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THE GRIMKÉ SISTERS

SARAH AND ANGELINA GRIMKÉ


_THE FIRST AMERICAN WOMEN ADVOCATES
OF ABOLITION AND WOMAN'S RIGHTS_


By CATHERINE H. BIRNEY

"The glory of all glories is the glory of self-sacrifice."


1885




PREFACE.


It was with great diffidence, from inexperience in literary work of
such length, that I engaged to write the biography which I now present
to the public. But the diaries and letters placed in my hands lightened
the work of composition, and it has been a labor of affection as well
as of duty to pay what tribute I might to the memory of two of the
noblest women of the country, whom I learned to love and venerate
during a residence of nearly two years under the same roof, and who,
to the end of their lives, honored me with their friendship.

C.H.B.

Washington City, Sept., 1885.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

Childhood of Sarah, 7. Practical teachings, 9. Teaching slaves, 11.
Sarah a godmother, 13. Their mother, 15.


CHAPTER II.

Thirst for knowledge, 17. Religious impressions, 19. Providence
interposes, 21. Their father's death-bed, 23. Sarah and slavery, 25.
Salvation by works, 27. The Friends, 29. Sarah resists the call, 31.
Sarah leaves Charleston, 33.


CHAPTER III.

Sarah a Quaker, 35. Visit to Charleston, 37. Angelina, 39. Angelina's
slave, 41. Angelina converted, 43. Sarah's heart trial, 45.


CHAPTER IV.

Contrasts, 47. Spiritual change, 49. Novels and finery, 51. Plain
dress, 53.


CHAPTER V.

Angelina's progress, 55. Abandons Presbyterianism, 57. Adopts
Quakerism, 59. A Quaker quarrel, 61. Angelina goes north, 63. Trimming
a cap, 65.


CHAPTER VI.

Christian frugality, 67. Christian reproofs, 69. Faithful testimony,
71. Sitting in silence, 73. Sympathy with slaves, 75. Intercedes for a
slave, 77. A sin to joke, 79. Introspection, 81.


CHAPTER VII.

Intellectual power, 83. Anti-slavery in 1829, 85. Bane of slavery, 87.
Longs to leave home, 89. Narrow life, 91. Farewell to home, 93.


CHAPTER VIII.

Not in favor, 95. Doubts, 97. Benevolent activities, 99. Nullification,
101. Thomas Grimké, 103. Quaker time-serving, 105. Separation, 107.


CHAPTER IX.

Visits Catherine Beecher, 109. Morbid feelings, 111. Growing out of
Quakerism, 113. Lane Seminary debate, 115. Death of Thomas Grimké, 117.
The cause of peace, 119.


CHAPTER X.

Sarah Douglass, 121. The fire kindled, 123. Letter to Garrison, 125.
Apology for letter, 127. Publication of letter, 129. Sarah disapproves,
131.


CHAPTER XI.

Practical efforts, 133. Visit to Providence, 135. The sisters differ,
137. Elizur Wright's invitation, 139. Asking advice of Sarah, 141. The
last straw, 143. Sarah resolves to leave Philadelphia, 145. Angelina's
A.S. feelings, 147. Her clear convictions, 149.


CHAPTER XII.

The sisters together, 151. A rebellious Quaker, 153. Removal to New
York, 155. The anti-slavery leaders, 157. T.D. Weld, 159. Epistle to
the clergy, 161. First speeches to women, 163. Lectures, 165. Disregard
of the color line, 167. Henry B. Stanton, 169. Success on the platform,
171. They go to Boston, 173.


CHAPTER XIII.

Woman's rights, 175. Sentiment at Boston, 177. Speaking to men, 179.
Women's preaching, 181. Opposition, 183. The pastoral letter, 185.
Mixed audiences, 187. Hardships--eloquence, 189. Sarah prefers the pen,
191. A public debate, 193. Sarah's impulsiveness, 195.


CHAPTER XIV.

Catherine Beecher, 197-99. Woman and abolition, 201. Whittier's letter,
203. Weld's letter, 205. Weld's third letter, 207. How reforms fail,
209. Friendly criticism, 211. No human government-ism, 213. The sisters
desist, 215. Weld on dress, 217. Henry C. Wright, 219. Friendship
renewed, 221.


CHAPTER XV.

Crowded audiences, 223. Sickness, 225. The Massachusetts legislature,
Speeches in Boston, 229. Angelina's marriage, 231. The ceremony, 233.
Pennsylvania Hall, 235. The mob, 237. Last public speech, 239. Burning
the hall, 241.


CHAPTER XVI.

Disownment, 243. The home, 245. Self-denial, 247. Sarah Douglass, 249.
An ex-slave, 251. Uses of retirement, 253. Mutual love, 255. "Slavery
as it is," 257. Going to church, 259. The baby, 261. Life at
Belleville, 263-5. Educators, 267. Piety, 269. Christianity, 271.


CHAPTER XVII.

Eagleswood, 273. Sarah as teacher, 265. Sarah at sixty-two, 277. Love
of children, 279. Success of the school, 281. Affliction, 283. War to
end in freedom, 285. Sisterly affection, 287. The colored nephews, 289.
The discovery, 291. A visit to nephews, 293. Nephews educated, 295.
Voting petitions, 297. Work for charities, 299. Contented old age, 301.


CHAPTER XVIII.

Sarah's sickness, 303. Death of Sarah, 305. Eulogies, 307. Paralysis,
309. Sublime patience, 311. Death of Angelina, 313. Elizur Wright, 315.
Wendell Phillips, 317. The lesson of two lives, 319.




THE SISTERS GRIMKÉ.

CHAPTER I.


Sarah and Angelina Grimké were born in Charleston, South Carolina;
Sarah, Nov. 26, 1792; Angelina, Feb. 20, 1805. They were the daughters
of the Hon. John Fauchereau Grimké, a colonel in the revolutionary war,
and judge of the Supreme Court of South Carolina. His ancestors were
German on the father's side, French on the mother's; the Fauchereau
family having left France in consequence of the revocation of the Edict
of Nantes in 1685.

From his German father and Huguenot mother, Judge Grimké inherited not
only intellectual qualities of a high order, but an abiding consciousness
of his right to think for himself, a spirit of hostility to the Roman
Catholic priesthood and church, and faith in the Calvinistic theology.
Though he exhibited, during the course of his life, a freedom from
certain social prejudices general among people of his class at
Charleston, he seems to have never wavered in his adhesion to the
tenets of his forefathers. That they were ever questioned in his
household is not probable.

From a diary kept by him, it appears that his favorite subject of
thought for many years was moral discipline, and he was fond of
searching out and transcribing the opinions of various authors on this
subject.

His family was wealthy and influential, and he received all the
advantages which such circumstances could give. As was the custom among
people of means in those days, he was sent to England for his collegiate
course, and, after being graduated at Oxford, he studied law and
practised for a while in London, having his rooms in the Temple. With a
fine person, a cultivated mind and a generous allowance, he became a
favorite in the fashionable and aristocratic society of Great Britain;
nevertheless, he did not hesitate to quit the pleasant life he was
leading and return home as soon as his native country seemed to need
him. He speedily raised a company of cavalry in Charleston, and cast his
lot with the patriots whom he found in arms against the mother-country.
We have no record of his deeds, but we know that he distinguished himself
at Eutaw Springs and at Yorktown, where he was attached to Lafayette's
brigade.

When the war was over, Col. Grimké began the practice of law in
Charleston, and rose in a few years to the front rank at the bar. He
held various honorable offices before he was appointed judge of the
Supreme Court of the State.

Early in life Judge Grimké married Mary Smith of Irish and
English-Puritan stock. She was the great granddaughter of the second
Landgrave of South Carolina, and descended on her mother's side from
that famous rebel chieftain, Sir Roger Moore, of Kildare, who would
have stormed Dublin Castle with his handful of men, and whose handsome
person, gallant manners, and chivalric courage made him the idol of his
party and the hero of song and story. Fourteen children were born to
this couple, all of whom were more or less remarkable for the traits
which would naturally be expected from such ancestry, while in several
of them the old Huguenot-Puritan infusion colored every mental and
moral quality. This was especially notable in Sarah Moore Grimké, the
sixth child, who even in her childhood continually surprised her family
by her independence, her sturdy love of truth, and her clear sense of
justice. Her conscientiousness was such that she never sought to
conceal or even excuse anything wrong she did, but accepted
submissively whatever punishment or reprimand was inflicted upon her.

Between Sarah and her brother Thomas, six years her senior, an early
friendship was formed, which was ever a source of gratification to both,
and which continued without a break until his death. To the influence
of his high, strong nature she attributed to a great extent her early
tendency to think and reason upon subjects much beyond her age. Until
she was twelve years old, a great deal of her time was passed in study
with this brother, her bright, active mind eagerly reaching after the
kind of knowledge which in those days was considered food too strong
for the intellect of a girl. She begged hard to be permitted to study
Latin, and began to do so in private, but her parents, and even her
brother, discouraged this, and she reluctantly gave it up.

Judge Grimké's position, character, and wealth placed his family among
the leaders of the very exclusive society of Charleston. His children
were accustomed to luxury and display, to the service of slaves, and to
the indulgence of every selfish whim, although the father's practical
common sense led him to protest against the habits to which such
indulgences naturally led. He was necessarily much from home, but, when
leisure permitted, his great pleasure was teaching his children and
discussing various topics with them. To Sarah he paid particular
attention, her superior mental qualities exciting his admiration and
pride. He is said to have frequently declared that if she had been of
the other sex she would have made the greatest jurist in the land.

In his own habits, Judge Grimké was prudent and singularly economical,
and, in spite of discouraging surroundings, endeavored to instil
lessons of simplicity into his children. An extract from one of Sarah's
letters will illustrate this. Referring in 1863 to her early life, she
thus writes to a friend:--

"Father was pre-eminently a man of common sense, and economy was one of
his darling virtues. I suppose I inherited some of the latter quality,
for from early life I have been renowned for gathering up the fragments
that nothing be lost, so that it was quite a common saying in the
family: 'Oh, give it to Sally; she'll find use for it,' when anything
was to be thrown away. Only once within my memory did I depart from
this law of my nature. I went to our country residence to pass the
summer with father. He had deposited a number of useful odds and ends
in a drawer. Now little miss, being installed as housekeeper to papa,
and for the first time in her life being queen--at least so she
fancied--of all she surveyed, went to work searching every cranny, and
prying into every drawer, and woe betide anything which did not come up
to my idea of neat housekeeping. When I chanced across the drawer of
scraps I at once condemned them to the flames. Such a place of disorder
could not be tolerated in my dominions. I never thought of the
contingency of papa's shirts, etc., wanting mending; my oversight,
however, did not prevent the natural catastrophe of clothes wearing
out, and one day papa brought me a garment to mend, 'Oh,' said I,
tossing it carelessly aside, 'that hole is too big to darn.'

"'Certainly, my dear,' he replied, 'but you can put a piece in. Look in
such a drawer, and you will find plenty to patch with.'

"But behold the drawer was empty. Happily, I had commuted the sentence
of burning to that of distribution to the slaves, one of whom furnished
me the piece, and mended the garment ten times better than I could have
done. So I was let to go unwhipped of justice for that misdemeanor, and
perhaps that was the lesson which burnt into my soul. My story doesn't
sound Southerny, does it? Well, here is something more. During that
summer, father had me taught to spin and weave negro cloth. Don't
suppose I ever did anything worth while; only it was one of his maxims:
'Never lose an opportunity of learning what is useful. If you never
need the knowledge, it will be no burden to have it; and if you should,
you will be thankful to have it.' So I had to use my delicate fingers
now and then to shell corn, a process which sometimes blistered them,
and was sent into the field to pick cotton occasionally. Perhaps I am
indebted partially to this for my life-long detestation of slavery, as
it brought me in close contact with these unpaid toilers."

Doubtless she had many a talk with these "unpaid toilers," and learned
from them the inner workings of a system which her friends would fain
have taught her to view as fair and merciful.

Children are born without prejudice, and the young children of Southern
planters never felt or made any difference between their white and
colored playmates. The instances are many of their revolt and
indignation when first informed that there must be a difference. So
that there is nothing singular in the fact that Sarah Grimké, to use
her own words, early felt such an abhorrence of the whole institution
of slavery, that she was sure it was born in her. Several of her
brothers and sisters felt the same. But she differed from other
children in the respect that her sensibilities were so acute, her heart
so tender, that she made the trials of the slaves her own, and grieved
that she could neither share nor mitigate them. So deeply did she feel
for them that she was frequently found in some retired spot weeping,
after one of the slaves had been punished. She remembered that once,
when she was not more than four or five years old, she accidentally
witnessed the terrible whipping of a servant woman. As soon as she
could escape from the house, she rushed out sobbing, and half an hour
afterwards her nurse found her on the wharf, begging a sea captain to
take her away to some place where such things were not done.

She told me once that often, when she knew one of the servants was to
be punished, she would shut herself up and pray earnestly that the
whipping might be averted; "and sometimes," she added, "my prayers were
answered in very unexpected ways."

Writing to a young friend, a few years before her death, she says:
"When I was about your age, we spent six months of the year in the back
country, two hundred miles from Charleston, where we would live for
months without seeing a white face outside of the home circle. It was
often lonely, but we had many out-door enjoyments, and were very happy.
I, however, always had one terrible drawback. Slavery was a millstone
about my neck, and marred my comfort from the time I can remember
myself. My chief pleasure was riding on horseback daily. 'Hiram' was a
gentle, spirited, beautiful creature. He was neither slave nor slave
owner, and I loved and enjoyed him thoroughly."

When she was quite young her father gave her a little African girl to
wait on her. To this child, the only slave she ever owned, she became
much attached, treating her as an equal, and sharing all her privileges
with her. But the little girl died after a few years, and though her
youthful mistress was urged to take another, she refused, saying she
had no use for her, and preferred to wait on herself. It was not until
she was more than twelve years old that, at her mother's urgent
request, she consented to have a dressing-maid.

Judge Grimké, his family and connections, were all High-Church
Episcopalians, tenacious of every dogma, and severe upon any neglect of
the religious forms of church or household worship. Nothing but
sickness excused any member of the family, servants included, from
attending morning prayers, and every Sunday the well-appointed carriage
bore those who wished to attend church to the most fashionable one in
the city. The children attended Sabbath-school regularly, and in the
afternoon the girls who were old enough taught classes in the colored
school. Here, Sarah was the only one who ever caused any trouble. She
could never be made to understand the wisdom which included the
spelling-book, in the hands of slaves, among the dangerous weapons, and
she constantly fretted because she could only give her pupils oral
instruction. She longed to teach them to read, for many of them were
pining for the knowledge which the "poor white trash" rejected; but the
laws of the State not only prohibited the teaching of slaves, but
provided fines and imprisonment for those who ventured to indulge their
fancy in that way. So that, argue as she might, and as she did, the
privilege of opening the storehouse of learning to those thirsty souls
was denied her. "But," she writes, "my great desire in this matter
would not be totally suppressed, and I took an almost malicious
satisfaction in teaching my little waiting-maid at night, when she was
supposed to be occupied in combing and brushing my long locks. The
light was put out, the keyhole screened, and flat on our stomachs
before the fire, with the spelling-book under our eyes, we defied the
laws of South Carolina."

But this dreadful crime was finally discovered, and poor Hetty barely
escaped a whipping; and her bold young mistress had to listen to a
severe lecture on the enormity of her conduct.

When Sarah was about twelve years old, two important events occurred to
interrupt the even tenor of her life. Her brother Thomas was sent off
to Yale College, leaving her companionless and inconsolable, until, a
few weeks later, the birth of a little sister brought comfort and joy
to her heart. This sister was Angelina Emily, the last child of her
parents, and the pet and darling of Sarah from the moment the light
dawned upon her blue eyes.

Sarah seems to have felt for this new baby not only more than the
ordinary affection of a sister, but the yearning tenderness of a
mother, and a mysterious affinity which foreshadowed the heart and soul
sympathy which, notwithstanding the twelve years' difference in their
ages, made them as one through life. She at once begged that she might
stand godmother for her sister; but her parents, thinking this desire
only a childish whim, refused. She was seriously in earnest, however,
and day after day renewed her entreaties, answering her father's
arguments that she was too young for such a responsibility by saying
that she would be old enough when it became necessary to exercise any
of the responsibility.

Seeing finally that her heart was so set upon it, her parents
consented; and joyfully she stood at the baptismal font, and promised
to train this baby sister in the way she should go. Many years
afterwards, in describing her feelings on this occasion, she said: "I
had been taught to believe in the efficacy of prayer, and I well
remember, after the ceremony was over, slipping out and shutting myself
up in my own room, where, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I prayed
that God would make me worthy of the task I had assumed, and help me to
guide and direct my precious child. Oh, how good I resolved to be, how
careful in all my conduct, that my life might be blessed to her!"

Entering in such a spirit upon the duties she had taken upon herself,
we cannot over estimate her influence in forming the character and
training the mind of this "precious Nina," as she so often called her.
And, as we shall see, for very many years Angelina followed closely
where Sarah led, treading almost in her footsteps, until the seed sown
by the older sister, ripening, bore its fruit in a power and strength
and individuality which gave her the leadership, and caused Sarah to
fall back and gaze with wonder upon development so much beyond her
thoughts or hopes.

From the first, Sarah took almost entire charge of her little
god-daughter; and, as "Nina" grew out of her babyhood, Sarah continued
to exercise such general supervision over her that the child learned to
look up to her as to a mother, and frequently when together, and in her
correspondence for many years, addressed her as "Mother."

It does not appear that Judge Grimké entertained any views differing
greatly from those of intelligent men in the society about him. He was
a man of wide culture, varied experience of life, and a diligent
student. Therefore, as he made a companion of his bright and promising
daughter, he doubtless did much to sharpen her intellect, as well as to
deepen her conscientiousness and sense of religious obligation. Her
brother Thomas, too, added another strong influence to her mental
development. She was nearly fifteen when he returned from college,
bringing with him many new ideas, most of them quite original, and
which he at once set to work to study more closely, with a view to
putting them into practical operation. Sarah was his confidante and his
amanuensis; and, looking up to him almost as to a demi-god, she readily
fell in with his opinions, and made many of them her own.

Of her mother there is little mention in the early part of her life.
Mrs. Grimké appears to have been a very devout woman, of rather narrow
views, and undemonstrative in her affections. She was, however,
intelligent, and had a taste for reading, especially theological works.
Her son Thomas speaks of her as having read Stratton's book on the
priesthood, and inferring from its implications the sect to which the
author belonged. The oldest of her children was only nineteen when
Angelina was born. The burdens laid upon her were many and great; and
we cannot wonder that she was nervous, exhausted, and irritable. The
house was large, and kept in the style common in that day among wealthy
Southern people. The servants were numerous, and had, no doubt, the
usual idle, pilfering habits of slaves. All provisions were kept under
lock and key, and given out with scrupulous exactitude, and incessant
watchfulness as to details was a necessity.

As children multiplied, Mrs. Grimké appears to have lost all power of
controlling either them or her servants. She was impatient with the
former, and resorted with the latter to the punishments commonly
inflicted by slaveowners. These severities alienated her children still
more from her, and they showed her little respect or affection. It
never appears to have occurred to any of them to try to relieve her of
her cares; and it is probable she was more sinned against than
sinning,--a sadly burdened and much-tried woman. From numerous
allusions to her in the diaries and letters, the evidence of an
ill-regulated household is plain, as also the feelings of the children
towards her. From Angelina's diary we copy the following:--

"On 2d day I had some conversation with sister Mary on the deplorable
state of our family, and to-day with Eliza. They complain very much of
the servants being so rude, and doing so much as they please. But I
tried to convince them that the servants were just what the family was,
that they were not at all more rude and selfish and disobliging than
they themselves were. I gave one or two instances of the manner in
which they treated mother and each other, and asked how they could
expect the servants to behave in any other way when they had such
examples continually before them, and queried in which such conduct was
most culpable. Eliza always admits what I say to be true, but, as I
tell her, never profits by it.... Sister Mary is somewhat different;
she will not condemn herself.... She will acknowledge the sad state of
the family, but seems to think mother is altogether to blame. And dear
mother seems to resist all I say: she will neither acknowledge the
state of the family nor her own faults, and always is angry when I
speak to her.... Sometimes when I look back to the first years of my
religious life, and remember how unremittingly I labored with mother,
though in a very wrong spirit, being alienated from her and destitute
of the spirit of love and forbearance, my heart is very sore."

This unfortunate state of things prevailed until the children were
grown, and with more or less amelioration after that time. Sarah's
natural tenderness, and the sense of justice which, as she grew to
womanhood, was so conspicuous in Angelina, drew their mother nearer to
them than to her other children, though Thomas always wrote of her
affectionately and respectfully. She, however, with her rigid orthodox
beliefs, could never understand her "alien daughters," as she called
them; and she never ceased to wonder how such strange fledglings could
have come from her nest. It was only when they had proved by years of
self-sacrifice the earnestness of their peculiar views that she learned
to respect them; and, though they never succeeded in converting her
from her inherited opinions, she was towards the last years of her life
brought into something like affectionate sympathy with them.




CHAPTER II.


It was quite the custom in the last century and the beginning of the
present one for cultivated people to keep diaries, in which the
incidents of each day were jotted down, accompanied by the expression
of private opinions and feelings. Women, especially, found this diary a
pleasant sort of confessional, a confidante to whose pages they could
entrust their most secret thoughts without fear of rebuke or betrayal.
Sarah Grimké's diary, covering over five hundred pages of closely
written manuscript, though not begun until 1821, gives many reminiscences
of her youth, and describes with painful conscientiousness her
religious experiences. She also repeatedly regrets the fact that her
education, though what was considered at that time a good one, was
entirely superficial, embracing only that kind of knowledge which is
acquired for display. What useful information she received she owed to
the conversations of her father and her brother Thomas, her "beloved
companion and friend."

There is no doubt that this want of proper training was to her a cause
of regret during her whole life. With her, learning was always a
passion; and, in passing, I may say she never thought herself too old
for study and the acquisition of knowledge. As she grew up, and saw the
very different education her brothers were receiving, her ambition and
independence were fired, and she longed to share their advantages. But
in vain she entreated permission to do so. The only answer she received
was: "You are a girl; what do you want of Latin and Greek and
philosophy? You can never use them." And when it was discovered that
she was secretly studying law, and was ambitious to stand side by side
with her brother at the bar, smiles and sneers rebuked her "unwomanly"
aspirations. And though she argued the point with much spirit, unable
to see why the mere fact of being a girl should confine her to the
necessity of being a "doll, a coquette, a fashionable fool," she failed
to secure a single adherent to her strong-minded ideas. Her nature thus
denied its proper nutriment, and her most earnest desires crushed, she
sought relief in another direction. Painting, poetry, general reading
occupied her leisure time, while she was receiving private tuition from
the best masters in Charleston.

At sixteen she was introduced into society, or, as she phrases it,
"initiated into the circles of dissipation and folly." In her account
of the life she led in those circles she does not spare herself.

"I believe," she writes, "for the short space I was exhibited on this
theatre, few have exceeded me in extravagance of every kind, and in the
sinful indulgence of pride and vanity, sentiments which, however, were
strongly mingled with a sense of their insufficiency to produce even
earthly happiness, with an eager desire for intellectual pursuits, and
a thorough contempt for the trifles I was engaged in. Often during this
period have I returned home, sick of the frivolous beings I had been
with, mortified at my own folly, and weary of the ball-room and its
gilded toys. Night after night, as I glittered now in this gay scene,
now in that, my soul has been disturbed by the query, 'Where are the
talents committed to thy charge?' But the intrusive thought would be
silenced by the approach of some companion, or a call to join the
dance, or by the presentation of the stimulating cordial, and my
remorse and my hopeless desires would be drowned for the time being.
Once, in utter disgust, I made a resolution to abstain from such
amusements; but it was made in self-will, and did not stand long,
though I was so earnest that I gave away much of my finery. I cannot
look back to those years without a blush of shame, a feeling of anguish
at the utter perversion of the ends of my being. But for my tutelary
god, my idolized brother, my young, passionate nature, stimulated by
that love of admiration which carries many a high and noble soul down
the stream of folly to the whirlpool of an unhallowed marriage, I had
rushed into this lifelong misery. Happily for me, this butterfly life
did not last long. My ardent nature had another channel opened for it,
through which it rushed with its usual impetuosity. I was converted,
and turned over to doing good."

Up to this time she was a communicant in the Episcopal church, and a
regular attendant on its various services. But, as she records, her
heart was never touched, her soul never stirred. She heard the same
things preached week after week,--the necessity of coming to Christ and
the danger of delay,--and she wondered at her insensibility. She joined
in family worship, and was scrupulously exact in her private devotions;
but all was done mechanically, from habit, and no quickening sense of
her "awful condition" came to her until she went one night, on the
invitation of a friend, to hear a Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Henry
Kolloch, celebrated for his eloquence. He preached a thrilling sermon,
and Sarah was deeply moved. But the impression soon wore off, and she
returned to her gay life with renewed ardor. A year after, the same
minister revisited Charleston; and again she went to hear him, and
again felt the "arrows of conscience," and again disregarded the solemn
warning. The journal continues:--

"After this he came no more; and in the winter of 1813-14 I was led in
an unusual degree into scenes of dissipation and frivolity. It seemed
as if my cup of worldly pleasure was filled to the brim; and after
enjoying all the city afforded, I went into the country in the spring
with a fashionable acquaintance, designing to finish my wild career
there."

While on this visit, she accidentally met the Rev. Dr. Kolloch, and
became acquainted with him. He seems to have taken a warm interest in
her spiritual welfare, and his conversations made a serious impression
on her which her gay friends tried to remove. But her sensitive spirit
was so affected by his admonitions, and warnings of the awful
consequences of persisting in a course of conduct which must eventually
lead to everlasting punishment, that she was made very miserable. She
trembled as he portrayed her doom, and wept bitterly; but, though she
assented to the truth of his declarations, she did not feel quite
prepared to give up the pomps and vanities of her life, unsatisfactory
as they were. A sore conflict began in her mind, and she could take no
pleasure in anything. Dr. Kolloch's parting question to her, spoken in
the most solemn tones, "Can you, then, dare to hesitate?" rang
continually in her ears; and the next few days and nights were passed
in a turmoil of various feelings, until, exhausted, she gave up the
struggle, and acknowledged herself sensible of the emptiness of worldly
gratifications, and thought she was willing to resign all for Christ.
She returned home sorrowful and heavy-hearted. The glory of the world
was stained, and she no longer dared to participate in its vain
pleasures. She felt "loaded down with iniquity," and, almost sinking
under a sense of her guilt and her danger, she secluded herself from
society, and put away her ornaments, "determined to purchase Heaven at
any price." But she found no relief in these sacrifices; and, after
enduring much trial at her ill success, she wrote to Dr. Kolloch,
informing him of her state of mind.

"Over his answer," she writes, "I shed many tears; but, instead of
prostrating myself in deep abasement before the Lord, and craving his
pardon, I was desirous of doing something which might claim his
approbation and disperse the thick cloud which seemed to hide him from
me. I therefore set earnestly to work to do good according to my
capacity. I fed the hungry and clothed the naked, I visited the sick
and afflicted, and vainly hoped these outside works would purify a
heart defiled with the pride of life, still the seat of carnal
propensities and evil passions; but here, too, I failed. I went
mourning on my way under the curse of a broken law; and, though I often
watered my couch with my tears, and pleaded with my Maker, yet I knew
nothing of the sanctifying influence of his holy spirit, and, not
finding that happiness in religion I anticipated, I, by degrees,
through the persuasions of companions and the inclination of my
depraved heart, began to go a little more into society, and to resume
my former style of dressing, though in comparative moderation."

She then states how, some time after she had thus departed from her
Christian profession. Dr. Kolloch came once more, and his sad and
earnest rebukes made her unutterably wretched. But she tried to stifle
the voice of conscience by entering more and more into worldly
amusements, until she had lost nearly all spiritual sense. Her
disposition became soured by incessantly yielding to temptation, and
she adds:--

"I know not where I might have been landed, had not the merciful
interposition of Providence stopped my progress."

This "merciful interposition of Providence" was nothing less than the
declining health of her father; and it affords, indeed, a curious
comment on the old Orthodox teachings, that this young woman, devotedly
attached to her father, and fully appreciating his value to his family,
should have regarded his ill-health as sent by God for her especial
benefit, to interrupt her worldly course, and compass her salvation.

Judge Grimké's illness continued for a year or more; and so faithfully
did Sarah nurse him that when it was decided that he should go to
Philadelphia to consult Dr. Physic, she was chosen to accompany him.

This first visit to the North was the most important event of Sarah's
life, for the influences and impressions there received gave some shape
to her vague and wayward fancies, and showed her a gleam of the light
beyond the tangled path which still stretched before her.

She found lodgings for her father and herself in a Quaker family whose
name is not mentioned. About their life there, little is said; Sarah
being too much occupied with the care of her dear invalid to take much
interest in her new surroundings. Judge Grimké's health continued to
decline. His daughter's account of the last days of his life is very
touching, and shows not only how deep was her religious feeling, but
how tender and yet how strong she was all through this great trial. The
father and daughter, strangers in a strange land, drawn more closely
together by his suffering and her necessary care, became friends.
indeed; their attachment increasing day by day, until, ere their final
separation, they loved each other with that fervent affection which
grows only with true sympathy and unbounded confidence. Sarah thus
wrote of it:--

"I regard this as the greatest blessing, next to my conversion, I have
ever received from God, and I think if all my future life is passed in
affliction this mercy alone should make me willingly, yea, cheerfully
and joyously, submit to the chastisements of the Lord."

