obstinate and steady.  If I am bid to do a thing my spirit revolts; if I am asked to do a thing, I am willing....  A thought passed my mind that if I had some religion I should be superior to what I am; it would be a bias to better actions.  I think I am by degrees losing many excellent qualities.  I am more cross, more proud, more vain, more extravagant.  I lay it to my great love of gayety and the world.  I feel, I know I am falling.  I do believe if I had a little true religion I should have a greater support than I have now; but I have the greatest fear of religion, because I never saw a person religious who was not enthusiastic.

It will be seen that Elizabeth at this period enjoyed the musical and social pleasures of Norwich, while at the same time she had decided leanings towards the plain, religious customs of the Friends.  It is not wonderful that her heart was in a state of unrest and agitation, that at times she scarcely knew what she longed for, nor what she desired to forsake.  The society with which she was accustomed to mingle contained some known in Quaker parlance as “unbelievers”; perhaps in our day they would be regarded as holding “advanced opinions.”  One of the most intimate visitors at Earlham was a gentleman belonging to the Roman Catholic communion, but his acquaintance seemed rather to be a benefit than otherwise, for he referred the young Gurneys in all matters of faith to the “written word” rather than to the opinions of men or books generally.  Another visitor, a lady afterwards known to literature as Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, was instrumental in leading them to form sound opinions upon the religious questions of the day.  They were thus preserved from the wave of scepticism which was then sweeping over the society of that day.

Judging from her journal of this date, it is not easy to detect much, if any, promise of the future self-denying philanthropy.  She seemed nervously afraid of “enthusiasm in religion”; even sought to shun anything which appeared different from the usual modes of action among the people with whom she mingled.  A young girl who confessed that she had “the greatest fear of religion,” because in her judgment and experience enthusiasm was always allied with religion, was not, one would suppose, in much danger of becoming remarkable for philanthropy.  True, she was accustomed to doing good among the poor and sick, according to her opportunities and station; but this was nothing strange—­all the traditions of Quaker life inculcate benevolence and kindly dealing—­what she needed was “the expulsive power of a new affection.”  This “new affection”—­the love of Christ—­in its turn expelled the worldliness and unrest which existed, and gave a tone to her mental and spiritual nature, which, by steady degrees, lifted her up, and caused her to forget the syren song of earth.  Not all at once,—­in the story of her newborn earnestness we shall find that the habits and associations of her daily life sometimes acted as drawbacks to her progress in faith.  But the seed having once taken root in that youthful heart, germinated, developed, and sprang up, to bear a glorious harvest in the work of reclaiming and uplifting sunken and debased humanity.