happened that on the 10th day of the first month that, sitting at her work and industriously cutting her scraps,