During their stay in Philadelphia, she had hoped for her father's
recovery, but when, by the doctor's advice, they went to Long Branch,
and she saw how weak and ill he was, this hope forsook her, and she
describes her agony as something never to be effaced from her memory.
Doubtless this was intensified by her lone and friendless position.
They were in a tavern, without one human being to soothe them or
sympathize with them. "But," she writes, "let me here acknowledge the
mercy of that Being whose everlasting arms supported me in this hour of
suffering. After the first burst of grief I became calm, and felt an
assurance that He in whom I trusted would never leave nor forsake me,
and that I would have strength given me, even to the performance of the
last sad duties. But the end was not yet; the disease fluctuated, some
days arousing a gleam of hope, only to be extinguished by the next
day's weakness. Alas! I was compelled to see that death was certainly,
though slowly, approaching, and all feeling for my own suffering was
sunk in anxiety to contribute to my father's comfort, and smooth his
passage to the grave. And, blessed be God, I was not only able to
minister to many of his temporal wants, but permitted to strengthen his
hopes of a happy immortality. I prayed with him and read to him, and I
cannot recollect hearing an impatient expression from him during his
whole illness, or a wish that his sufferings might be lessened or
abridged. He often tried to conceal his bodily pain, and to soothe me
by every appearance of cheerful piety. Thus he lingered until the 6th
of August, when he grew visibly worse. Many incoherent expressions
escaped him, but even then how tenderly he spoke of me, I ever shall
remember.... About eight o'clock I moved him to his own bed, and,
sitting down, prepared to watch by him. He entreated me to lie down,
and I told him when he slept I would.

"'Oh, God,' he exclaimed with fervent energy, 'how sweet to sleep and
wake in heaven!' This last desire was realized. He clasped one of my
hands, and as I bent over him and arranged his pillow he put his arm
around me. I did not stir; apparently he slept. But the relaxed grasp,
the dewy coldness, the damps of death which stood upon his forehead,
all told me that he was hastening fast to Jesus. Alone, at the hour of
midnight, I sat by this bed of death. My eyes were fixed on that face
whose calmness seemed to say, 'I rest in peace.' A gentle pressure of
the hand, and a scarcely audible respiration, alone indicated that life
was not extinct; at length that pressure ceased, and the strained ear
could no longer hear a breath. I continued gazing on the lifeless form,
closed his eyes and kissed him. His spirit, freed from the shackles of
mortality, had sprung to its source, the bosom of his God. I passed the
rest of the night alone."

And alone, the only mourner, this brave, heart-stricken girl followed
the remains of her beloved father to the grave.

When all was over she went back to Philadelphia, where she remained two
or three months, and then returned to Charleston.

During the season of family mourning which followed, having nothing
especial to do, Sarah became more than ever concerned about her
spiritual welfare. She constantly deplored her lukewarmness, and
regarded herself as standing on the edge of a precipice from which she
had no power to withdraw. The subject of slavery began now also to
agitate her mind. After her residence in Philadelphia, where doubtless
she had to listen to some sharp reflections on the Southern
institution, it seemed more than ever abhorrent to her, but it does not
appear that she gave utterance to her feelings on more than one or two
occasions. Even her diary contains only a slight and occasional
reference to them. She saw, she says, how useless it was to discuss the
subject, as even Angelina, the child of her own training, could see
nothing wrong in the mere fact of slave-holding, if the slaves were
kindly treated.

Her brother Thomas, to whom she might have opened her overburdened
heart, and received from his affection and good sense, comfort and
strength, she saw little of; besides, he was a slave-owner, and among
his numerous reform theories of education, politics, and religion, he
does not seem to have thought of touching slavery. He was a leading
member of the bar, very busy with his literary work, had a wife and
family, and resided out of the city.

Alone, therefore, Sarah brooded over her trials, and those of the
slaves, "until they became like a canker, incessantly gnawing." Upon
the latter she could only look as one in bonds herself, powerless to
prevent or ameliorate them. Her sole consolation was teaching the
objects of her compassion, within the lawful restrictions, whenever she
could find the opportunity. But she began to look upon the world as a
wilderness of desolation and suffering, and herself as the most
miserable of sinners, fast hastening to destruction. In this frame of
mind she was induced to listen to the doctrine of universal salvation,
and eagerly adopted it, hoping thereby to find relief from her doubts
and fears. Her mother discovered this with horror, and, trembling for
her daughter's safety, she aroused herself to argue so strongly against
what she termed the false and awful doctrine, that, though Sarah
refused to acknowledge the force of all she said, it had its effect,
and she gradually lost her hold on her new belief. But losing that, she
lost all hope. "Wormwood and gall" were her portion, and, while she
fulfilled the outward duties of religion, dreariness and settled
despondency took possession of her mind. She writes:

"Tears never moistened my eyes; to prayer I was a stranger. With Job I
dared to curse the day of my birth. One day I was tempted to say
something of the kind to my mother. She was greatly shocked, and
reproved me seriously. I craved a hiding-place in the grave, as a rest
from the distress of my feelings, thinking that no estate could be
worse than the present. Sometimes, being unable to pray, unable to
command one feeling of good, either natural or spiritual, I was tempted
to commit some great crime, thinking I could repent and thus restore my
lost sensibility. On this I often meditated, and assuredly should have
fallen into this snare had not the mercy of God still followed me."

I might go on for many pages painting this dreary picture of a
misdirected life, but enough has been quoted at present to show Sarah
Grimké's strong, earnest, impressionable nature, and the effects upon
it of the teachings of the old theology, mingled with the narrow
Southern ideas of usefulness and woman's sphere. Endowed with a
superior intellect, with a most benevolent and unselfish disposition,
with a cheerful, loving nature, she desired above all things to be an
active, useful member of society. But every noble impulse was strangled
at its birth by the iron bands of a religion that taught the
crucifixion of every natural feeling as the most acceptable offering to
a stern and relentless God. She was now twenty-eight years of age, and
with the exception of the period devoted to her father she had as yet
thought and worked only for herself. I do not mean that she neglected
home duties, or her private charities and visits to the afflicted, but
all these offices were performed from one especial motive and with the
same end in view to avert from herself the wrath of her Maker. This one
thought filled all her mind. All else was as nothing. Family and
friends, home and humanity, were of importance only as they furthered
this object. It is in this spirit that she mentioned her father's
illness and death, and the heroic, self-sacrificing death, by
shipwreck, of her brother Benjamin, to which she could resign herself
from a conviction that the stroke was sent as a chastisement to her,
and was a merciful dispensation to draw his young wife nearer to God.
We read not one word of solicitude for mother, or brothers, or sisters,
not a single prayer for their conversion. She was too busy watching and
weeping over her own short-comings to concern herself about their doom.
The long diary is filled with the reiteration of her fears, her
sorrows, and her prayers. Many years afterwards she thus referred to
this condition of her mind:--

"I cannot without shuddering look back to that period. How dreadful did
the state of my mind become! Nothing interested me; I fulfilled my
duties without any feeling of satisfaction, in gloomy silence. My lips
moved in prayer, my feet carried me to the holy sanctuary, but my heart
was estranged from piety. I felt as if my doom was irrevocably fixed,
and I was destined to that fire which is never quenched. I have never
experienced any feeling so terrific as the despair of salvation. My
soul still remembers the wormwood and the gall, still remembers how
awful the conviction that every door of hope was closed, and that I was
given over unto death."

Naturally, such a strain at last impaired her health, and, her mother
becoming alarmed, she was sent in the autumn of 1820 to North Carolina,
where several relatives owned plantations on the Cape Fear River. She
was welcomed with great affection, especially by her aunt, the wife of
her uncle James Smith, and mother of Barnwell Rhett. (This name was
assumed by him on the inheritance of property from a relative of that
name.)

In the village near which this aunt lived there was no place of worship
except the Methodist meeting-house. Sarah attended this; and under the
earnest and alarming preaching she heard there, together with
association with some of the most spiritual-minded of the members, she
was aroused from her apathetic state, and was enabled to join in their
services with some interest. She even offered up prayer with them, and
at one of their love feasts delivered a public testimony to the truths
of the gospel. Thus associated with them, she was induced to examine
their principles and doctrines, but found them as faulty as all the
rest she had from time to time investigated. She therefore soon decided
not to become one of them. From her earliest serious impressions, she
had been dissatisfied with Episcopacy, feeling its forms lifeless; but
now, after having carefully considered the various other sects, and
finding error in all, she concluded to remain in the church whose
doctrines at least satisfied her as well as those of any other, and
were those of her mother and her family.

Of the Society of Friends she knew little, and that little was
unfavorable. To a remark made one day by her mother, relative to her
turning Quaker, she replied, with some warmth:--

"Anything but a Quaker or a Catholic!"

Having made up her mind that the Friends were wrong, she had steadily
refused, during her stay in Philadelphia, to attend their meetings or
read any of their writings. Nevertheless many things about them,
scarcely noticed at the time,--their quiet dress, orderly manner of
life and gentle tones of voice, together with their many acts of
kindness to her and her father,--came back to her after she had left
them, and especially impressed her as contrasting so strongly with the
slack habits and irregular discipline which made her own home so
unhappy.

On the vessel which carried her from Philadelphia to Charleston, after
her father's death, was a party of Friends; and in the seven days which
it then required to make the voyage, an intimacy sprang up between them
and Sarah which influenced her whole after-life. From one of them she
had accepted a copy of Woolman's works,--evidence that there must have
been religious discussions between them. And that there was talk--
probably some jesting--in the family about Quakers is shown by the
little incident Sarah relates of her brother Thomas presenting her,
soon after her return from North Carolina, with a volume of Quaker
writings he had picked up at some sale. He placed it in her hand,
saying jocosely,--

"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 of her; but so
appalling did the act appear to her that she trembled, hesitated,
resisted, and was silent. Sorrow and remorse at once filled her soul;
and, feeling that she had sinned against the Holy Ghost, she thought
that God never could forgive her, and that no sacrifice she could ever
offer could atone for this first act of disobedience. Through long and
dreary years it was the spectre that never would down, but stood ready
to point its accusing finger whenever she was tempted to seek the cause
of her disappointments and sorrows.

Thus, in the very outset of her new departure, arose apprehensions
which followed her continually, robbing her religious exercises of all
peace, and bringing her such a depth of misery that, she says, it
almost destroyed her soul. The frequent letters of her Quaker friend,
though calculated to soothe and encourage her, were all firm on the
point of implicit obedience to the movements of the Spirit; and she
found herself in a straight and narrow path, from which she was not
allowed to deviate.

To this friend, Israel Morris, Sarah seems to have confessed all her
shortcomings, all her fears, until, encouraged by his sympathy, and led
by her longing for a wider field of action, she began to contemplate a
removal to the North. There were other causes which urged her to seek
another home. The inharmonious life in her family, joined to the
reproaches and ridicule constantly aimed at her, and which stung her to
the quick, naturally inspired the desire to go where she would be rid
of it all, and live in peace. In her religious exaltation, it was easy
for her to persuade herself that she was moved to make this important
change by the Lord's command. She sincerely believed it was so, and
speaks of it as an unmistakable call, not to be disregarded, to go
forth from that land, and her work would be shown her. Naturally,
Philadelphia was the spot to which she was directed. When informed of
her desires, Israel Morris not only gave his approval, but invited her
to a home in his family. A door of shelter and safety being thus thrown
open to her, she no longer hesitated, but at once made known her
intention to her relatives. There seems to have been little or no
opposition offered to a step so serious; in fact, her brothers and
sisters, though much attached to her,--for her loving nature was
irresistible,--evidently felt it a relief when she was gone, her strict
and pious life being a constant rebuke to their worldly views and
practices.

Her sister Anna, at her urgent request, accompanied her on the voyage.
This sister, the widow of an Episcopal clergyman, though a defender of
slavery as an institution, recognized its evil influences on the
society where it existed, and gladly accepted the opportunity offered
to take her young daughter away from them. It was necessary, too, that
she should do something to increase her slender income, and Sarah
advised opening a small school in Philadelphia,--a thing which she
could not have done in Charleston without a sacrifice of her own social
position and of the family pride.

There is nothing said of the parting, even from Angelina, though we
know it must have been a hard trial for Sarah to leave this young
sister, just budding into womanhood, and surrounded by all the snares
whose alluring influences she understood so well. That she could
consent to leave her thus is perhaps the strongest proof of her faith
in the imperative nature of the summons to which she felt she was
yielding obedience.

The exiles reached Philadelphia without accident in the latter part of
May, 1821. Lodgings were found for Mrs. Frost and her child, and Sarah
went at once to the residence of her friend, Israel Morris.




CHAPTER III.


It is very much to be regretted that all of Sarah Grimké's letters to
Angelina, and to other members of her family at this time, were, at her
own request, destroyed as received. They would not only have afforded
most interesting reading, but would have thrown light on much which,
without them, is necessarily obscure. Nor were there more than
twenty-five or thirty of Angelina's letters preserved, and they were
written between the years 1826 and 1828. We therefore have but little
data by which to follow Sarah's life during the five years succeeding
her return to Philadelphia, and before she again went, to Charleston;
or Angelina's life at home, during the same period. Sarah's diary,
frequently interrupted, continues to record her religious sorrows, for
these followed her even into the peaceful home at "Greenhill Farm," the
name of Israel Morris's place, where she was received and treated like
a near and dear relative; and it was but natural and proper that she
should be so accepted by the members of Mr. Morris's family. He was
literally her only friend at the North. Through his influence she had
been brought into the Quaker religion, and encouraged to leave her
mother and native land. She was entirely unpractised in the ways of the
world, and was besides in very narrow circumstances, her only available
income being the interest on $10,000, the sum left by Judge Grimké to
each of his children. The estate had not yet been settled up. Add to
all this the virtue of hospitality, inculcated by the Quaker doctrine,
and it seems perfectly natural that Sarah should accept the offer of
her friend in the spirit in which it was made, and feel grateful to her
Heavenly Father that such a refuge was provided for her.

The notes in her journal for that summer are rather meagre. She
attended meeting regularly, but made no formal application to be
received into the Society of Friends. It would hardly have been
considered so soon; she must first go through a season of probation.
How hard this was is told in the lamentations and prayers which she
confided to her diary. The "fearful act of disobedience" of which she
was guilty in Charleston lay as a heavy load on her spirit, troubling
her thoughts by day and her dreams by night, until she says: "At times
I am almost led to believe I shall never know good any more."

Notwithstanding these trying spiritual exercises, the summer seems to
have passed in more peace than she had dared to hope for. Israel Morris
was a truly good man, with a strong, genial nature, which must have had
a soothing effect upon Sarah's troubled spirit. But before many months
her thoughts began to turn back to home. Her mother's want of
spirituality, from her standpoint, grieved her greatly. The accounts
she received of the disorder in the family added to her anxieties, and
she felt that her influence was needed to bring about harmony, and to
guide her mother on the road to Zion. She laid the case before the
Lord, and, receiving no intimation that she would be doing a wrong
thing, she decided to return to Charleston.

Before leaving Philadelphia, however, she felt that it was her duty to
assume the full Quaker dress. She had worn plain colors from the time
she began to attend meeting in her native city, but the clothes were
not fashioned after the Quaker style, and she still indulged herself in
occasionally wearing a becoming black dress; though when she did so,
she not only felt uncomfortable herself, but knew that she made many of
her friends so. "Persisting in so doing," she says, "I have since been
made sensible, manifested a want of condescension entirely unbecoming a
Christian, and one day conviction was so strong on this subject, that,
as I was dressing, I felt as if I could not proceed, but sat down with
my dress half on, and these words passed through my mind: Can it be of
any consequence in the sight of God whether I wear a black dress or
not? The evidence was clear that it was not, but that self-will was the
cause of my continuing to do it. For this I suffered much, but was at
length strengthened to cast away this idol."

Remembering the fashionable life she had once led, and her natural
taste for the beautiful in all things, it must have been something of a
sacrifice, even though sustained by her religious exaltation, to lay
aside everything pretty and becoming, and, denying herself even so much
as a flower from nature's own fields, to array herself in the scant and
sober dress of drab, the untrimmed kerchief, and the poke bonnet.

Writing from Greenhill in October, she says:

"On last Fifth Day I changed my dress for the more plain one of the
Quakers, not because I think making my clothes in their peculiar manner
makes me any better, but because I believe it was laid upon me, seeing
that my natural will revolted from the idea of assuming this garb. I
trust I have made this change in a right spirit, and with a single eye
to my dear Redeemer. It was accompanied by a feeling of much peace."

Late in the autumn she sailed for Charleston, and was received by the
home circle with affection, though her plain dress gave occasion for
some slighting remarks. These, however, no longer affected her as they
once had done, and she bore them in silence. Surrounded by her family,
all of whom she warmly loved, in spite of their want of sympathy with
her, rooming with her "precious child," with full opportunity to
counsel and direct her, and intent upon carrying out reform in the
household, she was for a time almost contented. She took up her old
routine, her charities, and her schools, and attended meeting
regularly. But a very few weeks sufficed to make her realize her utter
inability to harmonize the discordant elements in her home, or to make
more than a transient impression upon her mother. Day by day she became
more discouraged; everything seemed to conspire to thwart her efforts
for good, which were misconstrued and misunderstood. Surrounded, too,
and besieged by all the familiar influences of her old life, it became
harder to sustain her peculiar views and habits, and spiritual
luke-warmness gained rapidly upon her. With deep humility she
acknowledged the mistake she had made in going back to Charleston,
which place was evidently not the vineyard in which she could labor to
any profit.

In July she was again in Philadelphia, a member now of the family of
Catherine Morris, sister to Israel. Here she remained until after her
admission into Friends' Society, when, feeling it her duty to make
herself independent of the friends who had been so kind to her, she
cast about her for something to do, and was mortified and chagrined to
find there was nothing suited to her capacity.

"Oh!" she exclaims, "had I received the education I desired, had I been
bred to the profession of the law, I might have been a useful member of
society, and instead of myself and my property being taken care of, I
might have been a protector of the helpless, a pleader for the poor and
unfortunate."

The industrial avenues for women were few and narrow in those days; and
for the want of some practical knowledge, the doors Sarah Grimké might
have entered were closed to her, and she was finally forced to abandon
her hopes of independence, and to again accept a home for the winter in
Israel Morris's house, now in the city. It must not be supposed,
however, that either here or at Catherine's, where she afterwards made
her steady home, she was a burden or a hindrance. She was too energetic
and too conscientious to be a laggard anywhere. So kind and so
thoughtful was she, so helpful in sickness, so sympathetic in joy and
in sorrow, that she more than earned her frugal board wherever she
went. Could she only have been persuaded that it was right to yield to
her naturally cheerful temper, she would have been a delightful
companion at all times; but her sadness frequently affected her
friends, and even drew forth an occasional reproof. The ministry, that
dreadful requirement which she felt sure the Lord would make of her,
was ever before her, and in fear and trembling she awaited the moment
when the command would be given, "Arise and speak."

This painful preparation went on year after year, but her advance
towards her expected goal was very slow. She would occasionally nerve
herself to speak a few words of admonition in a small meeting, make a
short prayer, or quote a text of scripture, but her services were
limited to these efforts. She often feared that she was restrained by
her desire that her first attempt at exhorting should be a brilliant
success, and place her at once where she would be a power in the
meetings; and she prayed constantly for a clear manifestation,
something she could not mistake, that she might not be tempted by the
hope of relief from present suffering to move prematurely in the "awful
work."

Thus she waited, trying to restrain and satisfy her impatient yearnings
for some real, living work by teaching charity schools, visiting
prisons, and going through the duties of monthly, quarterly, and yearly
meetings. But she could not shut out from herself the doubts that would
force themselves forward, that her time was not employed as it should
be.

We hear nothing of her family during these years, nothing to indicate
any change in their condition or in their feelings. We know, however,
that Sarah kept up a frequent correspondence with her mother and with
Angelina, and that chiefly through her admonitions the latter was
turned from her worldly life to more serious concerns.

Like Sarah, Angelina grew up a gay, fashionable girl. Her personal
beauty and qualities of mind and heart challenged the admiration of all
who came in contact with her. More brilliant than Sarah, she was also
more self-reliant, and, though quite as sympathetic and sensitive, she
was neither so demonstrative nor so tender in her feelings as her elder
sister, and her manner being more dignified and positive, she inspired,
even in those nearest to her, a certain degree of awe which forbade,
perhaps, the fulness of confidence which Sarah's greater gentleness
always invited. Her frankness and scrupulous conscientiousness were
equal to Sarah's, but she always preserved her individuality and her
right to think for herself. Once convinced, she could maintain her
opinion against all arguments and persuasions, no matter from whom. As
an illustration of this, it is related of her that when she was about
thirteen years of age the bishop of the diocese called to talk to her
about being confirmed. She had, of course, been baptized when an
infant, and he told her she was now old enough to take upon herself the
vows then made for her. She asked the meaning of confirmation, and was
referred to the prayer-book. After reading the rite over, she said:--

"I cannot be confirmed, for I cannot promise what is here required."

The bishop urged that it was a form which all went through who had been
baptized in the Church, and expected to remain in it. Looking him
calmly in the face, she said, in a tone whose decision could not be
questioned:--

"If, with my feelings and views as they now are, I should go through
that form, it would be acting a lie. I cannot do it." And no
persuasions could induce her to consent.

Like Sarah, she felt much for the slaves, and was ever kind to them,
thoughtful, and considerate. She, too, suffered keenly when punishments
were inflicted upon them; and no one could listen without tears to the
account she gave of herself, as a little girl, stealing out of the
house after dark with a bottle of oil with which to anoint the wounds
of some poor creature who had been torn by the lash. Earlier than
Sarah, she recognized the whole injustice of the system, and refused
ever to have anything to do with it. She did once own a woman, but
under the following circumstances:--

"I had determined," she writes, "never to own a slave; but, finding
that my mother could not manage Kitty, I undertook to do so, if I could
have her without any interference from anyone. This could not be unless
she was mine, and purely from notions of duty I consented to own her.
Soon after, one of my mother's servants quarrelled with her, and beat
her. I determined she should not be subject to such abuse, and I went
out to find her a place in some Christian family. My steps were ordered
by the Lord. I succeeded in my desire, and placed her with a religious
friend, where she was kindly treated."

Afterwards, when the woman had become a good Methodist, Angelina
transferred the ownership to her mother, not wishing to receive the
woman's wages,--to take, as she said, money which that poor creature
had earned.

There is no evidence that, up to the time of her first visit to
Philadelphia, in 1828, she saw anything sinful in owning slaves;
indeed, Sarah distinctly says she did not. She took the Bible as
authority for the right to own them, and their cruel treatment by their
masters was all that distressed her for many years.

Like most of her young companions, Angelina had great respect for the
ordinary observances of religion without much devotional sense of its
sacred obligations. But Sarah did not neglect her duty as godmother.
Her searching inquiries and solemn warnings had their effect, and soon
awakened a slumbering conscience. But its upbraidings were not accepted
unquestionably by Angelina, as they had been by Sarah. They only stung
her into a desire for investigation. She must know the why; and her
strong self-reliance helped her judgment, and buoyed her up amid waves
of doubt and anxiety that would have submerged her more timid sister.

In the first letter of hers that was preserved, written in January,
1826, we are introduced to her religious feelings, and find that they
were formed by the pattern set by Sarah, save that they lacked Sarah's
earnestness and sincere conviction. She acknowledges herself a poor,
miserable sinner, but the tone is that of confidence that she will come
out all right, and that it isn't really such a dreadful thing to be a
sinner after all. In this letter, too, she mentions the death of her
brother Benjamin, and in the same spirit in which Sarah wrote of it.

"I was in Beaufort," she says, "when the news of my dear Ben's fate
arrived. You may well suppose it was a great shock to my feelings, but
I did not for one moment doubt all was right. This blow has been dealt
by the hand of mercy. We have been much comforted in this dispensation.
I have felt that it was good for me, and I think I have been thankful
for it."

And further on: "If this affliction will only make Mary (Benjamin's
wife) a real Christian, how small will be the price of her salvation!"

Poor Ben! heroic, self-sacrificing soul, he was not a professing
Christian.

In this same letter she expresses the desire to become a communicant of
the Episcopal Church.

But she did not wait for Sarah's answer. Before it came, she and one of
her sisters had joined the Church. This was in January. Before a month
had passed she began to be dissatisfied, and grew more and more so as
time went on. Why, it is not difficult to surmise. From having been
accustomed to much society and genial intercourse, she found herself,
from her own choice, shut out from it all, and imprisoned within the
rigid formalism and narrow exclusiveness of a proud, aristocratic
church society. The compensation of knowing herself a lamb of this
flock was not sufficient. She starved, she says, on the cold water of
Episcopacy, and, to her mother's distress, began going to the
Presbyterian church, just as Sarah had done.

In April, she writes thus to her sister:--

"O, my dear mother, I have joyful news to tell you. God has given me a
new heart. He has renewed a right spirit within me. This is news which
has occasioned even the angels in heaven to rejoice; surely, then, as a
Christian, as my sister and my mother, you will also greatly rejoice.
For many years I hardened my heart, and would not listen to God's
admonitions to flee from the wrath to come. Now I feel as if I could
give up all for Christ, and that if I no longer live in conformity to
the world, I can be saved."

She then states that this change was brought about by the preaching of
Mr. McDowell, the Presbyterian minister, and that she can never be
grateful enough, as his ministry had been blessed to the saving of her
soul. A little further on she adds:--

"The Presbyterians, I think, enjoy so many privileges that, on this
account, I would wish to be one. They have their monthly concert and
prayer-meetings, Bible-classes, weekly prayer-meetings, morning and
evening, and many more which spring from different circumstances. I
trust, my dear mother, you will approve of what I have done. I cannot
but think if I had been taking an improper step, my conscience would
have warned me of it, but, far otherwise, I have gone on my way
rejoicing.

"Mr. Hanckel sent me a note and a tract persuasive of my remaining in
his church. The latter I think the most bigoted thing I ever read. He
said he would call and see me on the subject. I trust and believe God
will give me words whereby to refute his arguments. Brother Tom
sanctioned my change, for his liberal mind embraces all classes of
Christians in the arms of charity and love, and he thinks everyone
right to sit under that minister, and choose that form, which makes the
deepest impression on the heart. I feel that I have begun a great work,
and must be diligent. Adieu, my dear mother. You must write soon to
your daughter, and tell her all your mind on this subject."

There is something very refreshing in all this, after poor Sarah's
pages of bitterness and self-reproach. At that time, at any rate,
Angelina enjoyed her religion. It was to her the fulfilment of promise.
Sarah experienced little of its satisfactions, and groaned and wept
under its requirements, from a sense of her utter unworthiness to
accept any of its blessings. And this difference between the sisters
continued always. Angelina knew that humility was the chief of the
Christian virtues, and often she believed she had attained to it; but
there was too much self-assertion, too much of the pride of power, in
her composition, to permit her to go down into the depths, and
prostrate herself in the dust as Sarah did. She could turn her full
gaze to the sun, and bask in its genial beams, while Sarah felt
unworthy to be touched by a single ray, and looked up to its light with
imploring but shaded eyes.

In November, 1827, Sarah again visited Charleston. Her heart yearned
for Angelina, whose religious state excited her tenderest solicitude,
and called for her wisest counsel. For that enthusiastic young convert
was again running off the beaten track, and picking flaws in her new
doctrines. But there was another reason why Sarah desired to absent
herself from Philadelphia for a while.

I can touch but lightly on this experience of her life, for her
sensitive soul quivered under any allusion to it; and though her diary
contains many references to it, they are chiefly in the form of prayers
for submission to her trial, and strength to bear it. But it was the
key-note to the dirge which sounded ever after in her heart, mingling
its mournful numbers with every joy, even after she had risen beyond
her religious horrors.

For months she fought against this new snare of Satan, as she termed
it, this plain design to draw her thoughts from God, and compass her
destruction. The love of Christ should surely be enough for her, and
any craving for earthly affection was the evidence of an unsanctified
heart. In a delicate reference to this, in after years, she says:--

"It is a beautiful theory, but my experience belies it, that God can be
all in all to man. There are moments, diamond points in life, when God
fills the yearning soul, and supplies all our needs, through the
richness of his mercy in Christ Jesus. But human hearts are created for
human hearts to love and be loved by, and their claims are as true and
as sacred as those of the spirit."

It was very soon after her first doubts concerning her worthiness to
accept the happiness offered to her that she determined to go to
Charleston and put her feelings to the test of absence and unbiased
reflection. The entry in her diary of November 22d is as follows:--

"Landed this morning in Charleston, and was welcomed by my dear mother
with tears of pleasure and tenderness, as she folded me once more to
her bosom. My dear sisters, too, greeted me with all the warmth of
affection. It is a blessing to find them all seriously disposed, and my
precious Angelina one of the Master's chosen vessels. What a mercy!"




CHAPTER IV.


The strong contrast between Sarah and Angelina Grimké was shown not
only in their religious feelings, but in their manner of treating the
ordinary concerns of life, and in carrying out their convictions of
duty. In her humility, and in her strong reliance on the "inner light,"
Sarah refused to trust her own judgment, even in the merest trifles,
such as the lending of a book to a friend, postponing the writing of a
letter, or sweeping a room to-day, when it might be better to defer it
until to-morrow. She says of this: "Perhaps to some who have been led
by higher ways than I have been into a knowledge of the truth, it may
appear foolish to think of seeking direction in little things, but my
mind has for a long time been in a state in which I have often felt a
fear how I came in or went out, and I have found it a precious thing to
stop and consult the mind of truth, and be governed thereby."

The following incident, one out of many, will illustrate the sincerity
of her conviction on this point.

"In this frame of mind I went to meeting, and it being a rainy day I
took a large, handsome umbrella, which I had accepted from brother
Henry, accepted doubtfully, therefore wrongfully, and have never felt
quite easy to use it, which, however, I have done a few times. After I
was in meeting, I was much tried with a wandering mind, and every now
and then the umbrella would come before me, so that I sat trying to
wait on my God, and he showed me that I must not only give up this
little thing, but return it to brother. Glad to purchase peace, I
yielded; then the reasoner said I could put it away and not use it, but
this language was spoken: 'I have shown thee what was required of
thee.' It seemed to me that a little light came through a narrow
passage, when my will was subdued. Now this is a marvellous thing to
me, as marvellous as the dealings of the Lord with me in what may
appear great things."

In a note she adds: "This little sacrifice was made. I sent the
umbrella with an affectionate note to brother, and believe it gave him
no offence to have it returned. And sweet has been the recompense--even
peace."

Whenever she acted from her own impulses, she was very clever in
finding out some disappointment or mistake, which she could claim as a
punishment for her self-will.

As sympathy was the strongest quality of her moral nature, she suffered
intensely when, impelled by a sense of duty, she offered a rebuke of
any kind. The tenderest pity stirred her heart for wrong-doers, and
though she never spared the sinner, it was always manifest that she
loved him while hating his sin.

Angelina, on the other hand, was wonderfully well satisfied with her
own power of distinguishing right from wrong; this power being, she
believed, the gift of the Spirit to her. She sought her object,
dreading no consequences, and if disaster followed she comforted
herself with the feeling that she had acted according to her best
light. She was a faithful disciple of every cause she espoused, and
scrupulously exact in obeying even its implied provisions. In this
there was no hesitancy. No matter who was offended, or what sacrifices
to herself it involved, the law, the strict letter of the law, must be
carried out.

In the early years of her religious life, she frequently felt called
upon to rebuke those about her. She did it unhesitatingly, and as a
righteous and an inflexible judge.

In order to make these differences between the sisters more plain,
differences which harmonized singularly with their unity in other
respects, I shall be obliged, at the risk of wearying the reader, to
make some further extracts from their diaries, before entering upon
that portion of their lives in which they became so closely identified.

After Sarah's return home, in 1827, we learn more of her mother and of
the family generally, and see, though with them, how far apart she
really was from them. The second entry in her diary at that date shows
the beginning of this.

"23d. Have been favored with strength to absent myself from family
prayers. A great trial this to Angelina and myself, and something the
rest cannot understand. But I have a testimony to bear against will
worship, and oh, that I may be faithful to this and to all the
testimonies which we as a Society are called to declare.

"26th. Am this day thirty-five years old. A serious consideration that
I have passed so many years to so little profit.

"How little mother seems to know when I am sitting solemnly beside her,
of the supplications which arise for her, under the view of her having
ere long to give an account of the deeds done in the body."

A month later she writes: "The subject of returning to Philadelphia has
been revived before me. It seems like a fresh trial, and as if, did my
Master permit, here would I stay, and in the bosom of my family be
content to dwell; but if he orders it otherwise, great as will be the
struggle, may I submit in humble faith."

By the following extracts it will be seen that living under the daily
and hourly influence of Sarah, Angelina was slowly but surely imbibing
the fresh milk of Quakerism, and was preparing for another great change
on her spiritual journey.

In March, 1828, she wrote as follows to her sister, Mrs. Frost, in
Philadelphia:--

"I think I can say that it was owing in a great measure to my peculiar
state of mind that I did not write to you for so long. During that time
it seemed as though the Lord was driving me from everything on which I
had rested for happiness, in order to bring me to Christ alone. My dear
little church, in which I delighted once to dwell, seemed to have
Ichabod written upon its walls, and I felt as though it was a cross for
me to go into it. At times I thought the Saviour meant to bring me out
of it, and I could weep at the bare thought of being separated from
people I loved so dearly. Like Abraham, I had gone out from my kindred
into a strange land, and I have often thought that by faith I was
joined to that body of Christians, for I certainly knew nothing at all
about them at that time."

In the latter part of the letter she mentions the visit to her of an
Episcopal minister, from near Beaufort. He asked her if she could not
do something to remove the lukewarmness from the Episcopal Church, and
if a real evangelical minister was sent there would she not return to
it. "But," she says, "I told him I could not conscientiously belong to
any church which exalted itself above all others, and excluded
ministers of other denominations from its pulpit. The principle of
_liberty_ is what especially endears the Presbyterian church to me. Our
pulpit is open to all Christians, and, as I have often heard my dear
pastor remark, our communion table is the _Lord's table_, and all his
children are cheerfully received at it."

About the same time Sarah says in her diary: "My dear Angelina observed
to-day, 'I do not know what is the matter with me; some time ago I
could talk to the poor people, but now it seems as if my lips were
absolutely sealed. I cannot get the words out.' I mark with intense
interest her progress in the divine life, believing she is raised up to
declare the wonderful works of God to the children of men."

In the latter part of March, 1828, she makes the following entry: "On
the eve of my departure from home, all before me lies in darkness save
this one step, to go at this time in the _Langdon Cheeves_. This seems
peremptory, and at times precious promises have been annexed to
obedience,--'Go, and I will be with thee.'"

Angelina had been very happy during the year spent in the Presbyterian
Church, all its requirements suiting her temperament exactly. Her
energy and activity found full exercise in various works of charity, in
visiting the prison, where she delighted to exhort the prisoners, in
reading, and especially in expounding the scriptures to the sick and
aged; in zealously forwarding missionary work, and in warm interest in
all the social exercises of the society. She was petted by the pastor,
and admired by the congregation. It was very pleasant to her to feel
that she not only 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. Grimké, 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,
her well-beloved sister Angelina proposed adding to the collection for
the cushion two handsome lace veils, a lace flounce, and other laces,
etc., which were accepted, and are accordingly in this medley. This has
been done under feelings of duty, believing that, as we are called with
a high and holy calling, and forbidden to adorn these bodies, but to
wear the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, as we have ourselves laid
aside these superfluities of naughtiness, so we should not in any
measure contribute to the destroying of others, knowing that we shall
be called to give an account of the deeds done in the body."

This was at least consistent, and in this light cannot be condemned.
From that time Angelina kept up this kind of sacrifices, which were
gladly made, and for which she seems to have found ample compensation
in her satisfied sense of duty.

One day she records: "I have just untrimmed my hat, and have put
nothing but a band of ribbon around it, and taken the lace out of the
inside. I do want, if I _am_ a Christian, to look like one. I think
that professors of religion ought so to dress that wherever they are
seen all around may feel they are _condemning_ the world and all its
trifling vanities."

A little later, she writes: "My attention has lately been called to the
duty of Christians dressing _quite_ plain. When I was first brought to
the feet of Jesus, I learned this lesson in part, but I soon forgot
much of it. Now I find my views stricter and clearer than they ever
were. The first thing I gave up was a cashmere mantle which cost twenty
dollars. I had not felt easy with it for some months, and finally
determined never to wear it again, though I had no money at the time to
replace it with anything else. However, I gave it up in faith, and the
Lord provided for me. This part of Scripture came very forcibly to my
mind, and very sweetly, too, 'And Dagon was fallen upon his face to the
ground before the ark of the Lord.' It was then clearly revealed to me
that if the true ark Christ Jesus was really introduced into the temple
of the heart, that every idol would fall before it."

Elsewhere she mentions that she had begun with this mantle by cutting
off the border; but this compromise did not satisfy conscience.

But the work thus begun did not ripen until some time after Sarah's
departure, though the preparation for it went daily and silently on.

Sarah in the meanwhile was once more quietly settled at Catherine
Morris' house in Philadelphia.

But we must leave this much-tried pilgrim for a little while, and
record the progress of her young disciple on the path which, through
much tribulation, led her at last to her sister's side, and to that
work which was even now preparing for them both.




CHAPTER V.


Angelina's diary, commenced in 1828, is most characteristic, and in the
very beginning shows that inclination to the consideration and
discussion of serious questions which in after years so distinguished
her.

It is rather remarkable to find a girl of twenty-three scribbling over
several pages about the analogy existing between the natural and the
spiritual world, or discussing with herself the question: "Are seasons
of darkness always occasioned by sin?" or giving a long list of reasons
why she differs from commentators upon certain texts of scriptures. She
enjoyed this kind of thinking and writing, and seems to have been
unwearying in her search after authorities to sustain her views. The
maxims, too, which she was fond of jotting down here and there, and
which furnished the texts for long dissertations, show the serious
drift of her thoughts, and their clearness and beauty.

From this time it is interesting to follow her spiritual progress, so
like and yet so unlike Sarah's. She, also, early in her religious life,
was impressed with the feeling that she would be called to some great
work. In the winter of 1828, she writes:--

"It does appear to me, and it has appeared so ever since I had a hope,
that there was a work before me to which all my other duties and trials
were only preparatory. I have no idea what it is, and I may be
mistaken, but it does seem that if I am obedient to the 'still small
voice' in my heart, that it will lead me and cause me to glorify my
Master in a more honorable work than any in which I have been yet
engaged."

Knowing Sarah's convictions at this time, it is easy to imagine the
long, confidential talks she must have had with Angelina, and the
loving persuasion used to bring this dear sister into the same
communion with herself, and it is no marvel that she succeeded.
Angelina's nature was an earnest one, and she ever sought the truth,
and the best in every doctrine, and this remained with her after the
rest was rejected. The Presbyterian Church satisfied her better than
the Episcopal, but if Sarah or anyone else could show her a brighter
light to guide her, a better path leading to the same goal, she would
have thought it a heinous offence against God and her own true nature
to reject it. That no desire for novelty impelled her in her then
contemplated change, and that she foresaw all she would have to contend
with, and the sacrifices she would have to make, is evident from
several passages like the following:--

"Yesterday I was thrown into great exercise of mind. The Lord more
clearly than ever unfolded his design of appointing me another field of
labor, and at the same time I felt released from the cross of
conducting family worship. I feel that very soon all the burdens will
drop from my hands, and all the cords by which I have been bound to
many Christian friends will be broken asunder. Soon I shall be a
stranger among those with whom I took sweet counsel, and shall have to
tread the wine press alone and be forsaken of all."

A day or two after she says:--

"This morning I felt no condemnation when I went into family prayers,
and did not lead as usual in the duties. I felt that my Master had
stripped me of the priest's garments, and put them on my mother. May He
be pleased to anoint her for these sacred duties."

Her impressions may be accounted for by the influence of Sarah's
feelings regarding herself, and as there was then no other field of
public usefulness open to women, especially among the Quakers, than the
ministry, her mind naturally settled upon that as her prospective work.
But, unlike Sarah, the anticipation inspired her with no dread, no
doubt even of her ability to perform the duties, or of her entire
acceptance in them. It is true she craved of the Lord guidance and
help, but she was confident she would receive all she needed, and in
this state of mind she was better fitted, perhaps, to wait patiently
for her summons than Sarah was.

She gives a minute and very interesting account of the successive steps
by which she was led to feel that she could no longer worship in the
Presbyterian Church, and we see the workings of Sarah's influence
through it all. But it was not until after Sarah left for Philadelphia
that Angelina took any decided measures to release herself from the old
bonds. All winter it had grieved her to think of leaving a church which
she had called the cradle of her soul, and where she had enjoyed so
many privileges. She loved everything connected with it; the pastor to
whom she had looked up as her spiritual guide; the members with whom
she had been so intimately associated, and the Sunday-school in which
she was much beloved, and where she felt she was doing a good work.
Again and again she asked herself: "How can I give them up?"

Her friends all noticed the decline of her interest in the church work
and services, and commented upon it. But she shrank for a long time
from any open avowal of her change of views, preferring to let her
conduct tell the story. And in this she was straightforward and open
enough, not hesitating to act at once upon each new light as it was
given to her. First came the putting away of everything like ornament
about her dress. "Even the bows on my shoes," she says, "must go," and
then continues:--

"My friends tell me that I render myself ridiculous, and expose the
cause of Jesus to reproach, on account of my plain dressing. They tell
me it is wrong to make myself so conspicuous. But the more I ponder on
the subject, the more I feel that I am called with a high and holy
calling, and that I ought to be peculiar, and cannot be too zealous. I
rejoice to look forward to the time when Christians will follow the
apostolical injunction to 'keep their garments unspotted from the
world;' and is not every conformity to it a spot on the believer's
character? I think it is, and I bless the Lord that He has been pleased
to bring my mind to a contemplation of this subject. I pray that He may
strengthen me to keep the resolution to dress always in the following
style: A hat over the face, without any bows of ribbon or lace; no
frills or trimmings on any part of my dress, and materials _not_ the
finest."

This simplicity in dress, and the sinfulness of every self-indulgence,
she also taught to her Sunday-school scholars with more or less
success, as one example out of several of a similar character will
show.

"Yesterday," she writes, "I met my class, and think it was a profitable
meeting to all. One of them has entertained a hope for about a year.
She asked me if I thought it wrong to plant geraniums? I told her _I_
had no time for such things. She then said that she had once taken
great pleasure in cultivating them, but lately she had felt so much
condemnation that she had given it up entirely. Another professed to
have some little hope in the Saviour, and remarked that I had changed
her views with regard to dress very much, that she had taken off her
rings and flounces, and hoped never to wear them again. Her hat also
distressed her. It was almost new, and she could not afford to get
another. I told her if she would send it to me I would try to change
it. Two others came who felt a little, but are still asleep. A good
work is evidently begun. May it be carried triumphantly on."

Towards spring she began to absent herself from the weekly
prayer-meetings, to stop her active charities, and to withdraw herself
more from the family and social circle. In April she writes in her
diary:--

"My mind is composed, and I cannot but feel astonished at the total
change which has passed over me in the last six months. I once
delighted in going to meeting four and five times every week, but now
my Master says, 'Be still,' and I would rather be at home; for I find
that every stream from which I used to drink the waters of salvation is
dry, and that I have been led to the fountain itself. And is it
possible, I would ask myself to-night, is it possible that I have this
day paid my last visit to the Presbyterian Church? that I have taught
my interesting class for the last time? Is it right that I should
separate myself from a people whom I have loved so tenderly, and who
have been the helpers of my joy? Is it right to give up instructing
those dear children, whom I have so often carried in the arms of faith
and love to the throne of grace? Reason would sternly answer, _No_, but
the Spirit whispers, 'Come out from among them!' I am sure if I refuse
the call of my Master to the Society of Friends, I shall be a dead
member in the Presbyterian Church. I have read none of their books for
fear of being convinced of their principles, but the Lord has taught me
Himself, and I feel that He who is Head over all things, has called me
to follow Him into the little silent meeting which is in this city."

And into the little silent meeting she went,--little, indeed, as the
only regular attendants were two old men; and silent, chiefly because
between these two there was a bitter feud, and the communion of spirit
was naturally preferred to vocal intercession.

When Angelina became aware of this state of feeling, and saw that the
two old Quakers always left the meeting-house without shaking hands, as
it was the custom to do, she became much troubled, and for several
weeks much of the comfort of attending meeting was destroyed. "The more
I thought of it," she writes to Sarah, "the clearer became the
conviction that I must write to J.K. (the one with whom she was best
acquainted). This I did, after asking counsel of the Lord, for full
well did I know that I should expose myself to the anger and rudeness
of J.K., by touching on a point which I believed was already sore from
the prickings of conscience. His reply was even harsher than I
expected; but, though it did wound my feelings, it convinced me that he
needed just what I wrote, and that the pure witness within him
condemned him. My letter, I think, was written in conformity to the
direction given by Paul to Timothy, 'Rebuke not an _elder_, but entreat
him as a father,' and in a spirit of love and tenderness. His answer
spoke a spirit too proud to brook even the meekest remonstrance, and he
tried to justify his conduct by saying that D.L. was a thief and a
slave-holder, and had cheated him out of a large sum of money, etc. I
answered him, expressing my belief that, let D.L.'s moral character be
what it might, the Christian ought to be gentle and courteous to all
men; and that we were bound to love our enemies, which was not at all
inconsistent with the obligation to bear a decided testimony against
all that we believed contrary to the precepts of the Bible. He sent me
another letter, in which he declared D.L. was to him as a 'heathen and
a publican,' and I was a 'busybody in other men's matters.' Here I
think the matter will end. I feel that I have done what was required of
me, and I am willing he should think of me as he does, so long as I
enjoy the testimony of a good conscience."

We cannot wonder that Angelina drew upon herself, as Sarah had done,
the arrows of ridicule; and that taunts and sneers followed her, as she
walked alone in her simple dress to her humble place of worship. But we
marvel that one situated as she was,--young, naturally gay and
brilliant, the centre of a large circle of fashionable friends, the ewe
lamb of an influential religious society,--should have unflinchingly
maintained her position under persecutions and trials that would have
made many an older disciple succumb. That they were martyrdom to her
proud spirit there can be no doubt; but, sustained by the inner light,
the conviction that she was right, she could put every temptation
behind her, and resist even the prayers and tears of her mother.

Her withdrawal from the Presbyterian Church caused the most intense
excitement in the community, and every effort was made to reclaim her.

The Rev. Mr. McDowell, her pastor, visited her, and remonstrated with
her in the most feeling manner, assuring her of his profound pity, as
she was evidently under a delusion of the arch-adversary. Members of
the congregation made repeated calls upon her, urging every argument
they could think of to convince her she was deceived. Some expressed a
fear that her mind was a little unbalanced, and shook their heads over
the possible result; others declared that she was committing a great
impropriety to shut herself up every Sunday with two old men. This,
Angelina informed them, was a mistake, as the windows and doors were
wide open, and the gate also. Others of her friends assured her with
tears in their eyes that they would pray to the Lord to bring her back
to the path of duty she had forsaken.

The superintendent of the Sunday-school came also to plead with her, in
the name of the children she was abandoning. Some of the scholars
themselves came and implored her not to leave them.

"But," she writes, "none of these things turn me a hair's breadth, for
I have the witness in myself that I have done as the Master commanded.
Some tell me this is a judgment on me for sin committed; and some say
it is a chastisement to Mr. McDowell for going away last summer."

(During the prevalence of an epidemic the summer before, the
Presbyterian pastor had been much blamed for deserting his flock and
fleeing to the sea-shore until all danger was past.)

By all this it will be seen that Angelina was regarded as too precious
a jewel in the crown of the Church to be relinquished without a
struggle.

But satisfied as was her conscience, Angelina's natural feelings could
not be immediately stifled. Though not so sensitive or so affectionate
as Sarah, she was quite as proud, and valued as greatly the good
opinion of her family and friends. She could not feel herself an
outcast, an object of pity and derision, without being deeply affected
by it. Her health gave way under the pressure, and a change of scene
and climate was recommended. Sarah at once urged that she join her in
Philadelphia; and, this meeting the approbation of her mother, she
sailed for the North in July (1828).

In Sarah's diary, about this time, we find the following entry:--

"13th. My beloved Angelina arrived yesterday. Peace has, I believe,
been the covering of our minds; and in thinking of her to-day, and
trying to feel whether I should advise her not to adopt immediately the
garb of a Quaker, the language presented itself, 'Touch not mine
anointed, and do my prophets no harm.' So I dared not meddle with her."

The summer was a peaceful and delightful one to Angelina. She was the
guest of Catherine Morris, and was treated like a daughter by all the
kind Quaker circle. The novelty of her surroundings, the fresh scenes
and new ideas constantly presented before her, opened up a field of
thought whose boundaries only she had until then touched, but which she
soon began eagerly and conscientiously to explore. Two extracts from
letters written by her at that time will show how strict she was in her
Quaker principles, and also that the persuasion that she was to be
given some great work to do was becoming even more firmly grounded.

To Sarah, who was absent from her for a short time, she writes:--

"Dear Mother: My mind begins to be much exercised. I scarcely want to
converse at all, and believe it best I should be much alone. Sister
Anna is very kind in leaving me to myself. She appears to feel much for
me, but I do not feel at liberty to ask her what occasions the tears
which at times flow as she throws her arms around me. I sometimes think
she sees more than I do about myself. I often tremble when I think of
the future, and fear that I am not entirely resigned to my Master's
will. Read the first chapter of Jeremiah; it rests much on my mind, and
distresses me; and though I would wish to put far off the evil day, yet
I am urged continually to pray that the Lord would cut short the work
of preparation."

Her sister Anna (Mrs. Frost) was one of those who thought Angelina was
under a terrible delusion, and mourned over her wasted energies. But it
is certainly singular that the chapter to which she refers, taken in
connection with the work with which she afterwards became identified,
should have made the impression on her mind which it evidently did, as
she repeatedly alludes to it. This letter is the last in which she
addresses Sarah as _mother_. Their Quaker friends all objected to the
habit, and it was dropped.

In another letter she describes a visit she made to a friend in the
country, and says:--

"I have already had reason to feel my great need of watchfulness here.
Yesterday the nurse gave me a cap to tuck and trim for the baby. My
hands actually trembled as I worked on it, and yet I had not
faithfulness enough to refuse to do it. This text was repeatedly
presented to me, 'Happy is he who condemneth not himself in that thing
which he alloweth.' While working, my heart was lifted up to the Father
of mercies for strength to bear my testimony against such vanities; and
when I put the cap into Clara's hands, I begged her not to give me any
more such work to do, as I felt it a duty to bear my testimony against
dress, and believed it sinful in me to assist anyone in doing what I
was convinced was sinful, and assured her of my willingness to do any
plain work. She laughed at my scruples, but my agitated mind was
calmed, and I was satisfied to be thought foolish for Christ's sake.
Thomas (Clara's husband) and I had along talk about Quakers yesterday.
I tried to convince him that they do not reject the Bible, explained
the reason of their not calling it the word of God, and got him to
acknowledge that in several texts I repeated the word was the Spirit.
We conversed on the ordinances. He did not argue much for them, but was
immovable in his opinions. He thinks if all Quakers were like _me_, he
could like them, but believes I have carried all the good of
Presbyterianism into the Society, therefore they cannot be judged of by
me."

On the 11th of November Sarah writes: "Parted with my dearly beloved
sister Angelina this afternoon. We have been one another's consolation
and strength in the Lord, mingling sweetly in exercise, and bearing one
another's burdens."

The first entry in Angelina's diary after her return to Charleston is
as follows: "Once more in the bosom of my family. My prayer is that our
coming together may be for the better, not for the worse."

Considering the agitation which had been going on at the North for
several years concerning slavery, we must suppose that Angelina and
Sarah Grimké heard it frequently discussed, and had its features
brought before them in a stronger light than that in which they had
previously viewed them. In Sarah's mind, absorbed as it was at that
time by her own sorrows and by the deeply-rooted conviction of her
prospective and dreaded call to the ministry, there appears to have
been no room for any other subject, if we except the strife then going
on in the Quaker Church, and which called forth all her sympathy for
the Orthodox portion, and her strong denunciation of the Hicksites. But
upon Angelina every word she heard against the institution which she
had always abhorred, but accepted as a necessary evil, made an
indelible impression, which deepened when she was again face to face
with its odious lineaments. This begins to show itself soon after her
return home, as will be seen by the following extract:--

"Since my arrival I have enjoyed a continuation of that rest from
exercise of mind which began last spring, until to-night. My soul is
sorrowful, and my heart bleeds. I am ready to exclaim, When shall I be
released from this land of slavery! But if my suffering for these poor
creatures can at all ameliorate their condition, surely I ought to be
quite willing, and I can now bless the Lord that my labor is not all in
vain, though much remains to be done yet."

The secluded and inactive life she now led confirmed the opinion of her
Presbyterian friends that she was a backslider in the divine life.

I must reserve for another chapter the recital of Angelina's efforts to
open the eyes of the members of her household to the unchristian life
they were leading, and the sins they were multiplying on their heads by
their treatments of those they held in bondage.




CHAPTER VI.


Many things about the home life which habit had prevented Angelina from
remarking before, now, since her visit among Friends, struck her as
sinful, and inconsistent with a Christian profession. Only a few days
after her return, she thus writes in her diary:--

"I am much tried at times at the manner in which I am obliged to live
here in so much luxury and ease, and raised so far above the poor, and
spending so much on my board. I want to live in plainness and
simplicity and economy, for so should every Christian do. I am at a
loss how to act, for if I live with mother, which seems the proper
place for me, I must live in this way in a great degree. It is true I
can always take the plainest food, and this I do generally, believing
that whether at home or abroad I ought to eat nothing I think too
sumptuous for a _servant_ of Jesus Christ. For this reason, when I took
tea at a minister's house a few evenings since, I did not touch the
richest cakes, nor the fruit and nuts handed, after tea; and when
paying a visit the other morning, I refused cake and wine, although I
felt fatigued, and would have liked something plain to eat. But it is
not only the food I eat at mother's, but the whole style of living is a
direct departure from the simplicity that is in Christ. The Lord's poor
tell me they do not like to come to such a fine house to see me; and if
they come, instead of being able to read a lesson of frugality, and
deadness to the world, they must go away lamenting over the
inconsistency of a sister professor. One thing is very hard to bear--I
feel obliged to pay five dollars a week for board, though I disapprove
of this extravagance, and am actually accessory in maintaining this
style of living, when I know it is wrong, and am thereby prevented from
giving to the poor as liberally as I would like."

She and Sarah had for several years, when at home, paid board regularly
to their mother, and this was probably one thing which irritated the
other members of the family, several of whom were living in idleness on
their mother, doing nothing and paying nothing. The brothers at least
could not but feel the implied rebuke. As we have seen, she was not at
all backward in expressing her disapprobation, when she found her
silent testimony was disregarded or misunderstood; and her language was
generally rather forcible. This, of course, was trying to those who did
not see the necessity of living according to her standard, and very
trying to Angelina, whose convictions were clear, and whose interest in
her relatives was as tender as it was sincere. Scarcely a day passed
that something did not occur to wound her feelings, shock her religious
prejudices, or arouse her righteous indignation. Slavery was always the
cause of the latter, and for the others ample reason was to be found in
what she styled the vain lusts of the world, and in the coldness and
irritability of some members of the family. Unrestrained
self-indulgence, joined to high-strung and undisciplined tempers, made
of what should have been a united, bright, and charming home circle, a
place of constant discord, jealousy, and unhappiness.

Sarah had borne this state of things better than Angelina could, her
extreme gentleness and kindness disarming all unkind feelings in
others. But even she was forced to flee from it at last. The record is
a most painful one, and it gives another evidence of Angelina's sense
of her own power, and of her reliance on divine help, that she should
for one moment have contemplated effecting any change. But the respite
from those dissensions, and the rest thus given to her spirit by her
visit North, softened the bitter feelings she had once entertained, and
when she returned home it was with sentiments of affection for
everyone, and especially for her mother, from whom she had been
grievously estranged. She prayed that she might not do or say anything
to alienate them further from her; but when she fully realized, as she
had never yet done, the sad condition of things, she could not keep
silent. She felt it her duty to speak, and she did so, kindly and
affectionately, but unsparingly. She relates many incidents proving
this, and showing also how badly her reproofs were received. The
mistake she made, and which in after years she freely acknowledged, was
in excess of zeal. But Angelina was a born radical, and if a thing was
wrong, it was wrong, and she could not see why it should not be righted
at once. Temporizing with a wrong, or compromising with it in any way,
were things outside of her reasoning, and she never would admit that
they were justifiable under any circumstances. It was, of course,
difficult to apply this principle in the desired reform of her mother's
inherited and life-long prejudices. Hence the incessant chafing and
irritation which daily made Angelina feel more keenly her isolated
position, and caused her to turn with increasing longing to the North,
where her beloved sister and many dear friends were in sympathy with
her.

To illustrate what I have said, one or two examples will be sufficient.
She was much troubled because her mother had the drawing-room repainted
and handsomely papered. Mrs. Grimké doubtless selected a paper in
harmony with the house and furniture, and had no suspicion that she was
thereby committing a sin. But Angelina thought it entirely too fine,
and felt that she could never sit in the room. When the work was at
last finished, and some friends were invited to tea, and afterwards
repaired to the newly-decorated apartment, Angelina did not accompany
them, but remained below, reading alone, much disturbed during the
evening by the talking and laughing up stairs. Her mother did not
notice her absence, or ascribed it to some other cause; but Angelina
explained it to her some time afterwards, when, she says, a way seemed
to open for it.

"I spoke to her of how great a trial it was to me to see her living in
the luxury she did, and explained to her that it was not, as she seemed
to think, because I did not wish to see brother John and sister Sally
that I was tried at their dining here every week, but it was the parade
and profusion which was displayed when they came. I spoke also of the
drawing-room, and remarked it was as much my feeling about _that_ which
had prevented my coming into the room when M.A. and others drank tea
here, as my objection to fashionable company. She said it was very hard
that she could not give her children what food she chose, or have a
room papered, without being found fault with; that, indeed, she was
weary of being continually blamed about everything she did, and she
wished she could be let alone, for she saw no sin in these things. 'I
trust,' I said, 'that I do not speak to thee, mother, in the spirit
thou art now speaking to me; nothing but my conviction that I am bound
to bear my testimony to the truth could induce me to find fault with
thee. In doing so, I am acting with eternity in view. I am acting in
reference to that awful hour when I shall stand at thy death-bed, or
thou by mine.' Interrupting me, she said if _I_ was so constantly found
fault with, I would not bear it either; for her part, she was quite
discouraged. 'Oh, mother,' said I, 'there is something in thee so
alienated from the love of Christ that thou canst not bear to be found
fault with.' 'Yes,' she said, 'you and Sally always say _I_ speak in a
wrong spirit, but both of you in a right one.' She then went on to say
how much I was changed, about slavery, for instance, for when I was
first serious I thought it was right, and never condemned it. I replied
that I acted according to the light I had. 'Well, then,' she continued,
'you are not to expect everyone to think like Quakers.' I remarked that
true believers had but one leader, who would, if they followed Him,
guide them into all truth, and teach them the same things. She again
spoke of my turning Quaker, and said it was because I was a Quaker that
I disapproved of a great many things that nobody but Quakers could see
any harm in. I was much roused at this, and said with a good deal of
energy, 'Dear mother, what but the _power_ of God could ever have made
_me_ change my sentiments?' Some very painful conversation followed
about Kitty. I did not hesitate to say that no one with _Christian_
feelings could have treated her as she was treated before I took her;
her condition was a disgrace to the name of Christian. She reminded me
that _I_ had advised the very method that had been adopted with her.
This stung me to the quick. 'Not after I professed Christianity,' I
eagerly replied, 'and that I should have done so before, only proved
the wretched manner of my education.' But mother is perfectly blind as
to the miserable manner in which she brought us up. During the latter
part of the conversation I was greatly excited, for so acute have been
my sufferings on account of slavery, and so strong my feelings of
indignation in looking upon its oppressions and degradations, that I
cannot command my feelings in speaking of what my own eyes have seen,
and thus, I believe, I lost the satisfaction I should otherwise have
felt for speaking the truth."

Though constantly disregarded, taunted, and thwarted, Angelina
faithfully persevered in her efforts at reform, at the same time as
faithfully striving after more meekness and singleness of purpose
herself.

After a while, she obtained two concessions from which she hoped much:
one, that the servants should come to her in the library every day for
religious instruction; the other, that her mother would sit with her in
silence every evening for half an hour before tea.

The servants came as directed, and Angelina made her instructions so
interesting that soon some of the neighbors' servants asked to be
admitted, and then her mother and one or two of her sisters joined the
meetings; and though no very marked fruit of her labors appeared for
some time, she persevered, with a firm faith that the seed she was
sowing would not all be scattered to the winds.

The proposal to her mother to sit in silence for a while with her every
evening was in accordance with the Quaker practices. She thought they
would both find it profitable, and that it would be the means of
forming a bond of union between them. The mother's assent to this was
certainly an amiable concession to her daughter's views, enhanced by
the regularity with which she kept the appointment, although the dark,
silent room must have been at times a trifle wearisome. Angelina always
sat on a low seat beside her, with her head in her mother's lap, and
very rarely was the silence broken. The practice was kept up until the
mosquitoes obliged them to discontinue it. That it did not prove
entirely satisfactory, we judge from several entries in the diary like
the following:--

"I still sit in silence with dear mother, but feel very sensibly that
she takes no interest at all in it; still, I do not like to relinquish
the habit, believing it may yet be blessed. Eliza came this evening, as
she has several times before. It was a season of great deadness, and
yet I am glad to sit even thus, for where there is communion there will
be some union."

Her position was certainly a difficult and a painful one; for, apart
from other troubles, her eyes were now fully open to all the iniquities
of the slave system, and she could neither stay in nor go out without
having some of its miserable features forced upon her notice. In the
view of her after-work, it is interesting to note the beginning of her
strong feelings on the subject, as well as her faithful crusades
against it in her own family. In April, 1829, she writes as follows in
her diary:--

"Whilst returning from meeting this morning, I saw before me a colored
woman who in much distress was vindicating herself to two white boys,
one about eighteen, the other fifteen, who walked on each side of her.
The dreadful apprehension that they were leading her to the workhouse
crossed my mind, and I would have avoided her if I could. As I
approached, the younger said to her, 'I will have you tied up.' My
knees smote together, and my heart sank within me. As I passed them,
she exclaimed, 'Missis!' But I felt all I had to do was to suffer the
pain of seeing her. My lips were sealed, and my soul earnestly craved a
willingness to bear the exercise which was laid on me. How long, O
Lord, how long wilt thou suffer the foot of the oppressor to stand on
the neck of the slave! None but those who know from experience what it
is to live in a land of bondage can form any idea of what is endured by
those whose eyes are open to the enormities of slavery, and whose
hearts are tender enough to feel for these miserable creatures. For two
or three months after my return here it seemed to me that all the
cruelty and unkindness which I had from my infancy seen practised
towards them came back to my mind as though it was only yesterday. And
as to the house of correction, it seemed as though its doors were
unbarred to me, and the wretched, lacerated inmates of its cold, dark
cells were presented to my view. Night and day they were before me, and
yet my hands were bound as with chains of iron. I could do nothing but
weep over the scenes of horror which passed in review before my mind.
Sometimes I felt as though I was willing to fly from Carolina, be the
consequences what they might. At others, it seemed as though the very
exercises I was suffering under were preparing me for future usefulness
to them; and this,--_hope_, I can scarcely call it, for my very soul
trembled at the solemn thought of such a work being placed in my feeble
and unworthy hands,--this idea was the means of reconciling me to
suffer, and causing me to feel something of a willingness to pass
through any trials, if I could only be the means of exposing the
cruelty and injustice which was practised in the institution of
oppression, and of bringing to light the hidden things of darkness, of
revealing the secrets of iniquity and abolishing its present
regulations,--above all, of exposing the awful sin of professors of
religion sending their slaves to such a place of cruelty, and having
them whipped so that when they come out they can scarcely walk, or
having them put upon the treadmill until they are lamed for days
afterwards. These are not things I have heard; no, my own eyes have
looked upon them and wept over them. Such was the opinion I formed of
the workhouse that for many months whilst I was a teacher in the
Sunday-school, having a scholar in my class who was the daughter of the
master of it, I had frequent occasion to go to it to mark her lessons,
and no one can imagine my feelings in walking down that street. It
seemed as though I was walking on the very confines of hell; and this
winter, being obliged to pass it to pay a visit to a friend, I suffered
so much that I could not get over it for days, and wondered how any
real Christian could live near such a place."

It may appear to some who read this biography that Angelina's
expressions of feeling were over-strained. But it was not so. Her
nervous organization was exceedingly delicate, and became more so after
she began to give her best thoughts to the cause of humanity. In her
own realization, at least, of the suffering of others there was no
exaggeration.

Not long after making the above record of her feelings on this subject,
she narrates the following incident:--

"I have been suffering for the last two days on account of Henry's boy
having run away, because he was threatened with a whipping. Oh, who can
paint the horrors of slavery! And yet, so hard is the natural heart
that I am constantly told that the situation of slaves is very good,
much better than that of their owners. How strange that anyone should
believe such an absurdity, or try to make others believe it! No wonder
poor John ran away at the threat of a flogging, when he has told me
more than once that when H. last whipped him he was in pain for a week
afterwards. I don't know how the boy must have felt, but I know that
that night was one of agony to me; for it was not only dreadful to hear
the blows, but the oaths and curses H. uttered went like daggers to my
heart. And this was done, too, in the house of one who is regarded as a
light in the church. O Jesus, where is thy meek and merciful
disposition to be found now? Are the marks of discipleship changed, or
who are thy true disciples? Last night I lay awake weeping over the
condition of John, and it seemed as though that was all I could do. But
at last I was directed to go to H. and tenderly remonstrate with him. I
sought strength, and was willing to do so, if the impression continued.
To-day, was somewhat released from this exercise, though still
suffering, and almost thought it would not be required. But at dusk it
returned; and, having occasion to go into H.'s room for something, I
broached the subject as guardedly and mildly as possible, first passing
my arm around him, and leaning my head on his shoulder. He very openly
acknowledged that he meant to give John such a whipping as would cure
him of ever doing the same thing again, and that he deserved to be
whipped until he could not stand. I said that would be treating him
worse than he would treat his horse. He now became excited, and replied
that he considered his horse no comparison better than John, and would
_not_ treat _it_ so. By this time my heart was full, and I felt so much
overcome as to be compelled to seat myself, or rather to fall into a
chair before him, but I don't think he observed this. The conversation
proceeded. I pleaded the cause of humanity. He grew very angry, and
said I had no business to be meddling with him, that he never did so
with me. I said if I had ever done anything to offend him I was very
sorry for it, but I had tried to do everything to please him. He said I
had come from the North expressly to be miserable myself and make
everyone in the house so, and that I had much better go and live at the
North. I told him that I was not ignorant that both C. and himself
would be very glad if I did, and that as soon as I felt released from
Carolina I would go; but that I had believed it my duty to return this
winter, though I knew I was coming back to suffer. He again accused me
of meddling with his private affairs, which he said I had no right to
do. I told him I could not but lift up my voice against his manner of
treating John. He said rather than suffer the continual condemnation of
his conduct by me, he would leave mother's house. I appealed to the
witness in his own bosom as to the truth of what I urged. To my
surprise he readily acknowledged that he felt something within him
which fully met all I asserted, and that I had harrowed his feelings
and made him wretched. Much more passed. I alluded to his neglect of
me, and testified that I had experienced no feeling but that of love
towards him and all the family, and a desire to do all I could to
oblige them; and I left the room in tears. I retired to bless my
Saviour for the strength he had granted, and to implore his continued
support."

"7th. Surely my heart ought to be lifted to my blessed Master in
emotions of gratitude and praise. His boy came home last night a short
time after our conversation, and instead of punishing him, as I am
certain he intended to do, he merely told him to go about his business.
I was amazed last night after all my sufferings were over, and I was
made willing to leave all things in my Father's hands, to see John in
the house. This was a renewed proof to me how necessary it is for us to
watch for the right _time_ in which to do things. If I had not spoken
just when I did, I could not have done so before John's return. He has
escaped entirely.... Oh, how earnestly two nights ago did I pray for a
release from this land of slavery, and how my heart still pants after
it! And yet, I think, I trust it is in submission to my Heavenly
Father's will. I feel comfortable to-night; my relief from suffering
about John is so great that other trials seem too light to name."

"8th. My heart sings aloud for joy. I feel the sweet testimony of a
good conscience, the reward of obedience in speaking to H. Dear boy, he
has good, tender feelings naturally, but a false education has nearly
destroyed them, and his own perverted judgment as to what is manly and
what is necessary in the government of slaves has done the rest. Lord,
open thou his eyes."

On the 13th of March she says: "To-day, for the first time, I ironed my
clothes, and felt as though it was an acceptable sacrifice. This seemed
part of the preparation for my removal to the North. I felt fearful
lest this object was a stronger incentive to me than the desire to
glorify my divine Master."

There was doubtless some truth in the charge brought against her by her
brothers, that her face was a perpetual condemnation of them. Referring
to a call she received from some friends, she says:--

"An emptiness and vapidness pervaded all they said about religion. I
was silent most of the time, and fear what I did say sprang from a
feeling of too great indignation. Just before they went away, I joined
in a joke; much condemnation was felt, for the language to me
constantly is, 'I have called _thee_ with a _high_ and _holy_ calling,'
and it seems as though solemnity ought always to pervade my mind too
much to allow me ever to joke, but my natural vivacity is hard to
bridle and subdue."

The bond between Sarah and Angelina was growing stronger every day,
their separation in matters of religion from the other members of the
family serving more than anything else to draw them closely and
lovingly together. Every letter from Sarah was hailed as a messenger of
peace and joy, and to her Angelina turned for counsel and sympathy. It
is very pleasant to read such words as the following, and know that
they expressed the inmost feelings of Angelina's heart:--

"Thou art, dearest, my best beloved, and often does my heart expand
with gratitude to the Giver of all good for the gift of such a friend,
who has been the helper of my joy and the lifter up of my hands when
they were ready to hang down in hopeless despair. Often do I look back
to those days of conflict and suffering through which I passed last
winter, when thou alone seemed to know of the deep baptisms wherewith I
was baptized, and to be qualified to speak the words of encouragement
and reproof which I believe were blessed to my poor soul.

"I received another long letter from thee this afternoon. I cannot tell
thee what a consolation thy letters are to her who feels like an exile,
a stranger in the place of her nativity, 'as unknown, and yet well
known,' and one of the very least where she was once among the
greatest."

In one of her letters, written soon after her return home, she thus
speaks of her Quaker dress:--

"I thought I should find it so trying to dress like a Quaker here; but
it has been made so easy that if it is a cross I do not feel the weight
of it.... It appears to me that at present I am to be little and
unknown, and that the most that is required of me is that I bear a
decided testimony against dress. I am literally as a wonder unto many,
but though I am as a gazing-stock--perhaps a laughing-stock--in the
midst of them, yet I scarcely feel it, so sensible am I of the presence
and approbation of Him for whose sake I count it a high privilege to
endure scorn and derision. I begin to feel that it is a solemn thing
even to dress like a Quaker, as by so doing I profess a belief in the
purest principles of the Bible, and warrant the expectation in others
that my life will exhibit to all around those principles drawn out in
living characters."

There is a pride of conscience in all this, strongly contrasting with
Sarah's want of self-confidence when travelling the same path. If
Angelina suffered for her religion, no one suspected it, and for this
very reason she was enabled to exert a stronger influence upon those
about her than Sarah ever could have done. She herself saw the great
points of difference between them, and frequently alluded to them. On
one page of her diary she writes:--

"I have been reading dear sister's diary the last two days, and find
she has suffered great conflict of mind, particularly about her call to
the ministry, and I am led to look at the contrast between our feelings
on the subject. I clearly saw winter before last that my having been
appointed to this work was the great reason why I was called out of the
Presbyterian Society, but I don't think my will has ever rebelled
against it.

"So far from murmuring against the appointment, I have felt exceedingly
impatient at not being permitted to enter upon my work at once; and
this is probably an evidence that I am not prepared for it. But it is
hard for me to _be_ and to _do_ nothing. My restless, ambitious temper,
so different from dear sister's, craves high duties and high
attainments, and I have at times thought that this ambition was a
motive to me to do my duty and submit my will. The hope of attaining to
great eminence in the divine life has often prompted me to give up in
little things, to bend to existing circumstances, to be willing for the
time to be trampled upon. These are my temptations. For a long time it
seemed to me I did everything from a hope of applause. I could not even
write in my diary without a feeling that I was doing it in the hope
that it would one day meet the eye of the public. Last winter I wrote
more freely in it, and am still permitted to do so. Very often, when
thinking of my useless state at present, something of disappointment is
felt that I am as nothing, and this language has been presented with
force, 'Seekest thou great things for thyself, seek them not.'"




CHAPTER VII.


At this time of her life, ere a single sorrow had thrown its shadow
across her heart, and all her tears were shed for other's woes, we see
very distinctly Angelina's peculiar characteristics. Her
conscientiousness and her pride are especially conspicuous. The former,
with its attendant sacrifices at the shrine of religious principle, had
the effect of silencing criticism after a while, and inspiring a
respect which touched upon veneration. One of her sisters, in referring
to this, says:--

"Though we considered her views entirely irrational, yet so absolute
was her sense of duty, her superiority to public sentiment, and her
moral courage, that she seemed to us almost like one inspired, and we
all came to look upon her with a feeling of awe."

Of her pride--"that stumbling block," as she calls it, to Christian
meekness--she herself writes:--

"My pride is my bane. In examining myself, I blush to confess this
fault, so great do I find its proportions. I am all pride, and I fear I
am even proud of my pride."

But hers was not the pride that includes personal vanity or the desire
for the applause of the multitude, for of these two elements few ever
had less; neither was there any haughtiness in it, only the dignity
which comes from the conscious possession of rare advantages, joined to
the desire to use them to the glory of something better than self.
Still it was pride, and, in her eyes, sinful, and called for all her
efforts to subdue its manifestations. It especially troubled her
whenever she entered into any argument or discussion, both of which she
was rather fond of inviting. She knew full well her intellectual power,
and thoroughly enjoyed its exercise.

I regret that space does not permit me to copy her discussion with the
Rev. Mr. McDowell on Presbyterianism; her answers to the questions
given her when arraigned before the Sessions for having left the
Church; her conversation on Orthodoxy with some Hicksites who called on
her, and her arguments on silent worship. They all show remarkable
reasoning power, great lucidity of thought, and great faculty of
expression for so young a woman.

But, interesting as is the whole history of Angelina's last year in
Charleston, I may not dwell longer upon it, but hasten towards that
period when the reason for all this mental and spiritual preparation
was made manifest in the work in which she became as a "light upon the
hill top," and, which, as long as it lasted, filled the measure of her
desires full to the brim.

As it is important to show just what her views and feelings about
slavery were at this time, and as they can be better narrated in her
own words than in mine, I shall quote from her diary and a few letters
all that relates to the subject.

In May, 1829, we find this short sentence in her diary:--

"May it not be laid down as an axiom, that that system must be
radically wrong which can only be supported by transgressing the laws
of God."

"3d Mo. 20th. Could I think I was in the least advancing the glory of
God by staying here, I think I would be satisfied, but I am doing
nothing. Though 'the fields are white for harvest, yet am I standing
idle in the market place.' I am often tempted to ask, Why am I kept in
such a situation, a poor unworthy worm, feeding on luxuries my soul
abhors, tended by slaves, who (I think) I would rather serve than be
served by, and whose bondage I deeply deplore? Oh! why am I kept in
Carolina? But the answer seems to be: 'I have set thee as a sign to the
people.' Lord, give me patience to stand still."

"29th. At times slavery is a heavy burden to my heart. Last night I was
led to speak of this subject, of all others the sorest on which to
touch a Carolinian. The depravity of slaves was spoken of with
contempt, and one said they were fitted to hold no other place than the
one they do. I asked what had made them so depraved? Was it not because
of their degraded situations, and was it not white people who had
placed them and kept them in this situation, and were _they_ not to
blame for it? Was it not a fact that the minds of slaves were totally
uncultivated, and their souls no more cared for by their owners than if
they had none? Was it not true that, in order to restrain them from
vice, coercion was employed instead of the moral restraint which, if
proper instruction had been given them, would have guarded them against
evil? 'I wish,' exclaimed one, 'that you would never speak on the
subject.' 'And why?' I asked. 'Because you speak in such a serious
way,' she replied. 'Truth cuts deep into the heart,' I said, and this
is no doubt the reason why no one likes to hear me express my
sentiments, but I did feel it my duty to bear a decided testimony
against an institution which I believe altogether contrary to the
spirit of the Gospel; for it was a system which nourished the worst
passions of the human heart, a system which sanctioned the daily
trampling under foot of the feelings of our fellow creatures. 'But,'
said one, 'it is exceedingly imprudent in you to speak as you do.' I
replied I was not speaking before servants, I was speaking only to
owners, whom I wished to know my sentiments; this wrong had long enough
been covered up, and I was not afraid or ashamed to have any one know
my sentiments--they were drawn from the Bible. I also took occasion to
speak very plainly to sister Mary about the bad feeling she had towards
negroes, and told her, though she wished to get rid of them, and would
be glad to see them _shipped_, as she called it, that this wish did not
spring from pure Christian benevolence. My heart was very heavy after
this conversation."

"3d Mo. 31st. Yesterday was a day of suffering. My soul was exceedingly
sorrowful, and out of the depths of it, I cried unto the Lord that He
would make a way for me to escape from this land of slavery. Is there
any suffering so great as that of seeing the rights and feelings of our
fellow creatures trodden under foot, without being able to rescue them
from bondage? How clear it is to my mind that slaves can be controlled
only by one of two principles,--fear or love. As to moral restraint,
they know nothing of it, for they are not taught to act from principle.
I feel as though I had nothing to do in this thing, but by my manner to
bear a decided testimony against such an abuse of power. The suffering
of mind through which I have passed has necessarily rendered me silent
and solemn. The language seems to be, 'It behooves thee to suffer these
things,' and this morning I think I saw very plainly that this was a
part of the preparation for the awful work of the ministry."

"4th Mo. 4th. Does not this no less positive than comprehensive law
under the Gospel dispensation entirely exclude slavery: 'Do unto others
as you would he done by?' After arguing for some time, one evening,
with an individual, I proposed the question: 'Would'st thou be willing
to be a slave thyself?' He eagerly answered 'No!' 'Then,' said I, 'thou
hast no right to enslave the negro, for the Master expressly says: "Do
unto others as thou wouldst they should do unto thee."' Again I put the
query: 'Suppose thou wast obliged to free thy slaves, or take their
place, which wouldst thou do?' Of course he said he would free them.
'But why,' I asked, 'if thou really believest what thou contendest for,
namely, that their situation is as good as thine?' But these questions
were too close, and he did not know what to say."

"4th Mo. 23d. Friend K. drank tea here last night. It seems to me that
whenever mother can get anyone to argue with her on the subject of
slavery, she always introduces it; but last night she was mistaken,
for, to my surprise, Friend K. acknowledged that notwithstanding all
that could be said for it, there was something in her heart which told
her it was wrong, and she admitted all I said. Since my last argument
on this subject, it has appeared to me in another light. I remarked
that a Carolina mistress was literally a slave-driver, and that I
thought it degrading to the female character. The mistress is as great
a slave to her servants, in some respects, as they are to her. One
thing which annoys me very much is the constant orders that are given.
Really, when I go into mother's room to read to her, I am continually
interrupted by a variety of orders which might easily be avoided, were
it not for the domineering spirit which is, it seems to me, inherent in
a Carolinian; and they are such fine ladies that if a shutter is to be
hooked, or a chair moved, or their work handed to them, a servant must
be summoned to do it for them. Oh! I do very much desire to cultivate
feelings of forbearance, but I feel at the same time that it is my duty
to bear an open and decided testimony against such a violation of the
divine command."

"28th. It seems this morning as if the language was spoken with regard
to dear mother: _Thy_ work is done. My mind has been mostly released
from exercises, and it seems as though I had nothing to do now but to
bear and forbear with her. I can truly say I have not shunned to
'declare unto her the whole counsel of God, but she would none of my
reproofs.' I stretched out my hands to her, speaking the truth in
_love_, but she has not regarded. Perhaps He has seen fit not to work
by me lest I should be exalted above measure."

"5th Mo. 6th. Today has been one of much trial of mind, and my soul has
groaned under the burden of slavery. Is it too harsh to say that a
person must be destitute of Christian feelings to be willing to be
served by slaves, who are actuated by no sentiment but that of fear?
Are not these unfortunate creatures expected to act on principles
directly opposite to our natural feelings and daily experience? They
are required to do more for others than for themselves, and all without
thanks or reward."

"12th. It appears to me that there is a real want of natural affection
among many families in Carolina, and I have thought that one great
cause of it is the independence which members of families feel here.
Instead of being taught to do for themselves and each other, they are
brought up to be waited on by slaves, and become unamiable, proud, and
selfish. I have many times felt exceedingly tried, when, in the
flowings of love towards mother, I have offered to do little things for
her, and she has refused to allow me, saying it was Stephen's or
William's duty, and she preferred one of them should do it. The other
night, being refused in this way, I said:--

"'Mother, it seems to me thou would'st at any time rather have a
servant do little things for thee, than me.' She replied it was their
business. 'Well,' said I, 'mother, I do not think it ever was designed
that parents and children should be independent of each other. Our
Heavenly Father intended that we should be dependent on each other, not
on servants.' From time to time ability is granted me to labor against
slavery. I may be mistaken, but I do not think it is any longer without
sin in mother, for I think she feels very sensibly that it is not
right, though she never will acknowledge it."

_Night._ Left the parlor on account of some unpleasant occurrence, and
retired to weep in solitude over the evils of slavery. The language was
forcibly revived: 'Woe unto you, for you bind heavy burdens, grievous
to be borne, on men's shoulders, and will not move them yourselves with
one of your fingers.' I do not think I pass a single day without
apprehension as to something painful about the servants."

"15th. Had a long conversation with Selina last evening about servants,
and expressed very freely my opinion of Henry's feelings towards them,
and his treatment of John. She admitted all I said, and seemed to feel
for slaves, until I said I thought they had as much right to freedom as
I had. Of course she would not admit this, but I was glad an
opportunity was offered for me to tell her that my life was one of such
continual and painful exercise on account of the manner in which our
servants were treated, that, were it not for mother, I would not stay a
day longer in Carolina, and were it not for the belief that Henry would
treat his servants worse if we were not here, that both Eliza and I
would leave the house. Dear girl; she seemed to feel a good deal at
these strictures on her husband, but bore with me very patiently."

"18th. Oh, Lord! grant that my going forth out of this land may be in
such a time and such a way, let what may happen after I leave my
mother's house, I may never have to reproach myself for doing so. Of
late my mind has been much engrossed with the subject of slavery. I
have felt not only the necessity of feeling that it is sinful, but of
being able to prove from Scripture that it is not warranted by God."

"30th. Slavery is a system of abject selfishness, and yet I believe I
have seen some of the best of it. In its worst form, tyranny is added
to it, and power cruelly treads under foot the rights of man, and
trammels not only the body, but the mind of the poor negro. Experience
has convinced me that a person may own a slave, with a single eye to
the glory of God. But as the eye is kept single, it will soon become
full of light on this momentous subject; the arm of power will be
broken; the voice of authority will tremble, and strength will be
granted to obey the command: 'Touch not the unclean thing.'"

"_Night._ Sometimes I think that the children of Israel could not have
looked towards the land of Canaan with keener longing than I do to the
North. I do not expect to go there and be exempt from trial, far from
it; and yet it looks like a promised land, a pleasant land, because it
is a land of freedom; and it seems to me that I would rather bear much
deeper spiritual exercises than, day after day, and month after month,
to endure the conutless evils which incessantly flow from slavery. 'Oh,
to grace how great a debtor for my sentiments on this subject. Surely I
may measurably adopt the language of Paul, when with holy triumph he
exclaimed: 'By the grace of God I am what I am.'"

A few weeks later, we read: "If I could believe that I contributed to
dear mother's happiness, surely duty, yea, inclination, would lead me
to continue here; but I do not. Yesterday morning I read her some
papers on slavery, which had just come by the L.C. (vessel). It was
greatly against her will, but it seemed to me I must do it, and that
this was the last effort which would be required of me. She was really
angry, but I did not feel condemned."

"_Night._ Have sought a season of retirement, in order to ponder all
these things in my heart, for I feel greatly burdened, and think I must
open this subject to dear mother to-morrow, perhaps. I earnestly desire
to do the Lord's will."

"12th. This morning I read parts of dear sister's letters to mother, on
the subject of my going to the North. She did not oppose, though she
regretted it. My mind is in a calm, almost an indifferent, state about
it, simply acquiescing in what I believe to be the divine will
concerning me."

Had we all of Sarah's letters written to Angelina, we should doubtless
see that she fully sympathized with her in her anti-slavery sentiments;
but Sarah's diary shows her thoughts to have been almost wholly
absorbed by her disappointed hopes, and her trials in the ministry. As
positive evidences of her continued interest in slavery, we have only
the fact that, in 1829, Angelina mentions, in her diary, receiving
anti-slavery documents from her sister, and the statements of friends
that she retained her interest in the subject which had, in her earlier
years, caused her so much sorrow.

It is astonishing how ignorant of passing events, even of importance, a
person may remain who is shut up as Sarah Grimké was, in an
organization hedged in by restrictions which would prevent her from
gaining such knowledge. She mingled in no society outside of her
church; her time was so fully occupied with her various charitable and
religious duties, that she frequently laments the necessity of
neglecting reading and writing, which, she says, "I love so well."

When a few friends met together, their conversation was chiefly of
religious or benevolent matters, and it is probable that Sarah even
read no newspaper but the _Friends' Journal_.

That this narrow and busy life was led even after Angelina joined her
we judge from what Angelina writes to her brother Thomas, thanking him
for sending them his literary correspondence to read. She says: "It is
very kind in thee to send us thy private correspondence. We enjoy it so
much that I am sure thou would'st feel compensated for the trouble if
thou could'st see us. We mingle almost entirely with a Society which
appears to know but little of what is going on outside of its own
immediate precincts. It is therefore a great treat when we have access
to information more diffuse, or that which introduces our minds in some
measure into the general interest which seems to be exciting the
religious world."

The fact, however, remains, that in 1829 Sarah sent to Angelina various
anti-slavery publications, from which the latter drew strength and
encouragement for her own arguments. Angelina also mentions reading
carefully Woolman's works, which she found very helpful. But it is
evident that neither she nor Sarah looked forward at all to any
identification of themselves with the active opponents of slavery. For
them, at that time, there seemed to be nothing more to do than to
express their opinions on the subject in private, and to get as far
away from the sight of its evils as possible. As Sarah had done this,
so now Angelina felt that the time had come when she too must go.

She had done what she could, and had failed in making the impression
she had hoped to make. Why should she linger longer where her feelings
were daily tortured, and where there was not one to sympathize with her
or aid her, where she could neither give nor receive any good? Still
there was a great struggle in her mind about leaving her mother. She
thus writes of it:

"Though I am favored to feel this is the right time for me to go, yet I
cannot but be pained at the thought of leaving mother, for I am sure I
shall leave her to suffer. It has appeared very plain to me that I
never would have been taken from her again if she had been willing to
listen to my remonstrances, and to yield to the requisitions of duty,
as shown her by the light within. And I do not think dear sister or I
will ever see her again until she is willing to give up slavery."

"10th Mo. 4th. Last night E.T. took tea here. As soon as she began to
extol the North and speak against slavery, mother left the room. She
cannot bear these two subjects. My mind continues distressingly
exercised and anxious that mother's eyes should be open to all the
iniquities of the system she upholds. Much hope has lately been
experienced, and it seems as though the language to me was: 'Thou hast
done what was given thee to do; now go and leave the rest to _me_."

Two weeks later, she writes as follows:

"_Night._ This morning I had a very satisfactory conversation with dear
mother, and feel considerably relieved from painful exercise. I found
her views far more correct than I had supposed, and I do believe that,
through suffering, the great work will yet be accomplished. She
remarked that, though she had found it very hard to bear many things
which sister and I had from time to time said to her, yet she believed
that the Lord had raised us up to teach her, and that her fervent
prayer was that, if we were right and she was wrong, she might see it.
I remarked that if she was _willing_, she would, I was sure, see still
more than she now did; and I drew a contrast between what she once
approved and now believed right. 'Yes,' she said, 'I see very
differently; for when I look back and remember what I used to do, and
think nothing of it, I shrink back with horror. Much more passed, and
we parted in love."

Two weeks later Angelina left Charleston, never to return. The
description of the parting with her mother is very affecting, but we
have not room for it here. It shows, however, that Mrs. Grimké had the
true heart of a mother, and loved her daughter most tenderly. She shed
bitter tears as she folded her to her bosom for the last time,
murmuring amid her sobs: "Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will
take Benjamin away also!" The mother and daughter never saw each other
again.




CHAPTER VIII.


Angelina arrived in Philadelphia in the latter part of October, 1829,
and made her home with Sarah in the family of Catherine Morris.

Over the next four or five years I must pass very briefly, although
they were marked by many interesting incidents and some deep sorrows,
and much that the sisters wrote during that time I would like to
notice, if space permitted.

We see Sarah still regarding herself as the vilest of sinners, against
whom it seemed at times as if every door of mercy was closed, and still
haunted by her horror of horrors, the ministry. Her preparation
continued, but brought her apparently no nearer the long-expected and
dreaded end. She was still unrecognized by the Church. First-day
meetings were looked forward to without pleasure, while the Quarterly
and Yearly meetings were seasons of actual suffering. Of one of the
latter she says,--

"I think no criminal under sentence of death can look more fearfully to
the day of execution than I do towards our Yearly Meeting."

Still she would nerve herself from time to time to arise when the
Spirit moved her, and say a few words, but deriving no satisfaction
from the exercise, except that of obedience to the divine will.

Doubtless she would have grown out of all this timidity, and would have
acquitted herself more acceptably in meeting, if she had met with
consideration and kindness from the elders and influential members of
the Society. But, for reasons not clearly explained, her efforts do not
seem to have been generally regarded with favor; and so sensibly did
she feel this that she trembled in every limb when obliged even to
offer a prayer in the presence of one of the dignitaries. It is
probable that her ultra views on various needed reforms in the society,
and declining--as she and Angelina both did--to conform to all its
peculiar usages, gave offence. For instance, the sisters never could
bring themselves to use certain ungrammatical forms of speech, such as
_thee_ for _thou_, and would wear bonnets of a shape and material
better adapted to protect them from the cold than those prescribed by
Quaker style. It was also discovered that they indulged in vocal prayer
in their private devotions, which was directly contrary to established
usage. These things were regarded as quiet protests against customs
which all members of the Society were expected to respect. As to the
_principles_ of Quakerism, the sisters were more scrupulous in obeying,
them than many of the elders themselves. Sarah frequently mentions the
coldness and indifference with which she was treated by those from whom
she had a right to look for tender sympathy and friendly counsel, and
feelingly records the kindness and encouragement offered to her by many
of the less conspicuous brothers and sisters. It is no doubt that to
this treatment by those in authority was due the gradual waning of her
interest in Quakerism, although she is far from acknowledging it.

One obstacle in the way of her success as a preacher was her manner of
speaking. Though a clear, forcible thinker and writer, she lacked the
gift of eloquence which so distinguished Angelina, and being, besides,
exceedingly self-conscious, it was difficult for her to express herself
satisfactorily in words. Her speech was sometimes slow and hesitating;
at others, when feeling very deeply, or at all embarrassed, rapid and a
little confused, as though she was in a hurry to get through. This
irregularity laid her open to the charge which was frequently brought
against her, that she prepared and committed her offerings to memory
before coming to meeting, an almost unpardonable offence according to
the views of those making the accusation. That her earnest denial of
this should be treated lightly was an additional wrong which Sarah
never entirely succeeded in forgiving. In reference to this she says:--

"The suffering passed through in meeting, on account of the ministry,
feeling as if I were condemned already whenever I arise; the severe
reproofs administered by an elder to whom I did a little look for
kindness; the cutting charge of preparing what I had to say out of
meeting, and going there to preach, instead of to worship, like poor
Mary Cox, was almost too much for me. It cost me hours of anguish; but
Jesus allayed the storm and gave me peace; for in looking at my poor
services I can truly say it is not so, although my mind is often
brought under exercise on account of this work, and many are the
sleepless hours I pass in prayer for preservation in it, feeling it
indeed an awful thing to be a channel of communication between God and
His people."

Referring to the charge again, some time later, she says:--

"There are times when I greatly fear my best life will perish in this
conflict. I have felt lately as if I were ready to give up all, and to
question all I have known and done."

As contrasting with the very different opinions she held a few years
later, the following lines from her diary, about the beginning of 1830,
are interesting:--

"There are seasons when my heart is so filled with apostolic love that
I feel as if I could freely part with all I hold most dear, to be
instrumental to the salvation of souls, especially those of the members
of my own religious society; and the language often prevails, 'I am not
sent but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.' Yet woman's
preaching mocks at all my reasoning. I cannot see it to be right, and I
am moving on in faith alone, feeling that 'Woe is me, if I preach not
the Gospel.' To see is no part of my business, but I marvel not at the
unbelief of others; every natural feeling is against it."

About this time, Angelina was admitted as a member of Friends' Society,
and began her preparation for the ministry. But her active spirit
needed stronger food to satisfy its cravings. It was not enough for her
to accept the few duties assigned to her; she must make others for
herself. Her restless energy, which was only her ambition to be
practically useful, refused to let her sit with folded hands waiting
for the Lord's work. She was too strong to be idle, too conscious of
the value of the talents committed to her charge, to be willing to lay
them away for safe keeping in a Quaker napkin, spotless as it might be.
She never loved the Society of Friends as Sarah did. She chafed under
its restrictions, questioned its authority, and rebelled against the
constant admonition to "be still." On one page of her diary, dated a
short time before her admission to Friends' Society, she says:--

"I have passed through some trying feelings of late about becoming a
member of Friends' Society. Perhaps it is Satan who has been doing all
he could to prevent my joining, by showing me the inconsistencies of
the people, and persuading me that _I_ am too good to be one of them. I
have been led to doubt if it was right for me ever to have worn the
dress of a Quaker, for I despised the very form in my heart, and have
felt it a disgrace to have adopted it, so empty have the people seemed
to me, and sometimes it has seemed impossible that I should ever be
willing to join them. My heart has been full of rebellion, and I have
even dared to think it hard that I should have to bear the burdens of a
people I did not, could not, love."

Angelina's devotion to Sarah led her to resent the treatment of the
latter by the elders, and came near producing a breach between
Catherine Morris and the sisters.

Nevertheless, she did join the Society, impelled thereto, we are forced
to believe, more by love and consideration for Sarah than by religious
conviction. But she constantly complains of her "leanness and
barrenness of spirit," of "doubts and distressing fears" as to the
Lord's remembrance of her for good, and grieves that she is such a
useless member of the Church, the "activity of nature," she says,
"finding it very hard to stand and wait."

Her restlessness, no doubt, gave Sarah some trouble, for there are
several entries in her diary like the following:--

"O Lord, be pleased, I beseech Thee, to preserve my precious sister
from moving in her own will, or under the deceitful reasonings of
Satan. Strengthen her, I beseech Thee, to be _still_."

But though Angelina tried for a time to submit passively to the slow
training marked out for her, she found no satisfaction in it. She
looked to the ministry as her ultimate field of labor, but she must be
doing something in the meanwhile, something outside of the missionary
work which satisfied Sarah's conscience. But what should that be? The
same difficulties which had humiliated and frightened Sarah into a life
of quiet routine now faced Angelina. But she looked at them bravely,
measured herself with them, and resolved to conquer them. The field of
education was the only one which seemed to promise the active
usefulness she craved; and she at once set about fitting herself to be
a teacher. She was now twenty-six years old, but no ambitious girl of
fifteen ever entered upon school duties with more zest than she
exhibited in preparing a course of study for herself. History,
arithmetic, algebra, and geometry were begun, with her sister Anna as a
fellow-student, and much time was devoted to reading biography and
travels. All this, however, was evening work. Her days were almost
wholly given up to charities and the appointed meetings assigned to her
by the society, into all of which she infused so much energy that
Catherine and Sarah both began to fear that she was in danger of losing
some of her spirituality. She says herself that she was so much
interested in some of her work that the days were not long enough for
her.

There is no allusion in the diary or letters of either of the sisters,
in 1829 or 1830, to the many stirring events of the anti-slavery
movement which occurred after the final abolition of slavery in New
York, in 1827, and which foreshadowed the earnest struggle for
political supremacy between the slave power and the free spirit of the
nation. The daily records of their lives and thoughts exhibit them in
the enjoyment of their quiet home with Catherine Morris, visiting
prisons, hospitals, and alms-houses, and mourning over no sorrow or
sins but their own. Angelina was leading a life of benevolent effort,
too busy to admit of the pleasures of society, and her Quaker
associations did not favor contact with the world's people, or promote
knowledge of the active movements in the larger reforms of the day. As
to Sarah, she was still suffering keenly under the great sorrow of her
life.

At this time, Angelina was a most attractive young woman. Tall and
graceful, with a shapely head covered with chestnut ringlets, a
delicate complexion and features, and clear blue eyes, which could
dance with merriment or flash with indignation, and withal a dignified,
yet gentle and courteous bearing, it is not surprising that she should
have had many admirers of the opposite sex, even in the limited society
to which she was confined. Nor can we wonder that, with a heart so
susceptible to all the finer emotions, she should have preferred the
companionship of one to that of all others. But though for more than
two years this friendship--for it never became an engagement--absorbed
all her thoughts, to the exclusion even of her studies, I must conclude
from the plain evidence in the case that it was only a warm
_friendship_, at least on her side, not the strong, enduring love,
based upon entire sympathy, which afterwards blessed her life. It owed
its origin to her admiration for intellectuality in men, and its
continuance to her womanly pity; for the object of her preference
suffered much from ill-health, which at last gave way altogether in the
latter part of 1832, when he died.

To the various emotions naturally aroused during this long experience,
and to the depression of spirits which followed the final issue, we may
perhaps partially ascribe Angelina's indifference to the excited state
of feeling throughout the country on the subject of that institution
which "owned no law but human will."

In November, 1831, Sarah Grimké once more, and for the last time,
visited Charleston.

In December, the slave insurrection in Jamaica--tenfold more destructive
to life and property than the insurrection of Nat Turner, in Virginia,
of the preceding August--startled the world; but even this is scarcely
referred to in the correspondence between the two sisters. But that
Angelina, at least, was interested in matters outside of her religion,
we gather from a postscript to one of her letters. "Tell me," she says,
"something about politics."

This refers to nullification, that ill-judged and premature attempt at
secession made by the Calhoun wing of the slave power, which was then
the most exciting topic in South Carolina. Thomas Grimké was one of the
few eminent lawyers in the State who, from the first, denounced and
resisted the treasonable doctrine,--he so termed it in an open letter
of remonstrance addressed to Calhoun, McDuffie, Governor Hayne, and
Barnwell Rhett, his cousin and legal pupil, who was afterwards
attorney-general of the State.[1] Mr. Grimké represented at that time
the city of Charleston in the State Senate; and in a two days' argument
he so triumphantly exposed the sophistries and false pretences of the
nullifiers, that his constituents, enraged by it, gathered a mob, and
with threats of personal violence attacked his house. But this
descendant of the Huguenots had been seasonably warned; and, sending
his family to the country, he illuminated his front windows, threw open
his doors, and seated himself quietly on the porch to await his
visitors. The howling horde came on, but when the man they sought
boldly advanced to meet them, and announced himself ready to be mobbed
for the cause he had denounced, their courage faltered; they tried to
hoot, balked, broke ranks, and straggled away.

  [1] Mr. Grimké told Carolina that, if she persisted in her disloyalty,
  she would stand as a blasted tree in the midst of her sister States.

A few words just here about this "beloved brother Thomas," who was
always held in reverence by every member of his family, will not be out
of place. As before stated, he was a graduate of Yale College, and rose
to eminence at the bar and in the politics of his State. But he was a
man of peculiar views on many subjects, and while his intellectual
ability was everywhere acknowledged, his judgment was often impugned
and his opinions severely criticised. He gained a wide reputation on
account of his brilliant addresses, especially those of Peace,
Temperance, and Education. He was a prominent member of the American
Peace Society, and did not believe that even defensive warfare was
justifiable. He was a fine classical scholar, but held that both the
classics and the higher mathematics should not be made obligatory
studies in a collegiate education, as being comparatively useless to
the great majority of American young men. A High Church Episcopalian,
and very religious, he strongly urged the necessity of establishing a
Bible class for religious instruction in every school. He also
attempted to make a reform in orthography by dropping out all
superfluous letters, but abandoned this after publishing a small volume
of essays, in which he used his amended words, which, as he gave no
prefatory explanation, were misunderstood and ridiculed. In all these
subjects he was much interested, and succeeded in interesting his
sisters, delegating to them the supervision and correction of his
addresses and essays published in Philadelphia. Strange, indeed, is it,
that this very religious, liberal-minded, and conscientious man was a
large slaveowner, and yet the oppressed and persecuted Cherokees of
Georgia and Alabama had no more earnest advocate than he! And to this
"Indian question" both Sarah and Angelina gave their cordial sympathy.

The correspondence between them and Thomas was a remarkable one. It
embraced the following subjects: Peace, Temperance, the Classics, the
Priesthood, the Jewish Dispensation, Was the Eagle the Babylonian and
Persian Standard? Catholicism, and the universality of human sacrifice,
with short discussions on minor controversial topics. Into all of these
Angelina especially entered with great and evident relish, and her long
letters, covering page after page of foolscap, would certainly have
wearied the patience of any one less interested than Thomas was in the
subjects of which they treated. That which claimed Sarah's particular
interest was Peace, and she held to her brother's views to the end of
her life. She especially indorsed the sentiment expressed in his
written reply to the question, what he would do if he were mayor of
Charleston and a pirate ship should attack the city?

"I would," he answered, "call together the Sunday-school children and
lead them in procession to meet the pirates, who would be at once
subdued by the sight."

In answer to a letter written by Sarah soon after her arrival in
Charleston, Angelina says:--

"I am not at all surprised at the account thou hast given of Carolina,
and yet am not alarmed, as I believe the time of retribution has not
yet fully come, and I cannot but hope that those most dear to us will
have fled from her borders before the day of judgment arrives."

This refers to nullification, which was threatening to end in
bloodshed; but there is in the sentence also an evident allusion to
slavery.

In her next letter she describes the interest she feels in the infant
school, of which she had become a teacher, and does not know which is
the most absorbing,--that, or the Arch Street prison. Before closing,
she says:--

"No doubt thou art suffering a double portion now, for in a land of
slavery there is very much daily--yea, almost hourly,--to try the
better feelings, besides that suffering which thou art so constantly
enduring."

Catherine Morris must have acted the part of a good mother to both
Sarah and Angelina, for they frequently refer to their peaceful home
with her. In one of her letters Angelina says,--

"I never valued the advantages I enjoy so much as I do now; no, nor my
home, either, dear sister. Many a time of late has my heart been filled
with gratitude in looking at the peaceful shelter provided for me in a
strange land. It is just such a home as I would desire were I to have a
choice, and I often ask why my restless heart is not quite happy in the
land of ease which has been assigned me, for I do believe I shall, in
after life, look back upon this winter as one of peculiar favor, a time
granted for the improvement of my mind and my heart."

Again: "Very often do I contrast the sweet, unbroken quiet of the home
I now enjoy with the uncongenial one I was taken from."

In one of her letters she asks: "Dearest, does our precious mother seem
to have any idea of leaving Carolina? Such seems to be the distressing
excitement there from various causes, that I think it cannot be quite
safe to remain there. What does brother Thomas think will be the issue
of the political contest? I find the fate of the poor Indians is now
inevitable."

Towards the close of the winter there are two paragraphs in her letters
which show that she did at least read the daily papers. In one she
asks: "Didst thou know that great efforts are making in the House of
Delegates in Virginia to abolish slavery?"

The other one is as follows:--

"Read the enclosed, and give it to brother Thomas from me. Do you know
how this subject has been agitated in the Virginia legislature?"

The question naturally arises: if a little, why not more? If she could
refer to the subject of the Virginia debates, why should she not in
some of her letters give expression to her own views, or answer some
expressions from Sarah? The _Quaker Society_, is the only answer we can
find; the Society whose rules and customs at that time tended to
repress individuality in its members, and independence of thought or
action; which forbade its young men and maidens to look admiringly on
any fair face or manly form not framed in a long-eared cap, or
surmounted by the regulation broad-brim; which did not accord to a
member the right even to publish a newspaper article, without having
first submitted it to a committee of its Solons.

From the beginning, the Quaker Church bore its testimony against the
abolition excitement. Most Friends were in favor of the Colonization
Society; the rest were gradualists. Their commercial interests were as
closely interwoven with those of the South as were the interests of any
other class of the Northern people, and it took them years to admit, if
not to discover, that there was any new light on the subject of human
rights.

"The mills of the gods grind slowly;" and perhaps it was all the better
in the end, for the cause their advocated so grandly, that Sarah and
Angelina Grimké should have gone through this long period of silence
and repression, during which their moral and intellectual forces
gathered power for the conflict--the great work which both had so
singularly and for so many years seen was before them, though its
nature was for a long time hidden.

Angelina's experience in the infant school, interesting as it was to
her, was discouraging so far as her success as a teacher went; and she
soon gave it up and made inquiries concerning some school in which she
could prepare herself to teach. Catherine Beecher's then famous
seminary at Hartford was recommended, and a correspondence was opened.
Several letters passed between Catherine and her would-be pupil, which
so aroused Catherine's interest, that she went on to Philadelphia
chiefly to make a personal acquaintance with the very mature young
woman who at the age of twenty-seven declared she knew nothing and
wanted to go to school again. In one of her letters to Sarah, early in
the spring of 1832, Angelina says,--

"Catherine Beecher has actually paid her promised visit. She regretted
not seeing thee, and seemed much pleased with me. The day after she
arrived she went to meeting with me, and I think was more tired of it
than any person I ever saw. It was a long, silent meeting, except a few
words from J.L."

When Catherine Beecher took her leave of Angelina, she cordially
invited her to visit Hartford, and examine for herself the system of
education there pursued.

Sarah returned to Philadelphia in March, 1832, cutting short her visit
at the earnest entreaty of Angelina, who was then looking forward to
her first Yearly Meeting, and desired her sister's encouraging presence
with her. Writing to Sarah, she says: "I have much desired that we
might at that time mingle in sympathy and love. Truly we have known,
might I not say, the agony of separation."

Soon after Sarah's return, Angelina went to live with Mrs. Frost, in
order to give that sister the benefit of her board. This separation was
a great trial to both sisters, and only consented to from a sense of
duty.




CHAPTER IX.


In July, 1832, Angelina, accompanied by a friend, set out to make her
promised visit to Hartford. Her journal, kept day by day, shows her to
have been at this time in a most cheerful frame of mind, which fitted
her to enjoy not only the beautiful scenery on her journey, but the
society of the various people she met. At times she is almost like a
young girl just out of school; and we can hardly wonder that she felt
so, after the monotonous life she had led so long, and the uniform
character of the people with whom she had associated. She visited New
Haven, with its great college, and then went to Hartford, where a week
was pleasantly spent in attendance on Catherine Beecher's classes, and
in visiting Lydia Sigourney, and others, to whom she had brought
letters. After examining Angelina, Catherine gave her the gratifying
opinion that she could be prepared to teach in six months, and she at
once began to try her hand at drawing maps., and to take part in many
of the exercises of the school. She could, however, make no definite
arrangement until her return to Philadelphia; but she was full of
enthusiasm, and utilized to the very utmost the advantages of
conversation with Catherine and Harriet Beecher. She was evidently
quite charmed with Harriet's bright intellect and pleasant manner, and
refers particularly to a very satisfactory conversation held with her
about Quakers. The people of this Society were so little known in New
England at that period, that Angelina and her friend, in their peculiar
dress, were objects of great curiosity where-ever they went. Catherine
Beecher accompanied them back to New Tork, and saw them safely on their
way to Philadelphia. But when Angelina mentioned to Friends her desire
to return to Hartford and become a teacher, she was answered with the
most decided disapprobation. Several unsatisfactory reasons were
given--"going among strangers"--"leaving her sisters,"--"abandoning her
charities," &c., the real one probably being the fear to trust their
impressionable young member to Presbyterian influence. And so she must
content herself to sink down in the old ruts, and plod on in work which
was daily becoming more insufficient to her intellectual and spiritual
needs. Her chief pleasure was her correspondence with her brother
Thomas, with whom she discussed controversial Bible questions, and
various moral reforms, including prison discipline; but only once does
she seem to have touched the question of slavery, which absorbed the
public mind to such a degree that there was scarcely a household
throughout the length and breadth of the land, that did not feel its
influence in some way.

In 1832 the most intense excitement prevailed throughout the South,
especially in South Carolina, where Mr. Calhoun had just thrown down
the gauntlet to the Federal government. In this Angelina expresses some
interest, though chiefly from a religious point of view, as she regards
all the important events then taking place as "signs of the times," and
congratulates herself and her brother that they live in "such an
important and interesting era, when the laws of Christianity are
interwoven with the system, of education, and with even the discipline
of prisons and houses of refuge." In one of her letters we find the
following:--

"I may be deceived, but the cloud which has arisen in the South will, I
fear, spread over all our heavens, though it looks now so small. It
will come down upon us in a storm which will beat our government to
pieces; for, beautiful as it may appear, it is, nevertheless, not built
upon the foundation of the apostles and the prophets, Jesus Christ
himself being the chief corner-stone. We may boast of this temple of
liberty, but oh, my brother, it is not of God."

In this letter she speaks of being much interested in "Ramsey's Civil
and Ecclesiastical Polity of the Jews," and mentions that they were
studying together, in the family, "Townsend's Old Testament,
chronologically arranged, with notes, a work in twenty-eight volumes."
She adds:--

"Will not the study of the Bible produce a thirst for the purest and
most valuable literature, as, to understand it, we must study the
history of nations, natural history, philosophy, and geography."

In another letter she says:--

"I am glad of thy opinions, but I cannot see that Carolina will escape.
Slavery is too great a sin for justice always to sleep over, and this
is, I believe, the true cause of the declining state of Carolina; this
the root of bitterness which is to trouble our republic. I am not moved
by fear to these reflections, but by a calm and deliberate
consideration of the state of the Church, and while I believe
convulsions and distress are coming upon this country, I am comforted
in believing that _my_ kingdom is not of this world, nor thine either,
I trust, beloved brother."

To this letter Sarah adds a postscript, and says: "My fears respecting
you are often prevalent, but I endeavor not to be too anxious. The Lord
is omnipotent, and although I fear His sword is unsheathed against
America, I believe He will remember His own elect, and shield them....
Do the planters approve or aid the Colonization Society? There have
been some severe pieces published in our papers about it."

At this time--that is, during the summer of 1832--Sarah lived a more
than usually retired life, and her diary only records her increased
depression of spirits, and her continued painful experiences in
meeting. She would gladly have turned her back upon it all, and sought
a home elsewhere at the North, or have returned to Charleston, but she
dared not move without divine approbation, and this never seemed
sufficiently clear to satisfy her.

"Surely," she says, "though I cannot understand why it is so, there
must be wisdom in the decree which forbids my seeking another home.
Most gladly would I have remained in Charleston, but my Father's will
was not so."

And again she says,--

"But while the desire to escape present conflict has turned my mind
there [to Charleston] with longing towards my precious mother, all the
answer I can hear from the sanctuary is, 'Stay here;' and Satan adds,
'to suffer.'" According to Sarah's own views, she had thus far made
little or no progress towards the great end and aim of her labors and
sacrifices,--the securing of her eternal salvation; and the amount of
misery she managed to manufacture for herself out of this thought, and
her many fancied transgressions, is sad in the extreme. Years
afterwards, in a letter to a young friend, she says,--

"I have suffered the very torments of the fabled hell, because my
conscience was sore to the touch all over. I would fain have you spared
such long, dark years of anguish."

And to another friend, concerning this portion of her life, she
writes,--

"Much of my suffering arose from a morbid conscience,--a conscience
which magnified infirmities into crimes, and transformed our blessed
Father in heaven into a stern judge, who punishes to the uttermost
every real or imaginary departure from what we apprehend to be his
requirements. Deceived by the false theological views in which I was
educated, I was continually lashed by the scorpion whip of a perverted
conscience."

During the winter of 1832-33, the time of both sisters was much taken
up in nursing a sick woman, whose friendless position stirred
Angelina's sense of duty, and she had her removed to Mrs. Frost's
house. She and Sarah took upon themselves all the offices of nurse,
even the most menial. They read to her, and tried to cheer her during
the day, sat up with her at night, and in every way devoted themselves
to the poor consumptive, until death came to her relief. Such a
sacrifice to a sense of duty was all the more admirable, as the invalid
was unusually exacting and unreasonable, and felt apparently little
appreciation of the trouble she gave. Angelina, being in the same
house, was more with her than Sarah, and she could scarcely have shown
her greater attention if the tenderest ties had existed between her and
her charge.

This was only one among the many similar acts of self-abnegation which
were dotted all along Angelina's path through life; she never went out
of her way to avoid them, but would travel any distance to take them
up, if duty pointed her to them; and in accepting them she never seemed
to think she was doing more than just what she ought to do, although
they were generally of the kind which bring no honor or reward, except
that sense of duty fulfilled which spreads over hearts like hers such
sweet content.

From many passages in the diaries, it is evident that, as the agitating
questions of the time were forced upon the notice of Sarah and
Angelina, their thoughts were diverted from the narrow channel to which
they had so long been confined; and, in proportion as their interest in
these matters increased, the cords which bound them to their religious
society loosened. Angelina, as we have before remarked, never stood in
the same attitude as Sarah towards the Society. To the latter, it was
as the oracle of her fate, whose decrees she dared not question, much
less disobey. It represented to her mind the divine will and purposes,
which were wisdom entirely, and could only fail through the pride or
disobedience of sinners like herself. Angelina, on the contrary,
regarded it as made up of human beings with human intellects, full of
weakness, and liable to err in the interpretation of the Lord's will,
and, while praying for guidance and strength, believed it wise to
follow her own judgment to a great extent. She could not be restrained
from reasoning for herself, and would often have acted more
independently, but for her affection for Sarah. The scales, however,
were slowly falling from Sarah's eyes, though it was long before she
saw the new light as anything but a snare of Satan, who she felt sure
was bound to have her, in spite of all her struggles. Against the
growing coolness towards her Society she did struggle and pray in
deepest contrition. At one time she writes,--

"Satan is tempting me strongly with increased dissatisfaction with
Friends; but I know if I am to be of any use it is in my own Society."

And again: "I beseech thee, O God, to fill my heart with love for the
Society of Friends. I shall be ruined if I listen to Satan."

But all this was of no avail. Angelina was growing in knowledge, and
was imparting to Sarah what she learned. The evidence is meagre, but
there is enough to show that the ruling topics claimed much of their
attention during that summer, and that Angelina, especially, drew upon
herself more than one reproof from Catherine Morris for the interest
she manifested in "matters entirely outside of the Society." In the
spring, she writes in a letter to Thomas:--

"The following proposition was made at a Colonization meeting in this
city: is it strictly true? 'No two nations, brought together under
similar circumstances with those under which the Africans have been
brought into this country, have amalgamated.' Are not the people in the
West Indies principally mulatto? And how is it in South America? Did
they not amalgamate there? Did not the Helots, a great many of whom
were Persians, etc., taken in battle, amalgamate with the Grecians, and
rise to equal privileges in the State? I ask for information. Please
tell me, also, whether slavery is not an infringement of the
Constitution of the United States. You Southerners have no idea of the
excitement existing at the North on the subjects of abolition and
colonization."

This shows only the dawning of interest in the mighty subject. The
evidence is full and conclusive that at this time neither Sarah nor
Angelina had formed any decided opinions concerning either of the
societies mentioned above, or contemplated taking any active part
whatever in the cause of freedom.

In February, 1834, occurred the famous debate at Lane Seminary, near
Cincinnati, presided over by Dr. Lyman Beecher, which, for earnestness,
ability, and eloquence, has probably never been surpassed in this
country. A colonization society, composed in great part of Southern
students, had been formed in 1832 in the seminary, but went to pieces
during the debate, which lasted eighteen evenings, and produced a
profound sensation throughout the Presbyterian Church, and even outside
of it. President Beecher took no part in it, standing too much in awe
of the trustees of the institution to countenance it even by his
presence, although he had promised to do so.

The speakers were all students, young men remarkable for their
sincerity and their energy, and several of them excelling as orators.
Among the latter were Henry B. Stanton and Theodore D. Weld, both
possessing great powers of reasoning and natural gifts of eloquence. Of
Theodore D. Weld it was said, that when he lectured on temperance, so
powerfully did he affect his audiences, that many a liquor dealer went
home and emptied out the contents of his barrels. Those who remember
him in his best days can well believe this, while others who have had
the privilege of hearing him only in his "parlor talks" can have no
difficulty in understanding the impression he must have made on mixed
audiences in those times when his great heart, filled from boyhood with
sorrow for the oppressed, found such food for its sympathies.[2]

  [2] An incident of the childhood of this zealous champion of human
  rights, related in a letter I have, shows how early he took his
  stand by the side of the weak and defenceless. When he was about six
  years old, and going to school in Connecticut, a little colored boy
  was admitted as a pupil. Weld had never seen a black person before,
  and was grieved to find that the color of his skin caused him to be
  despised by the other boys, and put off on a seat by himself. The
  teacher heard him his lessons separately, and generally sent him
  back to his lonely seat with a cuff or a jeer. After witnessing this
  injustice for a day or two, little Weld went to the teacher and
  asked to have his own seat changed. "Why, where do you want to sit?"
  asked the teacher. "By Jerry," replied Weld. The master burst out
  laughing, and exclaimed: "Why, are you a nigger too?" and, "Theodore
  Weld is a nigger!" resounded through the school. "I never shall
  forget," says Mr. Weld, "the tumult in my little bosom that day. I
  went, however, and sat with Jerry, and played with Jerry, and we
  were great friends; and in a week I had permission to say my lessons
  with Jerry, and I have been an abolitionist ever since, and never
  had any prejudices to overcome."

It is no disparagement to the many able and eloquent advocates of the
anti-slavery cause, between 1833 and 1836, to say that public opinion
placed Weld at the head of them all. In him were combined reason and
imagination, wide and accurate knowledge, manly courage, a tender and
sympathetic nature, a remarkable faculty of expression, and a fervent
enthusiasm which made him the best platform orator of his time. As a
lecturer on education, temperance, and abolition, he drew crowded
houses and made many converts. The late Secretary Stanton was one of
these, and often mentioned Mr. Weld as the most eloquent speaker he had
ever heard; and Wendell Phillips, in a recent letter, says of him: "In
the first years of the anti-slavery cause, he was our foremost
advocate."

Of Henry B. Stanton, a newspaper reporter once said in excuse for not
reporting one of his great anti-slavery speeches, that he could not
attempt to report a whirlwind or a thunderstorm.

With such leaders, and with followers no less earnest if less
brilliant, it is not surprising that the Lane Seminary debate arrested
such general attention, and afterwards assumed so much importance in
the anti-slavery struggle. The trustees, fearing its effect upon their
Southern patrons, ordered that both societies should be dissolved, and
no more meetings held. The anti-slavery students replied to this order
by withdrawing in a body from the institution. Some went over to
Oberlin; others,--and among them the two I have named--entered the
field as lecturers and workers in the cause they had so ardently
espoused.

In September, 1834, Sarah and Angelina were gratified by a visit from
their brother Thomas, who was on his way to Cincinnati, to deliver an
address on Education before the College of Professional Teachers, and
also to visit his brother Frederic, residing in Columbus, whom he had
not seen for sixteen years. As Angelina had not seen him since her
departure from Charleston in 1829, the few days of his society she now
enjoyed were very precious, and made peculiarly so by after-events. The
cholera was then for the second time epidemic in the West, but those
who knew enough about it to be prudent felt no fear, and the sisters
bade farewell to their brother, cheered by his promise to see them
again on his way home. He delivered his address in Cincinnati, started
for Columbus, arrived within twelve miles of it, when, at a wayside
tavern, he was seized with cholera. His brother, then holding a term of
the Supreme Court, was sent for. He at once adjourned court and
hastened to Thomas with a physician. He was already speechless, but was
able to turn upon Frederic a look of recognition, then pressed his
hand, and died.

Angelina, writing of her brother's death, says: "The world has lost an
eminent reformer in the cause of Christian education, an eloquent
advocate of peace, and one who was remarkably ready for every good
work. I never saw a man who combined such brilliant talents, such
diversity and profundity of knowledge, with such humility of heart and
such simplicity and gentleness of manner. He was a great and good man,
a pillar of the church and state, and his memory is blessed."

In a letter written in 1837, referring to her brother's visit to
Philadelphia, Sarah says: "We often conversed on the subject of
slavery, and never did I hear from his lips an approval of it. He had
never examined the subject; he regarded it as a duty to do it, and he
intended devoting the powers of his mind to it the next year of his
life, and asked us to get ready for him all the abolition works worth
studying. But God took him away. My own views were dark and confused.
Had I had my present light, I might have helped him."

Angelina bore her testimony to the same effect. Referring to Thomas in
a letter to a member of her family many years after his death, she
says:

"He was deeply interested in _every_ reform, and saw very clearly that
the anti-slavery agitation which began in 1832 would shake our country
to its foundation. He told me in Philadelphia that he knew slavery
would be the all-absorbing subject here, and that he intended to devote
a whole year to its investigation; and, in order that he might do so
impartially, he requested me to subscribe for every periodical and
paper, and to buy and forward to him any books, that might be published
by the Anti-Slavery and Colonization societies. I asked whether he
believed colonization could abolish slavery. He said: 'No, never!' but
observed; 'I help that only on account of its reflex influence upon
slavery here. If we can build up an intelligent, industrious community
of colored people in Africa, it will do a great deal towards destroying
slavery in the United States.'"

The loss of her brother almost crushed Sarah, although she expresses
only submission to the Lord's will. It had the effect of closing her
heart and mind once more to everything but religion, and again she gave
herself fully and entirely to her evangelical preparation. She
expresses herself as longing to preach the everlasting Gospel, and
prays that she may soon be called to be a minister, and be instrumental
in turning her fellow sinners away from the wrath to come. Later, in
the early part of 1835, after having re-perused her brother's works,
she solemnly dedicated herself to the cause of peace, persuading
herself that Thomas had left it as a legacy to her and Angelina. She
resolved to use all her best endeavors to promote its advancement, and
daily prayed for a blessing on her exertions and for the success of the
cause. This at least served to divert her thoughts from herself, and no
doubt helped her to the belief which now came to her, that at last
Satan was conquered, and she was accepted of God.

If she could only have been comforted also with the knowledge that her
labors in the ministry were recognized, her satisfaction would have
been complete, but more than ever was she tormented by the slights and
sneers of the elders, and by her own conviction that she was a useless
vessel. There is scarcely a page of her diary that does not tell of
some humiliation, some disappointment connected with her services in
meeting.




CHAPTER X.


Although the Quakers were the first, as a religious society, to
recognize the iniquity of slavery, and to wash their hands of it, so
far as to free all the slaves they owned; few of them saw the further
duty of discouraging it by ceasing all commercial intercourse with
slave-holders. They nearly all continued to trade with the South, and
to use the products of slave-labor. After the appearance in this
country of Elizabeth Heyrick's pamphlet, in which she so strongly urged
upon abolitionists the duty of abstinence from all slave products, the
number was increased of those who declined any and every participation
in the guilt of the slave-holder, and exerted themselves to convert
others to the same views; but the majority of selfish and inconsiderate
people is always large, and it refused to see the good results which
could be reasonably expected from such a system of self-denial. As the
older members, also, of Friends' Society were opposed to all exciting
discussions, and to popular movements generally, while the younger ones
could not smother a natural interest in the great reforms of the day;
it followed that, although all were opposed to slavery in the abstract,
there was no fixed principle of action among them. In their ranks were
all sorts: gradualists and immediatists, advocates of unconditional
emancipation, and colonizationists, thus making it impossible to
discuss the main question without excitement. Therefore all discussion
was discouraged and even forbidden.

The Society never counted among its members many colored persons. There
were, however, a few in Philadelphia, all educated, and belonging to
the best of their class. Among them was a most excellent woman, Sarah
Douglass, to whom Sarah and Angelina Grimké became much attached, and
with whom Sarah kept up a correspondence for nearly thirty years.

The first letter of this correspondence which we have, was written in
March, 1885, and shows that Sarah had known very little about her
colored brethren in Philadelphia, and it also shows her inclination
towards colonization. She mentions having been cheered by an account of
several literary and benevolent societies among the colored residents,
expresses warm sympathy with them, and gives them some good, practical
advice about helping themselves. She then says:--

"I went about three weeks ago to an anti-slavery meeting, and heard
with much interest an address from Robert Gordon. It was feeling,
temperate, and judicious; but _one_ word struck my ear unpleasantly. He
said, 'And yet it is _audaciously_ asked: What has the North to do with
slavery?' The word 'audaciously,' while I am ready to admit its
justice, seemed to me inconsistent with the spirit of the Gospel;
although we may abhor the system of slavery, I want us to remember that
the guilt of the oppressor demands Christian pity and Christian prayer.

"My sister went last evening to hear George Thompson. She is deeply
interested in this subject, and was much pleased with his discourse. Do
not the colored people believe that the Colonization Society may prove
a blessing to Africa, that it may be the means of liberating some
slaves, and that, by sending a portion of them there, they may
introduce civilization and Christianity into this benighted region?
That the Colonization Society can ever be the means of breaking the
yoke in America appears to me utterly impossible, but when I look at
poor heathen Africa, I cannot but believe its efforts will be a
blessing to her."

In the next letter, written in April, she descants on the universal
prejudice against color,--"a prejudice," she says, "which will in days
to come excite as much astonishment as the facts now do that
Christians--some of them I verily believe, sincere lovers of God--put
to death nineteen persons and one dog for the crime of witchcraft."

And yet, singularly enough, she does not, at this time, notice the
inconsistency of a separate seat for colored people in all the
churches. In the Quaker meeting this was especially humiliating, as it
was placed either directly under the stairs, or off in a corner, was
called the "negro seat," and was regularly guarded to prevent either
colored people from passing beyond it, or white people from making a
mistake and occupying it. Two years later, Sarah and Angelina both
denounced it; but before that, though they may have privately deplored
it, they seem to have accepted it as a necessary conformity to the
existing feeling against the blacks.

The decision of Friends' Society concerning discussion Sarah Grimké
seems to have accepted, for, as we have said, there is no expression of
her views on emancipation in letters or diary. But Angelina felt that
her obligations to humanity were greater than her obligations to the
Society of Friends; and as she listened to the eloquent speeches of
George Thompson and others, her life-long interest in the slave was
stimulated, and it aroused in her a desire to work for him in some way,
to do something that would practically help his cause.

On one of several loose leaves of a diary which Angelina kept at this
time, we find the following under date, "5th Mo. 12th, 1835: Five
months have elapsed since I wrote in this diary, since which time I
have become deeply interested in the subject of abolition. I had long
regarded this cause as utterly hopeless, but since I have examined
anti-slavery principles, I find them so full of the power of truth,
that I am confident not many years will roll by before the horrible
traffic in human beings will be destroyed in this land of Gospel
privileges. My soul has measurably stood in the stead of the poor
slave, and my earnest prayers have been poured out that the Lord would
be pleased to permit me to be instrumental of good to these degraded,
oppressed, and suffering fellow-creatures. Truly, I often feel ready to
go to prison or to death in this cause of justice, mercy, and love; and
I do fully believe if I am called to return to Carolina, it will not be
long before I shall suffer persecution of some kind or other."

Her fast-increasing enthusiasm alarmed her cautious sister, and drew
from her frequent and serious remonstrances. But that she also
travelled rapidly towards the final rending of the bonds which had
hitherto held her, we find from a letter to Sarah Douglass, written in
the spring of 1835. Speaking of Jay's book of Colonization, which had
just appeared, she says:--

"The work is written for the most part in a spirit of Christian candor
and benevolence. There is here and there a touch of satire or sarcasm I
would rather should have been spared. The subject is one of solemn
importance to our country, and while I do desire that every righteous
means may be employed to give to America a clear and convincing view of
the fearful load of guilt that rests upon her for trading in the souls
of men, yet I do want the friends of emancipation to take no unhallowed
weapons to sever the manacles of the slave. I rejoice in the hope that
all the prominent friends of abolition are peace men. My sister sends
her love to thee. Her mind is deeply engaged in the cause of immediate,
unconditional emancipation. I believe she does often pray for it."

In July, 1835, Angelina went to visit a friend in Shrewsbury, New
Jersey. In this quiet retreat she had ample time for reflection, and
for the study of abolition. She could, she says, think of nothing else;
and the question continually before her was, "What can I do? What can I
do?" But the more she thought, the more perplexed she became. The
certainty that any independent action, whatever, would not only offend
her Society, but grieve her sister, stood in the way of reaching any
conclusion, and kept her in a state of unrest which plainly showed
itself in her letters to Sarah.

Doubtless she did consider Sarah's advice, for she still looked up to
her with filial regard, but before she could do more than consider it,
an event occurred which made the turning point in her career, and
emancipated her forever from the restrictions to which she had so
unwillingly assented.

The difficulty which abolitionists found in holding meetings in Boston,
to be addressed by George Thompson, of England, brought out in July an
Appeal to the citizens of Boston from Mr. Garrison. This reached
Angelina's hands, and so touched her feelings, so aroused all her
anti-slavery enthusiasm, that she could no longer keep quiet. She must
give expression to her sympathy with the great cause. She wrote to the
author--a brave thing for her to do--but we doubt if she could have
refrained even if she could have fully realized the storm of reproach
which the act brought down upon her. On account of its length, I cannot
copy this letter entire, but a few extracts will give an idea of its
general tone and spirit. It is dated Philadelphia, 8th Month 30th,
1835, and begins thus:--

"Respected Friend: It seems as if I was compelled at this time to
address thee, notwithstanding all my reasonings against intruding on
thy valuable time, and the uselessness of so insignificant a person as
myself offering thee the sentiments of sympathy at this alarming
crisis.

"I can hardly express to thee the deep and solemn interest with which I
have viewed the violent proceedings of the last few weeks. Although I
expected opposition, I was not prepared for it so soon--it took me by
surprise--and I greatly feared abolitionists would be driven back in
the first outset, and thrown into confusion.... Under these feelings I
was urged to read thy Appeal to the citizens of Boston. Judge, then,
what were my feelings on finding that my fears were utterly groundless,
and that thou stoodest firm in the midst of the storm, determined to
suffer and to die, rather than yield one inch ... The ground upon which
you stand is holy ground; never, never surrender it."

She then goes on to encourage him to persevere in his work, reminding
him of the persecutions of reformers in past times, and that religious
persecution always began with mobs.

"If," she says, "persecution is the means which God has ordained for
the accomplishment of this great end, Emancipation; then, in dependence
upon Him for strength to bear it, I feel as if I could say, Let It
Come! for it is my deep, solemn, deliberate conviction that this is a
cause worth dying for. I say so, from what I have seen, heard, and
known in a land of slavery, where rests the darkness of Egypt, and
where is found the sin of Sodom. Yes! Let it come--let us suffer,
rather than insurrections should arise."

This letter Mr. Garrison published in the Liberator, to the surprise of
Angelina, and the great displeasure and grief of her Quaker friends.
But she who had just counselled another to suffer and die rather than
abate an inch of his principles was not likely to quail before the
strongly expressed censure of her Society, which was at once
communicated to her. Only over her sister's tender disapproval did she
shed any tears. Her letter of explanation to Sarah shows the sweetness
and the firmness of her character so conspicuously, that I offer no
apology for copying a portion of it. It is dated Shrewsbury, Sept.
27th, 1335, and enters at once upon the subject:--

"My Beloved Sister: I feel constrained in all the tenderness of a
sister's love to address thee, though I hardly know what to say, seeing
that I stand utterly condemned by the standard which thou hast set up
to judge me by--the opinion of my friends. This thou seemest to feel an
infallible criterion. If it is, I have not so learned Christ, for He
says, 'he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of
me,' etc. I do most fully believe that had I done what I have done in a
church capacity, I should justly incur their censure, because they
disapprove of any intermeddling with the question, but what I did was
done in a private capacity, on my own responsibility. Now, my precious
sister, I feel willing to be condemned by all but thyself, _without_ a
hearing; but to thee I owe the sacred duty of vindication, though
hardly one ray of hope dawns on my mind that I shall be acquitted even
by _thee_. If I know mine own heart, I desire _not_ to be acquitted; if
I have erred, or if this trial of my faith is needful for me by Him who
knoweth with what food to feed His poor dependent ones, thou hast been
with me in heights and in depths, in joy and in sorrow, therefore to
thee I speak. Thou knowest what I have passed through on the subject of
slavery; thou knowest I am an exile from the home of my birth because
of slavery--therefore, to thee I speak.

"Previous to my writing that letter, I believe four weeks elapsed,
during which time, though I passed through close and constant exercise,
I did not read anything on the subject of abolition, except the pieces
in the Friends' paper and the _Pennsylvanian_ relative to the
insurrections and the bonfires in Charleston. I was afraid to read.
After this, I perused the Appeal. I confess I could not read it without
tears, so much did its spirit harmonize with my own feelings. This
introduced my mind into deep sympathy with Wm. Lloyd Garrison. I found
in that piece the spirit of my Master; my heart was drawn out in prayer
for him, and I felt as if I would like to write to him, but forebore
until this day four weeks ago, when it seemed to me I _must_ write to
him. I put it by and sat down to read, but I could not read. I then
thought that perhaps writing would relieve _my own mind_, without it
being required of me to send what I wrote. I wrote the letter and laid
it aside, desiring to be preserved from sending it if it was wrong to
do so. On Second Day night, on my bended knees, I implored Divine
direction, and next morning, after again praying over it, I felt easy
to send it, and, after committing it to the office, felt anxiety
removed, and as though I had nothing more to do with it. Thou knowest
what has followed. I think on Fifth Day I was brought as low as I ever
was. After that my Heavenly Father was pleased in great mercy to open
the windows of heaven, and pour out upon my grief-bound, sin-sick soul,
the showers of His grace, and in prayer at the footstool of mercy I
found that relief which human hearts denied me. A little light seemed
to arise. I remembered how often, in deep and solemn prayer, I had told
my Heavenly Father I was willing to suffer anything if I could only aid
the great cause of emancipation, and the query arose whether this
suffering was not the peculiar kind required of me. Since then I have
been permitted to enjoy a portion of that peace which human hands
cannot rob me of, though great sadness covers my mind; for I feel as
though my character had sustained a deep injury in the opinion of those
I love and value most--how justly, they will best know at a future day.
Silent submission is my portion, and in the everlasting strength of my
Master, I humbly trust I shall be enabled to bear whatever is put upon
me.

"I have now said all I have to say, and I leave this text with thee:
'Judge not by appearance, but judge righteous judgment;' and again,
'Judge nothing before the time.' Farewell. In the love of the blessed
Gospel of God's Son, I remain, thy afflicted sister.

"A.E.G."

The entry in Sarah's diary respecting this incident is as follows. The
date is two days before that of Angelina's letter to her.

"The suffering which my precious sister has brought upon herself by her
connection with the anti-slavery cause, which has been a sorrow of
heart to me, is another proof how dangerous it is to slight the clear
convictions of truth. But, like myself, she listened to the voice of
the tempter. Oh! that she may learn obedience by the things that she
suffers. Of myself I can say, the Lord brought me up out of the
horrible pit, and my prayer for her is that she may be willing to bear
the present chastisement patiently."

In Angelina's diary, she describes very touchingly some of her trials
in this matter. Writing in September, 1835, after recording in similar
language to that used in her letter to Sarah the state of feelings
under which she wrote and sent the letter to Garrison, she says:--

"I had some idea it might be published, but did not feel at liberty to
say it must not be, for I had no idea that, if it was, my name would be
attached to it. As three weeks passed and I heard nothing of it, I
concluded it had been broken open in the office and destroyed. To my
great surprise, last Fourth Day, Friend B. came to tell me a letter of
mine had been published in the Liberator. He was most exceeding tried
at my having written it, and also at its publication. He wished me to
re-examine the letter, and write to Wm. Lloyd Garrison, expressing
disapproval of its publication, and altering some portions of it. His
visit was, I believe, prompted by the affection he bears me, but he
appeared utterly incapable of understanding the depth of feeling under
which that letter was written. The editor's remarks were deeply trying
to him. Friend B. seemed to think they were the ravings of a fanatic,
and that the bare mention of my precious brother's name was a disgrace
to his character, when coupled with mine in such a cause and such a
paper, or rather in a cause advocated in such a way. I was so
astonished and tried that I hardly knew what to say. I declined,
however, to write to W.L.G., and said I felt willing to bear any
suffering, if it was only made instrumental of good. I felt my great
unworthiness of being used in such a work, but remembered that God hath
chosen the weak things of this world to confound the wise. But I was
truly miserable, believing my character was altogether gone among my
dearest, most valued friends. I was indeed brought to the brink of
despair, as the vilest of sinners. A little light dawned at last, as I
remembered how often I had told the Lord if He would only prepare me to
be, and make me, instrumental in the great work of emancipation, I
would be willing to bear any suffering, and the question arose, whether
this was not the peculiar kind allotted to me. Oh, the extreme pain of
extravagant praise! to be held up as a saint in a public newspaper,
before thousands of people, when I felt I was the chief of sinners.
Blushing, and confusion of face were mine, and I thought the walls of a
prison would have been preferable to such an exposure. Then, again, to
have my name, not so much my name as the name of Grimké, associated
with that of the despised Garrison, seemed like bringing disgrace upon
my family, not myself alone. I felt as though the name had been
tarnished in the eyes of thousands who had before loved and revered it.
I cannot describe the anguish of my soul Nevertheless, I could not
blame the publication of the letter, nor would I have recalled it if I
could.

"My greatest trial is the continued opposition of my precious sister
Sarah. She thinks I have been given over to blindness of mind, and that
I do not know light from darkness, right from wrong. Her grief is that
I cannot see it was wrong in me ever to have written the letter at all,
and she seems to think I deserve all the suffering I have brought upon
myself."

We approach now the most interesting period in the lives of the two
sisters. A new era was about to dawn upon them; their quiet, peaceful
routine was to be disturbed; a path was opening for them, very
different from the one which had hitherto been indicated, and for which
their long and painful probation had eminently prepared them. Angelina
was the first to see it, the first to venture upon it, and for a time
she travelled it alone, unsustained by her beloved sister, and feeling
herself condemned by all her nearest friends.




CHAPTER XI.


All through the winter of 1835-36, demonstrations of violence continued
to be made against the friends of emancipation throughout the country.
The reign of terror inaugurated in 1832 threatened to crush out the
grandest principles of our Constitution. Freedom of press and speech
became by-words, and personal liberty was in constant danger. A man or
woman needed only to be pointed out as an abolitionist to be insulted
and assaulted. No anti-slavery meetings could be held uninterrupted by
the worst elements of rowdyism, instigated by men in high position. In
vain the authorities were appealed to for protection; they declared
their inability to afford it. The few newspapers that dared to express
disapproval of such disregard of the doctrine of equal rights were
punished by the withdrawal of subscriptions and advertisements, while
the majority of the public press teemed with the vilest slanders
against the noble men and women who, in spite of mobs and social
ostracism, continued to sow anti-slavery truths so diligently that new
converts were made every day, and the very means taken to impose upon
public opinion enlightened it more and more.[3]

  [3] Apropos of sowing anti-slavery truths, I remember seeing at the
  first anti-slavery fair I attended,--in 1853, I think,--a sampler
  made in 1836 by a little girl, a pupil in a school where evidently
  great pains were taken to propagate anti-slavery principles. On the
  sampler was neatly worked the words: "May the points of our needles
  prick the slave-holders' consciences."

During this winter we find nothing especial to narrate concerning Sarah
and Angelina. Sarah's diary continues to record her trials in meeting,
and her religious sufferings, notwithstanding her recently expressed
belief that her eternal salvation was secured. Angelina kept no diary
at this time, and wrote few letters, but we see from an occasional
allusion in these that her mind was busy, and that her warmest interest
was enlisted in the cause of abolition.

She read everything she could get on the subject, wrote some effective
articles for the anti-slavery papers, and pondered night and day over
the question of what more she could do. One practical thing she did was
to write to the widow of her brother Thomas, proposing to purchase from
her the woman whom she (Angelina) in her girlhood had refused to own,
and who afterwards became the property of her brother. This woman was
now the mother of several children, and Angelina, jointly with Mrs.
Frost, proposed to purchase them all, bring them to Philadelphia, and
emancipate them. But no notice was taken of the application, either by
their sister-in-law or their sister Eliza, to whom Angelina repeatedly
wrote on the subject.

Learning from their mother that she was about to make her will,
Angelina and Sarah wrote to her, asking that her slaves be included in
their portions. To this she assented, but managed to dispose of all but
four before she died. These were left to her two anti-slavery
daughters, who at once freed them, at the same time purchasing the
husband of one of them and freeing him.

As she continued to study anti-slavery doctrines, one thing became very
plain to Angelina--that the friends of emancipation, in order to clear
their skirts of all participation in the slave-owner's sin, must cease
to use the products of slave labor. To this view she tried to bring all
with whom she discussed the main subject, and so important did it
appear to her, that she thought of writing to some of the anti-slavery
friends in New York about it, but her courage failed. After what she
had gone through because of the publication of her letter to Mr.
Garrison, she shrank from the risk of having another communication made
public. But her mind was deeply exercised on this point, and when--in
the spring--she and Sarah went to attend Yearly Meeting in Providence,
R.I., an opportunity offered for her to express her views to a
prominent member of the New York Society, whom she met on the boat. She
begged this lady to talk to Gerrit Smith, recently converted from
colonization, and others, about it, and to offer them, in her name, one
hundred dollars towards setting up a free cotton factory. This was the
beginning of a society formed by those willing to pledge themselves to
the use of free-labor products only. In 1826 Benjamin Lundy had
procured the establishment, in Baltimore, of a free-labor produce
store; and subsequently he had formed several societies on the same
principle. Evan Lewis had established one in Philadelphia about 1826,
and it was still in existence.

The sisters had been so long and so closely tied to Philadelphia and
their duties there, that the relief of the visit to Providence was very
great. Sarah mentions it in this characteristic way:--

"The Friend of sinners opened a door of escape for me out of that city
of bonds and afflictions." In Providence she records how much more
freedom she felt in the exercise of her ministerial gift than she did
at home.

Angelina sympathized with these sentiments, feeling, as she expresses
it, that her release from Philadelphia was signed when she left for
Providence. She found it delightful to be able to read what she pleased
without being criticised, and to talk about slavery freely. While in
Providence she was refreshed by calls upon her of several
abolitionists, among them a cotton manufacturer and his son, Quakers,
with whom she had a long talk, not knowing their business. She
discussed the use of slave-labor, and descanted on the impossibility of
any man being clean-handed enough to work in the anti-slavery cause so
long as he was making his fortune by dealing in slave-labor products.
These two gentlemen afterwards became her warm friends.

An Anti-slavery Society meeting was held in Providence while Angelina
was there, but she did not feel at liberty to attend it, though she
mentions seeing Garrison, Henry B. Stanton, Osborne, "and others," but
does not say that she made their acquaintance; probably not, as she was
visiting orthodox Quakers who all disapproved of these men, and
Angelina's modesty would never have allowed her to seek their notice.

Leaving Providence, the sisters attended two Quarterly Meetings in
adjacent towns, where, Angelina states, the subject of slavery was
brought up, "and," she says, "gospel liberty prevailed to such an
extent, that even poor I was enabled to open my lips in a few words."
She neglected to say that these few words introduced the subject to the
meetings, and produced such deep feeling that many hitherto wavering
ones went away strengthened and encouraged.

They also attended Yearly Meeting at Newport, where many friends were
made; and where Angelina's conversations on the subject which absorbed
all her thoughts produced such an impression that she was strongly
urged to remain in New England, and become an anti-slavery missionary
in the Society of Friends. But she did not feel that she could stay,
as, she says, it was shown her very clearly that Shrewsbury was her
right place for the summer, though why, she knew not. The reason was
plainly revealed a little later.

She returned to Shrewsbury refreshed and strengthened, and feeling that
her various experiences had helped her to see more clearly where her
duty and her work lay. But she was saddened by the conviction that if
she gave herself up, as she felt she must, to the anti-slavery cause,
she would be cast loose from her peaceful home, and from very many dear
friends, to whom she was bound by the strongest ties of gratitude and
affection. She thus writes to a friend:--

"Didst thou ever feel as if thou hadst no home on earth, except in the
bosom of Jesus? I feel so now."

For several weeks after her return to Shrewsbury, Angelina tried to
withdraw her mind from the subject which her sister thought was taking
too strong hold on it, and interfering with her spiritual needs and
exercises. Out of deference to these views, she resumed her studies,
and tried to become interested in a "History of the United States on
Peace Principles," which she had thought some time before of writing.
Then she began the composition of a little book on the "Beauty and Duty
of Forgiveness, as Illustrated by the Story of Joseph," but gave that
up to commence a sacred history. In this she did become much interested
for a time, but her mind was too heavily burdened to permit her to
remain tranquil long. Still the question was ever before her: "Is there
nothing that I can do?" She tried to be cheerful, but felt at all times
much more like shedding tears. And her suffering was greater that it
was borne alone. The friend, Mrs. Parker, whom she was visiting, was a
comparative stranger, whose views she had not yet ascertained, and whom
she feared to trouble with her perplexities. Of Sarah, so closely
associated with Catherine Morris, she could not make an entire
confidant, and no other friend was near. Catherine, and some others in
Philadelphia, anxious about her evident and growing indifference to her
Society duties, tried to persuade her to open a school with one who had
long been a highly-prized friend, but Angelina very decidedly refused
to listen to the project.

"As to S.W.'s proposal," she writes, "I cannot think of acceding to it,
because I have seen so clearly that my pen, at least, must be employed
in the great reformations of the day, and if I engaged in a school, my
time would not be my own. No money that could be given could induce me
to bind my body and mind and soul so completely in Philadelphia. There
is no lack of light as to the right decision about this."

For this reply she received a letter of remonstrance from Sarah, to
which she thus answered:--

"I think I am as afraid as thou canst be of my doing anything to hurt
my usefulness in our Society, if that is the field designed for me to
labor in. But, Is it? is often a query of deep interest and solemnity
to my mind. I feel no openness among Friends. My spirit is oppressed
and heavy laden, and shut up in prison. What am I to do? The only
relief I experience is in writing letters and pieces for the peace and
anti-slavery causes, and this makes me think that my influence is to
reach beyond our own limits. My mind is fully made up not to spend next
winter in Philadelphia, if I can help it. I feel strangely released,
and am sure I know not what is to become of me. I am perfectly blind as
to the future."

But light was coming, and her sorrowful questionings were soon to be
answered.

It was not long before Mrs. Parker saw that her guest's cheerfulness
was assumed, and only thinly veiled some great trouble. As they became
more intimate, she questioned her affectionately, and soon drew from
her the whole story of her sorrows and her perplexities, and her great
need of a friend to feel for her and advise her. Mrs. Parker became
this friend, and, though differing from her on some essential points,
did much to help and strengthen her. For many days slavery was the only
topic discussed between them, and then one morning Angelina entered the
breakfast-room with a beaming countenance, and said:--

"It has all come to me; God has shown me what I can do; I can write an
appeal to Southern women, one which, thus inspired, will touch their
hearts, and lead them to use their influence with their husbands and
brothers. I will speak to them in such tones that they must hear me,
and, through me, the voice of justice and humanity."

This appeal was begun that very day, but before she had written many
pages, she was interrupted in her task by a letter which threw her into
a state of great agitation, and added to her perplexity. This letter
was from Elizur Wright, then secretary of the American Anti-Slavery
Society, the office of which was in New York. He invited her, in the
name of the Executive Committee of the Society, to come to New York,
and meet with Christian women in sewing circles and private parlors,
and talk to them, as she so well knew how to do, on slavery.

The door of usefulness she had been looking for so long was opened at
last, but it was so unexpected, so different from anything she had yet
thought of, that she was cast into a sea of trouble. Naturally retiring
and unobtrusive, she shrank from so public an engagement, and this
proposal frightened her so much that she could not sleep the first
night after receiving it. She had never spoken to the smallest assembly
of Friends, and even in meeting, where all were free to speak as the
spirit moved them, she had never uttered a word; and yet, how could she
refuse? She delayed her answer until she could make it the subject of
prayer and consult with Sarah. Desiring to leave her sister entirely
free to express her opinion, she merely wrote to her that she had
received the proposition.

Sarah was beginning to feel that Angelina was growing beyond her, and,
may be, above her. She did not offer a word of advice, but most
tenderly expressed her entire willingness to give up her "precious
child," to go anywhere, and do anything she felt was right. And in a
letter to a friend, alluding to this, she says:--

"My beloved sister does indeed need the prayers of all who love her.
Oh! may He who laid down his life for us guide her footsteps and keep
her in the hollow of His holy hand. Perhaps the Lord may be pleased to
cast our lot somewhere together. If so, I feel as if I could ask no
more in this world."

Sarah's willingness to surrender her to whatever work she felt called
to do was a great relief to Angelina. In writing to thank her and to
speak more fully of Mr. Wright's letter, she says:--

"The bare idea that such a thing may be required of me is truly
alarming, and that thy mind should be at all resigned to it increases
the fear that possibly I may have to do it. It does not appear by the
letter that it is expected I should extend my work outside of our
Society. One thing, however, I do see clearly, that I am not to do it
now, for I have begun to write an 'Appeal to the Christian Women of the
South,' which I feel must be finished first."

She then proceeds to give an account of the part of this Appeal already
written, and of what she intended the rest to be, and shows that she
shared the feelings common among Southerners, the anticipation of a
servile insurrection sooner or later. She says:--

    "In conclusion I intend to take up the subject of abolitionism, and
    endeavor to undeceive the South as to the supposed objects of
    anti-slavery societies, and bear my full testimony to their pacific
    principles; and then to close with as feeling an appeal as possible
    to them as women, as Christian women, setting before them the awful
    responsibility resting on them at this crisis; for if the women of
    the South do not rise in the strength of the Lord to plead with
    their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons, that country must
    witness the most dreadful scenes of murder and blood.

    "It will be a pamphlet of a dozen pages, I suppose. My wish is to
    submit it to the publishing committee of the A.A.S.S., of New York,
    for revision, to be published by them with my name attached, for I
    well know my _name_ is worth more than _myself_, and will add
    weight to it.[4] Now, dearest, what dost thou think of it? A pretty
    bold step, I know, and one of which my friends will highly
    disapprove, but this is a day in which I feel I must act
    independently of consequences to myself, for of how little
    consequence will my trials be, if the cause of truth is helped
    forward ever so little. The South must be reached. An address to
    men will not reach women, but an address to women will reach the
    whole community, if it can be reached at all.

    "I mean to write to Elizur Wright by to-morrow's mail, informing
    him that I am writing such a pamphlet, and that I feel as if the
    proposition of the committee is one of too much importance, either
    to accept or refuse, without more reflection than I have yet been
    able to give to it. The trial would indeed be great, to have to
    leave this sweet, quiet retreat, but if duty calls, I must go....
    Many, many thanks for thy dear, long letters."

  [4] In a letter written some time after, she says: "I would have
  liked thee to join thy name to mine in my Appeal, but thought it
  would probably bring out so much opposition and violence, that I
  preferred bearing it all myself."

While Angelina was thus busily employed, and buoyed up by the hope of
benefiting those whose wrongs she had all her life felt so deeply,
Sarah was reaching towards her, and in trying to be indulgent to her
and just to her Society at the same time, she was awakening to her own
false position and to some of the awful mistakes of her religious life.
Through the summer, such passages as the following appear in her diary:
--

"The approach of our Yearly Meeting was almost overwhelming. I felt as
if I could be thankful even for sickness, for almost anything so I
might have escaped attending it. But my dear Saviour opened no door,
and after a season of unusual conflict I was favored with resignation.

"Oh! the cruel treatment I have undergone from those in authority. I
could not have believed it had I not been called to endure it. But the
Lord permits it. My part is not to judge how far they have been moving
under divine direction, but to receive humbly and thankfully through
them the lessons of meekness, lowliness, faith, patience, and love, and
I trust I may be thankful for the opportunity thus afforded to love my
enemies and to pray for them, and perhaps it is to prepare me to feel
for others, that I have been thus tried and afflicted."

That she was thus prepared was evidenced through all the varied
experiences of her after-life, for certainly no more sympathetic soul
ever dwelt in a mortal frame, and more generously diffused its warmth
and tenderness upon all who came within its radius.

After the next First Day meeting, she writes:--

"The suffering in my own meeting is so intense that I think nothing
short of a settled conviction that obedience and eternal life are
closely connected could enable me to open my lips there."

Two weeks later, an almost prophetic sentence is written.

"Truly discouragement does so prevail that it would be no surprise to
me if Friends requested me to be silent. Hitherto, I have been spared
this trial, but if it comes, O Holy Father, may my own will be so slain
that I may bow in reverent adoring submission."

Notwithstanding all this distress, however, Sarah might still have
lingered on some time longer, stifling in the dry dust of the Quaker
Church, and refusing to partake of the living water Angelina proffered
to her, but for an incident which occurred about this time, scarcely a
fortnight after the last sentence quoted,--an incident which proved to
be the last straw added to the heavy burden she had borne so
submissively, if not patiently. It is best given in her own words, and
I may add, it is the last entry in her most remarkable diary.

"8th Mo. 3d. Went this morning to Orange Street meeting after a season
of conflict and prayer. I believed the Lord required this sacrifice,
but I went with a heart bowed down, praying to Jesus that I might not
speak my own words, that he would be pleased to make a way for me, or,
if what I had to deliver brought upon me opposition, to strengthen me
to endure it. The meeting had been gathered some time when I arose, and
after repeating our Lord's thrice-repeated query to Peter, 'Lovest thou
me?' I remarked that it was addressed to one who had been forgiven
much, and who could appeal to the Searcher of hearts that he did indeed
love Him. Few of us had had the temptation to endure which overcame
Peter when he denied his Lord and Master. But although few of us might
openly deny the Lord who bought us, yet there is, I apprehend, in many
of us an evil heart of unbelief, which alienates us from God and
disqualifies from answering the query as Peter did. I had proceeded so
far when Jonathan Evans rose and said: 'I hope the Friend will now be
satisfied.' I immediately sat down and was favored to feel perfectly
calm. The language, 'Ye can have no power at all against me unless it
be given you,' sustained me, and although I am branded in the public
eye with the disapprobation of a poor fellow worm, and it was entirely
a breach of discipline in him to publicly silence a minister who has
been allowed to exercise her gifts in her own meeting without ever
having been requested to be silent, yet I feel no anger towards him.
Surely the feelings that could prompt to so cruel an act cannot be the
feelings of Christian love. But it seems to be one more evidence that
my dear Saviour designs to bring me out of this place. How much has his
injunction rested on my mind of latter time. 'When they persecute you
in one city, flee ye into another.' I pray unto Thee, O Lord Jesus, to
direct the wanderer's footsteps and to plant me where thou seest I can
best promote thy glory. Expect to go to Burlington to-morrow."

To those unacquainted with the Society of Friends fifty years ago, and
its discipline at that period, so different from what it is now, this
incident may seem of little consequence; but it was, on the contrary,
extremely serious. Jonathan Evans was the presiding elder of the Yearly
Meetings, a most important personage, whose authority was undisputed.
He was sometimes alluded to as "Pope Jonathan." He had disliked Sarah
from the time of her connection with the Society, and had habitually
treated her and her offerings with a silent indifference most
significant, and which, of course, had its effect on many who pinned
their prejudices as well as their faith to the coats of the elders. It
was owing entirely to this secretly-exercised but well-understood
opposition, that Sarah had for nine long years used her ministerial
gift only through intense suffering. She believed, against much
rebellion in her own breast, that it had been given her to use in God's
service, and that she had no right to withhold it; but she had been
made so often to feel the condemnation under which she labored, that
she was really not much surprised when the final blow came.

But with all her religious humility her pride was great, and her
sensitiveness to any discourtesy very keen. She may not have felt anger
against Elder Evans. We can imagine, on the contrary, that her heart
was filled with pity for him, but a pity largely mixed with contempt;
and it is certain that the Society was made, in her view, responsible
for his conduct. Every slight she had ever received in it came back to
her exaggerated; all her dissatisfaction with its principles of action
doubled; the grief she had always felt at its indifference to the
doctrine of the atonement, and its neglect to preach "Jesus Christ and
him crucified," of which she had often complained, was intensified, and
her first impulse was to quit the Society, as she determined to quit
Philadelphia, for ever.

Angelina was greatly shocked when she learned of the treatment her
sister had received, but the words, "I will break your bonds and set
you free," came immediately to her mind, and so comforted her that her
grief and indignation were turned to joy. She had long felt that, kind
as Catherine Morris had always been, her strict orthodox principles,
which she severely enforced in her household, circumscribed Sarah's
liberty of thought and action, and operated powerfully in preventing
her from rising out of her depressed and discouraged state. But though
the question had often revolved itself in her mind, and even been
discussed between her and her sister, neither had been able to see how
Sarah could ever leave Catherine, bound to her as she was by such
strong ties of gratitude, and feeling herself so necessary to
Catherine's comfort. But now the way was made clear, and certainly no
true friend of Sarah could expect her to remain longer in Philadelphia.

It is surprising that Sarah had not discovered many years earlier that
the attempt must be futile to engraft a scion of the Charleston
aristocracy upon the rugged stock of Quaker orthodoxy.

She went to Burlington, to the house of a dear friend who knew of all
her trials, and there she remained for several weeks.

Angelina had finished her "Appeal," and, only two days before she heard
of the Evans incident, wrote to Sarah to inform her of the fact. This
letter is dated "Aug. 1st, 1836."

After a few affectionate inquiries, she says: "I have just finished my
'Appeal to Southern Women.' It has furnished work for two weeks. How
much I wish I could have thee here, if it were only for three or four
hours, that we might read it over together before I send it to Elizur
Wright. I read it to Margaret, and she says it carries its own evidence
with it; still, I should value thy judgment very much if I could have
it, but a private opportunity offers to-morrow, and I think I had
better send it. It must go just as I sent my letter to W.L.G., with
fervent prayers that the Lord would do just as he pleased with it. I
believe He directed and helped me to write it, and now I feel as if I
had nothing to do but to send it to the Anti-Slavery Society,
submitting it entirely to their judgment.... I cannot be too thankful
for the change thou expressest in thy feelings with regard to the
Anti-Slavery Society, and feel no desire at all to blame thee for
former opposition, believing, as I do, that it was permitted in order
to drive me closer to my Saviour, and into a deeper examination of the
ground upon which I was standing. I am indeed thankful for it; how
could I be otherwise, when it was so evident thou hadst my good at
heart and really did for the best? And it did not hurt me at all. It
did not alienate me from the blessed cause, for I think the same
suffering that would drive us back from a bad cause makes us cling to
and love a good one more ardently. O sister, I feel as if I could give
up not only friends, but life itself, for the slave, if it is called
for. I feel as if I could go anywhere to save him, even down to the
South if I am called there. The conviction deepens and strengthens, as
retirement affords fuller opportunity for calm reflection, that the
cause of emancipation is a cause worth suffering for, yea, dying for,
if need be. With regard to the proposed mission in New York, I can see
nothing about it, and never did any poor creature feel more unfit to do
anything than I do to undertake it. But what duty presses me into, I
cannot press myself out of.... I sometimes feel frightened to think of
how long I was standing idle in the market-place, and cannot help
attributing it in a great measure to the doctrine of nothingness so
constantly preached up in our Society. It is the most paralyzing,
zeal-quenching doctrine that ever was preached in the Church, and I
believe has produced its legitimate fruit of nothingness in reducing us
to nothing, when we ought to have been a light in the Christian
Church.... Farewell, dearest, perhaps we shall soon meet."

The Appeal was sent to New York, and this was what Mr. Wright wrote to
the author in acknowledging its receipt:--

"I have just finished reading your Appeal, and not with a dry eye. I do
not feel the slightest doubt that the committee will publish it. Oh
that it could be rained down into every parlor in our land. I know it
will carry the Christian women of the South if it can be read, and my
soul blesses that dear and glorious Saviour who has helped you to write
it."

When it was read some days after to the gentlemen of the committee,
they found in it such an intimate knowledge of the workings of the
whole slave system, such righteous denunciation of it, and such a warm
interest in the cause of emancipation, that they decided to publish it
at once and scatter it through the country, especially through the
South. It made a pamphlet of thirty-six pages. The Quarterly
Anti-Slavery Magazine for October, 1836, thus mentions it:--

"This eloquent pamphlet is from the pen of a sister of the late Thomas
S. Grimké, of Charleston, S.C. We need hardly say more of it than that
it is written with that peculiar felicity and unction which
characterized the works of her lamented brother. Among anti-slavery
writings there are two classes--one especially adapted to make new
converts, the other to strengthen the old. We cannot exclude Miss
Grimké's Appeal from either class. It belongs pre-eminently to the
former. The converts that will be made by it, we have no doubt, will be
not only numerous, but thorough-going."

Mr. Wright spoke of it as a patch of blue sky breaking through the
storm-cloud of public indignation which had gathered so black over the
handful of anti-slavery workers.

This praise was not exaggerated. The pamphlet produced the most
profound sensation wherever it was read, but, as Angelina predicted,
she was made to suffer for having written it. Friends upbraided and
denounced her, Catherine Morris even predicting that she would be
disowned, and intimating pretty plainly that she would not dissent from
such punishment; and Angelina even began to doubt her own judgment, and
to question if she ought not to have continued to live a useless life
in Philadelphia, rather than to have so displeased her best friends.
But her convictions of duty were too strong to allow her to remain long
in this depressed, semi-repentant state. In a letter to a friend she
expresses herself as almost wondering at her own weakness; and of
Catherine Morris she says: "Her disapproval, more than anything else,
shook my resolution. Nevertheless, I told her, with many tears, that I
felt it a religious duty to labor in this cause, and that I must do it
even against the advice and wishes of my friends. I think if I ever had
a clear, calm view of the path of duty in all my life, I have had it
since I came here, in reference to slavery. But I assure thee that I
expect nothing less than that my labors in this blessed cause will
result in my being disowned by Friends, but none of these things will
move me. I must confess I value my right very little in a Society which
is frowning on all the moral reformations of the day, and almost
enslaving its members by unchristian and unreasonable restrictions,
with regard to uniting with others in these works of faith and labors
of love. I do not believe it would cost me one pang to be disowned for
doing my duty to the slave."

But her condemnation reached beyond the Quaker Society--even to her
native city, where her Appeal produced a sensation she had little
expected. Mr. Weld's account of its reception there is thus given:--

"When it (the Appeal) came out, a large number of copies were sent by
mail to South Carolina. Most of them were publicly burned by
postmasters. Not long after this, the city authorities of Charleston
learned that Miss Grimké was intending to visit her mother and sisters,
and pass the winter with them. Thereupon the mayor called upon Mrs.
Grimké and desired her to inform her daughter that the police had been
instructed to prevent her landing while the steamer remained in port,
and to see to it that she should not communicate, by letter or
otherwise, with any persons in the city; and, further, that if she
should elude their vigilance and go on shore, she would be arrested and
imprisoned until the return of the vessel. Her Charleston friends at
once conveyed to her the message of the mayor, and added that the
people of Charleston were so incensed against her, that if she should
go there despite the mayor's threat of pains and penalties, she could
not escape personal violence at the hands of the mob. She replied to
the letter that her going would probably compromise her family; not
only distress them, but put them in peril, which she had neither heart
nor right to do; but for that fact, she would certainly exercise her
constitutional right as an American citizen, and go to Charleston to
visit her relatives, and if for that, the authorities should inflict
upon her pains and penalties, she would willingly bear them, assured
that such an outrage would help to reveal to the free States the fact
that slavery defies and tramples alike upon constitutions and laws, and
thus outlaws itself."

These brave words said no more than they meant, for Angelina Grimké's
moral heroism would have borne her to the front of the fiercest battle
ever fought for human rights; and she would have counted it little to
lay down her life if that could help on the victory. She touched as yet
only the surf of the breakers into which she was soon to be swept, but
her clear eye would not have quailed, or her cheek have blanched, if
even then all their cruelty could have been revealed to her.




CHAPTER XII.


We have seen, a few pages back, that Angelina expressed her
thankfulness at Sarah's change of views with respect to the
anti-slavery cause. Again we must regret the destruction of Sarah's
letters, which would have shown us by what chains of reasoning her mind
at last reached entire sympathy with Angelina's. We can only infer that
her progress was rapid after the public rebuke which caused her to turn
her back on Philadelphia, and that her sister's brave and isolated
position, appealing strongly to her affection, urged her to make a
closer examination of the subject of abolitionism than she had yet
done. The result we know; her entire conversion in a few weeks to
Angelina's views. And from that time she travelled close by her
sister's side in this as well as in other questions of reform, drawing
her inspiration from Angelina's clearer intuitions and calmer judgment,
and frankly and affectionately acknowledging her right of leadership.

The last of August, 1836, the sisters were once more together, Sarah
having accepted Mrs. Parker's invitation to come to Shrewsbury. The
question of future arrangements was now discussed. Angelina felt a
strong inclination to go to New England, and undertake there the same
work which the committee in New York wished her to perform, and she
even wrote to Mr. Wright that she expected to do so. Feeling also that
Friends had the first right to her time and labors, and that, if
permitted, she would prefer to work within the Society, she wrote to
her old acquaintances, E. and L. Capron, the cotton manufacturers of
Uxbridge, Massachusetts, to consult them on the subject. She mentions
this in a letter to her friend, Jane Smith, saying:--

"My present feelings lead me to labor with Friends on the manufacture
and use of the products of slave-labor. They excuse themselves from
doing anything, because they say they cannot mingle in the general
excitement, and so on. Now, here is a field of labor in which they need
have nothing to do with other societies, and yet will be striking a
heavy blow at slavery. These topics the Anti-Slavery Society has never
acted upon as a body, and therefore no agent of theirs could
consistently labor on them. I stated to E. and L. Capron just how I
felt, and asked whether I could be of any use among them, whether they
were prepared to have the morality of these things discussed on
Christian principles. I have no doubt my Philadelphia friends will
oppose my going there, but, Jane, I have realized very sensibly of late
that I belong not to them, but to Christ Jesus, and that I must follow
the Lamb whithersoever He leadeth.... I feel as if I was about to
sacrifice every friend I thought I had, but I still believe with T.D.
Weld, that this is 'a cause worth dying for.'"

This is the first mention we find of her future husband, whom she had
not yet seen, but whose eloquent addresses she had read, and whose
ill-treatment by Western mobs had more than once called forth the
expression of her indignation.

The senior member of the firm to which she had written answered her
letter in person, and, she says, utterly discouraged her. He said that
if she should go into New England with the avowed intention of laboring
among Friends on the subject of slavery in _any_ way, her path would be
completely closed, and she would find herself entirely helpless. He
even went so far as to say that he believed there were Friends who
would destroy her character if she attempted anything of the kind. He
proposed that she should go to his house for the winter, and employ her
time in writing for the Anti-Slavery Society, and doing anything else
she could incidentally. But this plan did not suit her. She felt it
right to offer her services to Friends first, and was glad she had done
so; but if they would not accept them she must take them elsewhere.
Besides, when she communicated her plan to Catherine Morris, Catherine
objected to it very decidedly, and said she _could not_ go without a
certificate and a companion, and these she knew Friends would not grant
her.

"Under all these circumstances," Angelina writes, "I felt a little like
the apostle Paul, who having first offered the Jews the gospel, and
finding they would not receive it, believed it right for him to turn to
the Gentiles. Didst thou ever hear anything so absurd as what Catherine
says about the certificate and a companion? I cannot feel bound by such
unreasonable restrictions if my Heavenly Father opens a door for me,
and I do not mean to submit to them. She knows very well that Arch
Street Meeting would grant me neither, but as the servant of Jesus
Christ I have no right to bow down thus to the authority of man, and I
do not expect ever again to suffer myself to be trammelled as I have
been. It is sinful in any human being to resign his or her conscience
and free agency to any society or individual, if such usurpation can be
resisted by moral power. The course our Society is now determined upon,
of crushing everything which opposes the peculiar views of Friends,
seems to me just like the powerful effort of the Jews to close the lips
of Jesus. They are afraid that the Society will be completely broken up
if they allow any difference of opinion to pass unrebuked, and they are
resolved to put down all who question in any way the doctrines of
Barclay, the soundness of Fox, or the practices which are built on
them. But the time is fast approaching when we shall see who is for
Christ, and who for Fox and Barclay, the Paul and Apollos of our
Society."

Her plan of going to New England frustrated, Angelina hesitated no
longer about accepting the invitation from New York. But first there
was a long discussion of the subject with Sarah, who found it hard to
resign her sister to a work she as yet did not cordially approve. She
begged her not to decide suddenly, and pointed out all sorts of
difficulties--the great responsibility she would assume, her retiring
disposition, and almost morbid shrinking from whatever might make her
conspicuous; the trial of going among strangers, made greater by her
Quaker costume and speech, and lastly, of the almost universal
prejudice against a woman's speaking to any audience; and she asked her
if, under all these embarrassing circumstances, added to her
inexperience of the world, she did not feel that she would ultimately
be forced to give up what now seemed to her so practicable. To all this
Angelina only answered that the responsibility seemed thrust upon her,
that the call was God's call, and she could not refuse to answer it.
Sarah then told her that if she should go upon this mission without the
sanction of the "Meeting for Sufferings," it would be regarded as a
violation of the established usages of the Society, and it would feel
obliged to disown her. Angelina's answer to this ended the discussion.
She declared that as her mind was made up to go, she could not ask
leave of her Society--that it would grieve her to have to leave it, and
it would be unpleasant to be disowned, but she had no alternative. Then
Sarah, whose loving heart had, during the long talk, been moving nearer
and nearer to that of her clear child, surprised her by speaking in the
beautiful, tender language of Ruth: "If thou indeed feelest thus, and I
cannot doubt it, then my mind too is made up. Where thou goest, I will
go; thy God shall be my God, thy people my people. What thou doest, I
will, to my utmost, aid thee in doing. We have wept and prayed
together, we will go and work together."

And thus fully united, heart and soul and mind, they departed for New
York, Angelina first writing to inform the committee of her decision,
and while thanking them for the salary offered, refusing to receive
any. She also told them that her sister would accompany her and
co-operate with her, and they would both bear their own expense.

After this time, the sisters found themselves in frequent and intimate
association with the men who, as officers of the American Anti-Slavery
Society, had the direction of the movement. The marked superiority of
their new friends in education, experience, culture, piety, liberality
of view, statesmanship, decision of character, and energy in action, to
the Philadelphia Quakers and Charleston slave-holders, must have been
to them a surprise and a revelation. Working with a common purpose,
these men were of varied accomplishments and qualities. William Jay and
James G. Birney were cultured men of the world, trained in legal
practice and public life; Arthur Tappan, Lewis Tappan, John Rankin, and
Duncan Dunbar, were successful merchants; Abraham L. Cox, a physician
in large practice; Theodore D. Weld, Henry B. Stanton, Alvan Stewart,
and Gerrit Smith were popular orators; Joshua Leavitt, Elizur Wright,
and William Goodell were ready writers and able editors; Beriah Green
and Amos A. Phelps were pulpit speakers and authors, and John G.
Whittier was a poet. Some of them had national reputations. Those who
in December, 1835, protested against the false charges of publishing
incendiary documents calculated to excite servile war, made against the
Society by President Jackson, had signed names almost as well known as
his, and had written better English than his message. Several of them
had been officers of the American Anti-Slavery Society from its
formation. Their energy had been phenomenal: they had raised funds,
sent lecturers into nearly every county in the free States, and
circulated in a single year more than a million copies of newspapers,
pamphlets, magazines, and books. Their moderation, good judgment, and
piety had been seen and known of all men. Faithful in the exposure of
unfaithfulness to freedom on the part of politicians and clergymen,
they denounced neither the Constitution nor the Bible. Their devotion
to the cause of abolition was pure; for its sake they suppressed the
vanity of personal notoriety and of oratorical display. Among them, not
one can be found who sought to make a name as a leader, speaker, or
writer; not one who was jealous of the reputation of co-adjutors; not
one who rewarded adherents with flattery and hurled invectives at
dissentients; not one to whom personal flattery was acceptable or
personal prominence desirable; not one whose writings betrayed egotism,
self-inflation or bombast. Such was their honest aversion to personal
publicity, it is now almost impossible to trace the work each did. Some
of their noblest arguments for Freedom were published anonymously. They
made no vainglorious claims to the original authorship of ideas. But
never in the history of reform was work better done than the old
American Anti-Slavery Society did from its formation in 1833 to its
disruption in 1840. In less than seven years it regained for Freedom
most of the vantage-ground lost under the open assaults and secret
plottings, beginning in 1829, of the Jackson administration, and in the
panic caused by the Southampton insurrection; blew into flame the
embers of the national anti-slavery sentiment; painted slavery as it
was; vindicated the anti-slavery character of the Constitution and the
Bible; defended the right of petition; laid bare the causes of the
Seminole war: exposed the Texas conspiracy and the designs of the slave
power for supremacy; and freed the legitimate abolition cause from "no
human government," secession, and anti-constitution heresies. In short,
it planted the seed which flowered and fruited in a political party,
around which the nation was to gather for defence against the
aggressions of the slave power.

At the anti-slavery office in New York, Angelina and Sarah learned,
much to their satisfaction, that the work that would probably be
required of Angelina could be done in a private capacity; that it was
proposed to organize, the next month (November), a National Female
Anti-Slavery Society, for which women agents would be needed, and they
could make themselves exceedingly useful travelling about, distributing
tracts, and talking to women in their own homes.

There the matter rested for a time.

Writing to her friend Jane Smith in Philadelphia after their return to
Shrewsbury, Angelina says:--

"I am certain of the disapproval of nearly all my friends. As to dear
Catherine, I am afraid she will hardly want to see me again. I wrote to
her all about it, for I wanted her to know what my prospects were. I
expect nothing less than the loss of her friendship and of my
membership in the Society. The latter will be a far less trial than the
former.... I cannot describe to thee how my dear sister has comforted
and strengthened me. I cannot regard the change in her feelings as any
other than as a strong evidence that my Heavenly Father has called me
into the anti-slavery field, and after having tried my faith by her
opposition, is now pleased to strengthen and confirm it by her
approbation."

In a postscript to this letter, Sarah says:--

"God does not willingly grieve or afflict the children of men, and if
my suffering or even my beloved sister's, which is harder to bear than
my own, can help forward the cause of Truth and Righteousness, I may
rejoice in that we are found worthy not only to believe on, but also to
suffer for, the name of Jesus."

Angelina adds that she shall be obliged to go to Philadelphia for a
week or so, to dispose of her personal effects, and asks Jane to
receive her as a boarder, as she did not think it would be right to
impose herself upon either her sister, Mrs. Frost, or Catherine, on
account of their disapproval of anti-slavery measures.

"I never felt before," she says, "as if I had _no_ home. It seems as if
the Lord had completely broken up my rest and driven me out to labor
for the poor slave. It is _His_ work--I blame no one."

A few weeks later, the sisters were again in New York, the guests of
that staunch abolitionist, Dr. Cox, and his good wife, Abby, as earnest
a worker in the cause as her husband. An anti-slavery convention had
been called for the first week in the month of November, and met soon
after their arrival. It was at this convention that Angelina first saw
and listened to Theodore D. Weld. Writing to her friend Jane, she
says:--

"The meetings are increasingly interesting, and to-day (11th) we
enjoyed a moral and intellectual feast in a most noble speech from T.D.
Weld, of more than two hours, on the question, 'What is slavery?' I
never heard so grand and beautiful an exposition of the dignity and
nobility of man in my life."

She goes on to give a synopsis of the entire speech, and by her
frequent enthusiastic comments reveals how much it and the speaker
impressed her. She continues:--

"After the meeting was over, W.L. Garrison introduced Weld to us. He
greeted me with the appellation of 'my dear sister,' and I felt as
though he was a brother indeed in the holy cause of suffering humanity;
a man raised up by God and wonderfully qualified to plead the cause of
the oppressed. Perhaps now thou wilt want to know how this lion of the
tribe of abolition _looks_. Well, at first sight, there was nothing
remarkable to me in his appearance, and I wondered whether he was
really as great as I had heard. But as soon as his countenance became
animated by speaking, I found it was one which portrayed the noblest
qualities of the heart and head beaming with intelligence, benevolence,
and frankness."

On the last page of her letter she says: "It is truly comforting to me
to find that sister is so much pleased with the Convention, that she
acknowledges the spirit of brotherly love and condescension manifest
there, and that earnest desire after truth which characterizes the
addresses. We have been introduced to a number of abolitionists,
Thurston, Phelps, Green, the Burleighs, Wright, Pritchard, Thome, etc.,
and Amos Dresser, as lovely a specimen of the meekness and lowliness of
the great Master as I ever saw. His countenance betrayeth that he has
been with Jesus, and it was truly affecting to hear him on Sixth Day
give an account of the Nashville outrage to a very large colored
school.[5]

"The F.A.S. Society is to have its first public meeting this week, at
which we hope to hear Weld, but fear he will not have time, as he is
not even able to go home to meals, and told me he had sat up until two
o'clock every night since he came to New York. As to myself, I feel I
have nothing to do but to attend the Convention at present. I am very
comfortable, feeling in my right place, and sister seems to feel so
too, though neither of us sees much ahead."

  [5] Amos Dresser was one of the Lane Seminary students. After
  leaving that institution, in order to raise funds to continue his
  studies, he accepted an agency for the sale of the "Cottage Bible."
  While peacefully prosecuting his business in Nashville, in 1834, it
  became known that he was an abolitionist. This was enough. He was
  arrested, his trunk broken open, and its contents searched and
  scattered. He was then taken before a vigilance committee, and
  without a single charge, except that of his anti-slavery principles,
  being brought against him, was condemned to receive twenty lashes,
  "well laid on," on the bare back, and then to be driven from the
  town. The sentence was carried out by the votes and in the presence
  of thousands of people, and was presided over by the mayor and the
  elders of the Presbyterian Church from whose hands Mr. Dresser had,
  the Sunday before, received the Holy Communion.

In her next letter she describes the deepening interest of the
Convention, and Sarah's increasing unity with its members.

"We sit," she says, "from 9 to 1, 3 to 5, and 7 to 9, and never feel
weary at all. It is better, _far_ better than any Yearly Meeting I ever
attended. It is still uncertain when we shall adjourn, and it is so
good to be here that I don't know how to look forward to the end of
such a feast.... T.D. Weld is to begin his Bible argument to-morrow. It
will occupy, he says, four days."

The Convention adjourned the latter part of November, 1836, and we may
judge how profitable its meetings had proved to Sarah Grimké, from the
fact that she at once began the preparation of an "Epistle to the
Clergy of the Southern States," which, printed in pamphlet form, was
issued some time in December, and was as strong an argument against the
stand on the subject of slavery taken by the majority of the clergy as
had yet appeared. Reading it, one would little suspect how recent had
been the author's opposition to just such protests as this, calculated
to stir up bitter feelings and create discussion and excitement in the
churches. It is written in a spirit of gentleness and persuasion, but
also of firm admonition, and evidently under a deep sense of individual
responsibility. It shows, too, that Sarah had reached full accord with
Angelina in her views of immediate emancipation.

By the time the Convention was over, the sisters, and portions of their
history, had become so well known to abolitionists, that the leaders
felt they had secured invaluable champions in these two Quaker women,
one so logical, brilliant, and persuasive; the other so intelligent,
earnest, and conscientious; and both distinguished by their ability to
testify as eye-witnesses against the monstrous evils of slavery.

It was proposed that they should begin to hold a series of parlor
meetings, for women only, of course. But it was soon found that they
had, in private conversations, made such an impression, that no parlors
would be large enough to accommodate all who desired to hear them speak
more at length. Upon learning this, the Rev. Mr. Dunbar, a Baptist
clergyman, offered them the use of his Session room, and the Female
Anti-Slavery Society embraced the opportunity to make this the
beginning of regular quarterly meetings. On the Sunday previous to the
meeting, notice of it was given out in four churches, without however,
naming the proposed speakers. But it became known in some way that the
Misses Grimké were to address the meeting, and a shock went through the
whole community. Not a word would have been said if they had restricted
themselves to a private parlor meeting, but that it should be
transferred to such a public place as the parlor of a church made quite
a different affair of it. Friends were of course as loud as Friends
could properly be in their expressions of disapproval, while other
denominations, not so restrained, gave Mr. Dunbar, the abolitionists,
and the "two bold Southern women" an unmistakable piece of their mind.
Even Gerrit Smith, always the grandest champion of woman, advised
against the meeting, fearing it would be pronounced a Fanny Wright
affair, and do more harm than good. Sarah and Angelina were appalled,
the latter especially, feeling almost as if she was the bold creature
she was represented to be. She declared her utter inability, in the
face of such antagonism, to go on with the work she had undertaken, and
the more she looked at it, the more unnatural and unwise it seemed to
her; and when printed hand-bills were scattered about, calling
attention in a slighting manner to their names, both felt as if it were
humanly impossible for them to proceed any further. But the meeting had
been called, and as there was no business to come before it, they did
not know what to do.

"In this emergency," Angelina writes, "I called upon Him who has ever
hearkened unto my cry. My strength and confidence were renewed, my
burden slipped off, and from that time I felt sure of God's help in the
hour of need, and that He would be mouth and wisdom, tongue and
utterance to us both."

"Yesterday," she continues, "T.D. Weld came up, like a brother, to
sympathize with us and encourage our hearts. He is a precious
Christian, and bade us not to fear, but to trust in God. In a previous
conversation on our holding meetings, he had expressed his full unity
with our doing so, and grieved over that factitious state of society
which bound up the energies of woman, instead of allowing her to
exercise them to the glory of God and the good of her fellow creatures.
His visit was really a strength to us, and I felt no more fear. We went
to the meeting at three o'clock, and found about three hundred women
there. It was opened with prayer by Henry Ludlow; we were warmly
welcomed by brother Dunbar, and then these two left us. After a moment,
I arose and spoke about forty minutes, feeling, I think, entirely
unembarrassed. Then dear sister did her part better than I did. We then
read some extracts from papers and letters, and answered a few
questions, when at five the meeting closed; after the question had been
put whether our sisters wished another meeting to be held. A good many
rose, and Henry Ludlow says he is sure he can get his session room for
us."

This account of the first assembly of women, not Quakers, in a public
place in America, addressed by American women, is deeply interesting,
and touching from its very simplicity.

We who are so accustomed to hear women speak to promiscuous audiences
on any and every subject, and to hear them applauded too, can scarcely
realize the prejudice which, half a century back, sought to close the
lips of two refined Christian ladies, desirous only of adding their
testimony against the greatest evil of any age or country. But those
who denounced and ridiculed them builded better than they knew, for
then and there was laid the corner-stone of that temple of equal rights
for women, which has been built upon by so many brave hearts and
willing hands since, and has brought to the front such staunch
supporters and brilliant advocates as now adorn every convention of the
Woman's Rights Associations.

After mentioning some who came up and spoke to them after the meeting
was over, Angelina adds:--

"We went home to tea with Julia Tappan, and Brother Weld was all
anxiety to hear about the meeting. Julia undertook to give some
account, and among other things mentioned that a warm-hearted
abolitionist had found his way into the back part of the meeting, and
was escorted out by Henry Ludlow. Weld's noble countenance instantly
lighted up, and he exclaimed: 'How supremely ridiculous to think of a
man's being shouldered out of a meeting, for fear he should hear a
woman speak!'...

"In the evening a colonizationist of this city came to introduce an
abolitionist to Lewis Tappan. We women soon hedged in our expatriation
brother, and held a long and interesting argument with him until near
ten o'clock. He gave up so much that I could not see what he had to
stand on when we left him."

Another meeting, similar to the first, was held the next week, when so
much interest was manifested that it was decided to continue the
meetings every week until further notice. By the middle of January they
had become so crowded, and were attended by such an influential class
of women, that Mr. Ludlow concluded to offer his church to them. He
always opened the meetings with prayer, and then retired. The addresses
made by the sisters were called "lectures," but they were rather
familiar talks, occasionally a discussion, while many questions were
asked and answered. Angelina's confidence in herself increased rapidly,
until she no longer felt the least embarrassment in speaking; though
she alludes to the exhausting effect of the meetings on her physical
system. Of Sarah, she says, writing to Jane Smith:--

"It is really delightful to see dear sister so happy in this work....
Some Friends come to hear us, but I do not know what they think of the
meetings--or of us. How little, how very little I supposed, when I used
so often to say 'I wish I were a man,' that I could go forth and
lecture, that I ever would do such a thing. The idea never crossed my
mind that as a woman such work could possibly be assigned to me."

To this letter there is a postscript from Sarah, in which she says:--

"I would not give up my abolition feelings for anything I know. They
are intertwined with my Christianity. They have given a new spring to
my existence, and shed over my whole being sweet and hallowed
enjoyments."

Angelina's next letter to her friend is dated, "2d Mo. 4th, 1837," and
continues the account of the meetings. She mentions that, at the last
one, they had one male auditor, who refused to go out when told he
must, so he was allowed to stay, and she says: "Somehow, I did not
feel, his presence embarrassing at all, and went on just as though he
had not been there. Some one said he took notes, and I think he was a
Southern spy, and shall not be at all surprised if he publishes us in
some Southern paper."

Truly it was a risky thing for a lord of creation to intrude himself
into a woman's meeting in those days!

Angelina goes on to remark that more Friends are attending their
meetings, and that if they were not opened with prayer, still more
would come. Also, that Friends had been very kind and attentive to them
in every way, and never said a discouraging word to them. She then
discourses a little on phrenology, at that time quite a new thing in
this country, and relates an anecdote of "Brother "Weld," as follows:--

"When he went to Fowler in this city, he disguised himself as an
omnibus driver. The phrenologist was so struck with the supposed fact
that an omnibus driver should have such an extraordinary head, that he
preserved an account of it, and did not know until some time after that
it was Weld's. He says that when he first had his head examined at
Utica, he was told he was deficient in the organ of color, his eyebrow
showing it. He immediately remembered that his mother often told him:
'Theodore, it is of no use to send you to match a skein of silk, for
you never bring the right color.' When relating this, he observed a
general titter in the room, and on inquiring the reason a candle was
put near him, and, to his amazement, all agreed that the legs of his
pantaloons were of different shades of green. Instead of a ridge all
around his eyebrow, he has a little hollow in one spot."

A society for the encouragement of abstinence from the use of slave
products had just been formed in Philadelphia, and Angelina desired her
friend to put her name to the pledge, but not Sarah's. In a postscript
Sarah explains this, saying:--

"I do abstain from slave produce as much as I can, just because I feel
most easy to do so, but I cannot say my judgment is convinced;
therefore, I would rather not put my name to the pledge."

Her judgment was convinced, however, very shortly afterwards, by a
discussion of the subject with Weld and some others, and she then wrote
to Jane Smith to set her name down, as she found her testimony in the
great cause was greatly strengthened by keeping clean hands.

There is much told of their meetings, and their other experiences in
New York, which is very interesting, and for which I regret I have not
room. Angelina describes in particular one visit they made to a poor
family, that of one of her Sunday-school pupils, where they stayed to
tea, being afterwards joined by Mr. Weld, who came to escort them home.
She says of him:--

"I have seen him shine in the Convention and in refined circles, but
never did I admire him so much. His perfect ease at this fireside of
poverty showed that he was accustomed to be the friend and companion of
the poor of this world."

The family here mentioned was doubtless a colored one, as it was in the
colored Sunday school that both sisters taught. They had already
proved, by their friendship for Sarah Douglass, the Fortens, and other
colored families of Philadelphia, how slight was their prejudice
against color, but the above incident proves the entire sincerity of
their convictions and their desire to avail themselves of every
opportunity to testify to it. Still, there is no doubt that to the
influence of Theodore Weld's conversations they owed much of their
enlightenment on this as well as on some other points of radical
abolitionism. It was after a talk with him that Angelina describes the
Female Anti-Slavery Society of New York as utterly inefficient, "doing
literally nothing," and ascribes its inefficiency to the sinful
prejudice existing there, which shut out colored women from any share
in its management, and gave little encouragement to them even to become
members.

She adds: "I believe it is our duty to visit the poor, white and
colored, just in this way, and to receive them at our houses. I think
that the artificial distinctions in society, the separation between the
higher and the lower orders, the aristocracy of wealth and education,
are the very rock of pauperism, and that the only way to eradicate this
plague from our land will be to associate with the poor, and the wicked
too, just as our Redeemer did. To visit them as our inferiors, the
recipients of our bounty, is quite a different thing from going among
them as our equals."

In her next letter to Jane Smith, Angelina gives an interesting account
of H.B. Stanton's great speech before the Committee of the
Massachusetts legislature on the abolition of slavery in the District
of Columbia; a speech which still ranks as one of the ablest and most
brilliant ever delivered in this country. There is no date to this
letter, but it must have been written the last of February or first of
March, 1837. She begins thus:--

"I was wondering, my dear Jane, what could be the reason I had not
heard from thee, when brother Weld came in with thine and Mira's
letters hanging from the paper on which they had been tied. 'I bring
you,' he said, 'a good emblem of the fate of abolitionists,--so take
warning;' and held them up to our view....

"Brother Garrison was here last Sixth Day and spent two hours with us.
He gave us a most delightful account of recent things in Boston, which
I will try to tell thee of. "When the abolitionists found how their
petitions were treated in Congress, they sent in, from all parts of
Massachusetts, petitions to the legislature, requesting it to issue a
protest against such contempt of the people's wishes and rights. The
legislature was amazed at the number and respectability of these
petitions, and appointed a committee to take them under consideration.
Abolitionists then asked for a hearing before that committee, not in
the lobby, but in the Hall of Representatives. The request was granted,
and though the day was exceedingly stormy, a good number were out. A
young lawyer of Boston first spoke an hour and a half; H.B. Stanton
followed, and completely astonished the audience, but could not get
through by dark, and asked for another meeting. The next afternoon an
overflowing audience greeted him; he spoke three hours, and did not yet
finish. Another meeting was appointed for the next evening, and he says
he thinks hundreds went away because they could not get in. Stanton
spoke one hour and a quarter, and then broke down from the greatness of
the effort, added to the unceasing labors of the winter. A profound
silence reigned through the crowded hall. Not one moved to depart. At
last a member of the committee arose, and asked if there was any other
abolitionist present who wished to speak. Stanton said he believed not,
as they now had the views of the Anti-Slavery Society. The committee
were not satisfied; and one of them said if there was any abolitionist
who wished to follow Mr. Stanton, they would gladly hear all he had to
say, but all declined. Brother Garrison said such was the desire to
hear more on this subject, that he came directly to New York to get
Weld to go and speak before them, but his throat is still so much
affected that it will be impossible for him to do so. Isn't this
cheering news? Here are seven hundred men in the Massachusetts
legislature, who, if they can be moved to protest against the
unconstitutional proceedings of Congress, will shake this nation to its
centre, and rock it in a revolutionary storm that must either sink it
or save it."

After closing their meetings in New York, the sisters held similar ones
in Newark, Bloomfield, and other places in New Jersey, in all of which
Sarah was as active and enthusiastic as Angelina, and from this time we
hear no more of the gloom and despondency which had saddened so many of
the best years of her life. But, identified completely with her
sister's work, she was busy, contented and satisfied of the Lord's
goodness and mercy.

These meetings had all been quiet and undisturbed in every way, owing
of course, to the fact that only women attended, but the newspapers had
not spared them. Ridicule, sarcasm, and pity were liberally bestowed
upon the "deluded ladies" by the press generally, and the Richmond Whig
published several editorials about "those fanatical women, the Misses
Grimké." But writing against them was the extent of the opposition at
that time, and this affected them very little.

From New Jersey they went up the North River with Gerrit Smith, holding
interesting meetings at Hudson and Poughkeepsie. At the latter place
they spoke to an assembly of colored people of both sexes, and this was
the first time Angelina ever addressed a mixed audience, and it was
perhaps in accordance with the fitness of things that it should have
been a colored one. She often spoke of this in after years, looking
back to it with pleasure. Here, also, they attended a meeting of the
Anti-slavery Society of the Protestant Episcopal Methodist Church, and
spoke against the sin of prejudice. In a letter to Sarah Douglass,
Sarah says:--

"My feelings were so overcome at this meeting that I sat down and wept.
I feel as if I had taken my stand by the side of the colored American,
willing to share with him the odium of a darker skin, and I trust if I
am permitted again to take my seat in Arch Street Meeting House, it
will be beside thee and thy dear mother."

These Hudson River meetings ended the labors of the sisters in New York
for the time. They returned to the city to take a little needed rest,
and to prepare for the Female Anti-Slavery Convention, which was to
meet there early in May. The Society which had sent them forth had
reason to be well satisfied with its experiment. Not only had they
awakened enthusiasm and sincere interest in abolition, but had
demonstrated the ability of women to publicly advocate a great cause,
and the entire propriety of their doing so. One of the members, of the
committee asserted that it would be as impossible to calculate the
number of converts they had made, as to estimate the encouragement and
strength their zeal and eloquence had given to abolitionists all over
the country. Men were slow to believe the reports of their wives and
sisters respecting Angelina's wonderful oratory, and this incredulity
produced the itching ears which soon drew to the meetings where the
Grimké sisters were to speak more men than women, and gave them the
applause and hearty support of some of the ablest minds of New England.
The Female Anti-slavery Convention opened with seventy-one delegates;
the Misses Grimké, at their own request, representing South Carolina.
During this convention they met many congenial souls, among whom they
particularize Lydia M. Child, Mary T. Parker, and Anna Weston, as
sympathizing so entirely with their own views respecting prejudice and
the province of woman.

The latter question had long been Sarah's pet problem, to the solution
of which she had given much thought and study, ever since the time when
she was denied participation in her brother's education because of her
sex. It is scarcely too much to say that to her mind this question was
second in importance to none, and though the word enfranchisement, as
applied to woman, had not yet been uttered, the whole theory of it was
in Sarah's heart, and she eagerly awaited the proper time and place to
develop it. Angelina, while holding the same views, would probably have
kept them in the background longer, but for Sarah's arguments,
supported by the objection so frequently urged against the
encouragement of their meetings,--that slavery was a political subject
with which women had nothing to do. This objection she answered in a
masterly paper, an "Appeal to the Women of the Nominally Free States,"
which was printed in pamphlet form and sent out by the Female
Anti-Slavery Convention, and attracted wide attention. The chief point
she took was this: "The denial of our duty to act in this cause is a
denial of our right to act; and if we have no right to act, then may we
well be termed 'the white slaves of the North,' for, like our brethren
in bonds, we must seal our lips in silence and despair."

The whole argument, covering nearly seventy pages, is remarkable in its
calm reasoning, sound logic, and fervid eloquence, and will well repay
perusal, even at this day. About the same time a beautiful and most
feeling "Address to Free Colored Americans" was written by Sarah, and
likewise circulated by the Convention. These two pamphlets made the
sisters so widely known, and so increased the desire in other places to
hear them speak, that invitations poured in upon them from different
parts of the North and West, as well as from the New England States. It
was finally decided that they should go to Boston first, to aid the
brave, good women there, who, while willing to do all that women could
do for the cause in a private capacity, had not yet been persuaded to
open their lips for it in any kind of a public meeting. It was not
contemplated, however, that the sisters should address any but
assemblies of women. Even Boston was not yet prepared for a greater
infringement of the social proprieties.




CHAPTER XIII.


The Woman's Rights agitation, while entirely separate from
Abolitionism, owes its origin to the interest this subject excited in
the hearts and minds of American women; and to Sarah and Angelina
Grimké must be accorded the credit of first making the woman question
one of reform. Their broad views, freely expressed in their New York
meetings, opened up the subject of woman's duties under the existing
state of public sentiment, and, in connection with the revelations made
concerning the condition of her white and colored sisters at the South,
and the frantic efforts used to prevent her from receiving these
revelations, she soon began to see that she had some moral obligations
outside of her home sphere and her private circle. At first her only
idea of aid in the great cause was that of prayer, which men
universally granted was her especial privilege, even encouraging her to
pray for them; but it must be private prayer--prayer in her own
closet--with no auditor but the God to whom she appealed. As soon as it
became public, and took the form of petitions to legislatures and to
Congress, the reprobation began. The enemies of freedom, fully
realizing woman's influence, opposed her interference at every point;
and when a Southern representative declared from his seat that women
had no right to send up petitions to Congress he was sustained by the
sycophantic response which came from the North, that slavery was a
political question, with which women had nothing to do. Angelina Grimké
answered this so fully and so eloquently in her "Appeal to Northern
Women," that no doubt could have been left in the minds of those who
read it, not only of woman's right, but of her duty to interfere in
this matter. The appeal is made chiefly to woman's tenderest and
holiest feelings, but enough is said of her rights to show whither
Angelina's own reflections were leading her, and it must have turned
the thoughts of many other women in the same direction. A passage or
two may be quoted as examples.

"Every citizen should feel an intense interest in the political
concerns of the country, because the honor, happiness and well-being of
every class are bound up in its politics, government, and laws. Are we
aliens because we are women? Are we bereft of citizenship because we
are the mothers, wives, and daughters of a mighty people? Have women no
country--no interests staked on the public weal--no partnership in a
nation's guilt and shame? Has woman no home nor household altars, nor
endearing ties of kindred, nor sway with man, nor power at the
mercy-seat, nor voice to cheer, nor hand to raise the drooping, or to
bind the broken?... The Lord has raised up men whom he has endowed with
'wisdom and understanding, and knowledge,' to lay deep and broad the
foundations of the temple of liberty. This is a great moral work in
which they are engaged. No war-trumpet summons to the field of battle;
but Wisdom crieth without, 'Whosoever is of a willing heart, let him
bring an offering.' Shall woman refuse her response to the call? Was
she created to be a helpmeet for man--his sorrows to divide, his joys
to share, and all his toils to lighten by her willing aid, and shall
she refuse to aid him with her prayers, her labors, and her counsels
too, at such a time, in such a cause as this?"

There had been, from the beginning of the anti-slavery agitation, no
lack of women sympathizers with it. Some of the best and brightest of
the land had poured forth their words of grief, of courage, and of hope
through magazines and newspapers, in prose and in verse, and had proved
their willingness to suffer for the slave, by enduring unshrinkingly
ridicule and wrath, pecuniary loss and social ostracism. All over the
country, in almost every town and village, women labored untiringly to
raise funds for the printing of pamphlets, sending forth lecturers and
for the pay of special agents. They were regular attendants also on the
anti-slavery meetings and conventions, often outnumbering the men, and
privately made some of the best suggestions that were offered. But so
strong and general was the feeling against women speaking in any public
place, that, up to the time when Sarah and Angelina Grimké began their
crusade, it was an almost unheard of thing for a woman to raise her
voice in any but a church prayer-meeting. During the sittings of the
Anti-Slavery Convention in Philadelphia, in 1833, which was attended by
a number of women, chiefly Friends, Lucretia Mott, though she had had
experience in speaking in Quaker meetings, timidly arose one day, and,
in fear lest she might offend, ventured to propose an amendment to a
certain resolution. With rare indulgence and good sense, Beriah Green,
the president of the convention, encouraged her to proceed; and May, in
his "Recollections," says: "She made a more impressive and effective
speech than any other that was made in the convention, excepting only
the closing address of our president."

Two other ladies, Esther Moore and Lydia White, emboldened by Mrs.
Mott's example, afterwards said a few words on one or two occasions,
but these were the only infringements, during all those early years of
agitation, of St. Paul's oft-quoted injunction.

When Sarah and Angelina Grimké accepted the invitation of the Female
Anti-Slavery Society of Boston, to come and labor there, they found
friends on every hand--women of the highest culture and purest
religion, eager to hear them, not only concerning what their eyes had
witnessed in that land of worse than Egyptian bondage, but ready to be
enlightened upon their own duties and rights in the matter of moral
reform, and as willing as resolute to perform them. Without experience,
as the sisters were, we can hardly be surprised that they should have
been carried beyond their original moorings, and have made what many of
their best friends felt was a serious mistake, in uniting the two
causes, thus laying upon abolitionists a double burden, and a
responsibility to which the great majority of them were as much opposed
as were their bitterest enemies. But no movement in this direction was
made for some time. Indeed, it seems to have grown quite naturally out
of, or been forced forward by, the alarm among men, and the means they
took to frighten and warn women away from the dangerous topic.

The Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Convention met early in June, 1837. In
writing about it to Jane Smith, Angelina first touches upon the dawning
feeling on this woman question. She says:--

"We had Stanton and Burleigh, Colver and Birney, Garrison and Goodell,
etc. Their eloquence was no less delightful to the ear than the
soundness of their doctrine was comforting to the heart.... A peace
resolution was brought up, but this occasioned some difficulty on
account of non-resistance here meaning a repudiation of civil
government, and of course we cannot expect many to be willing to do
this.... At Friend Chapman's, where we spent a social evening, I had a
long talk with the brethren on the rights of women, and found a very
general sentiment prevailing that it is time our fetters were broken.
L. Child and Maria Chapman strongly supported this view; indeed, very
many seem to think a new order of things is very desirable in this
respect.... And now, my dear friend, in view of these things, I feel
that it is not the cause of the slave only that we plead, but the cause
of woman as a moral, responsible being, and I am ready to exclaim, 'Who
is sufficient for these things?' These holy causes must be injured if
they are not helped by us. I see not to what point all these things are
leading us. But one thing comforts me: I do feel as though the Lord had
sent us, and as if I was leaning on his arm."

And in this reliance, in a meek and lowly spirit, impelled not by
inclination, but by an overpowering sense of duty, these gentle women,
fully realizing the singularity of their position, prepared to enter
upon entirely new scenes of labor, encompassed by difficulties
peculiarly trying to their delicate natures.

A series of public meetings was arranged for them as soon as the
Convention adjourned, and the first was held in Dorchester, in the town
hall, to which they repaired upon finding the number of those who
wished to hear them too great to be accommodated in a private house.
Their next was in Boston on the following afternoon. Angelina's heart
here almost failed her as she glanced over the assemblage of women of
all classes, and thought of the responsibility resting upon her. It was
at this meeting that a reverend gentleman set the example, which was
followed by two or three other men, of slyly sliding into a back seat
to hear for himself what manner of thing this woman's speaking was.
Satisfied of its superior quality, and alarmed at its effects upon the
audience, he shortly afterwards took great pains to prove that it was
unscriptural for a woman to speak in public.

As the meetings were held at first only in the daylight, there was
little show of opposition for some time. The sisters went from one town
to another, arousing enthusiasm everywhere, and vindicating, by their
power and success, their right to speak. Angelina's letters to Jane
Smith contain memoranda of all the meetings she and Sarah held during
that summer and fall. It is surprising that they were able to endure
such an amount of mental and physical labor, and maintain the
constantly increasing eagerness to hear them. Before the end of the
first week, she records:--"Nearly thirty men present, pretty easy to
speak." A few days later the number of men had increased to fifty, with
"great openness on their part to hear."

After having held meetings every day, their audience numbering from one
hundred and fifty to one thousand, Angelina records on the 21st July,
at Lynn:--

"In the evening of the same day addressed our first mixed audience.
Over one thousand present, great openness to hear, and ease in
speaking."

This, so briefly mentioned, was the beginning of the revolution in
sentiment respecting woman's sphere, which, though it was met at the
outset with much the same spirit which opposed abolitionism, soon
spread and became a principle of reform as conscientiously and as ably
advocated as any other, moral or political. Neither Sarah nor Angelina
had any idea of starting such a revolution, but when they found it
fairly inaugurated, and that many women had long privately held the
same views as they did and were ready to follow in their lead, they
bravely accepted, and to the end of their lives as bravely sustained
all the responsibilities their opinions involved. They were the
pioneers in the great cause of political freedom for women, and opened
the way in the true pioneer spirit. The clear sense of justice and the
broad humanity which inspired their trenchant rebukes and fervid
appeals not only enlightened and encouraged other women, but led to
inquiry into various wrongs practised towards the sex which had up to
that time been suffered in silence and in ignorance, or in despair of
any possibility of relief. The peculiar tenderness of Sarah Grimké's
nature, and her overflowing sympathy with any form of suffering, led
her, earlier than Angelina, to the consideration of the necessity of
some organized system of protection of helpless women and children;
and, from the investigation of the impositions and abuses to which they
were subjected, was evolved, without much difficulty, the doctrine of
woman's equality before the law, and her right to a voice on every
subject of public interest, social or political. Sarah's published
letters during the summer of 1837 show her to have been as deeply
interested in this reform as in abolitionism, and to her influence was
certainly due the introduction of the "Woman Question" into the
anti-slavery discussions. That this question was as yet a secondary one
in Angelina's mind is evident from what she writes to Jane Smith about
this time. She says: "With regard to speaking on the rights of woman,
it has really been wonderful to me that though, everywhere I go, I meet
prejudice against our speaking, yet, in addressing an audience, I never
think of referring to it. I was particularly struck with this two days
ago. Riding with Dr. Miller to a meeting at Franklin, I found, from
conversation with him, that I had a great amount of prejudice to meet
at that town, and very much in his own mind. I gave him my views on
women's preaching, and verily believe I converted him, for he said he
had no idea so much could be adduced from the Bible to sustain the
ground I had taken, and remarked: 'This will be quite new to the
people, and I believe they will gladly hear these things,' and pressed
me so much to speak on the subject at the close of my lecture that I
was obliged to promise I would if I could remember to do so. After
speaking two hours, we returned to his house to tea, and he asked: 'Why
did you not tell the people why you believed you had a right to speak?'
I had entirely forgotten all about it until his question revived the
conversation we had on the road. Now I believe the Lord orders these
things so, driving out of my mind what I ought not to speak on. If the
time ever comes when this shall be a part of my public work, then I
shall not be able to forget it."

But to return to the meeting at Lynn. We are told that the men present
listened in amazement. They were spell-bound, and impatient of the
slightest noise which might cause the loss of a word from the speakers.
Another meeting was called for, and held the next evening. This was
crowded to excess, many going away unable to get even standing-room.

"At least one hundred," Angelina writes, "stood around the doors, and,
on the outside of each window, men stood with their heads above the
lowered sash. Very easy speaking indeed."

But now the opposers of abolitionism, and especially the clergy, began
to be alarmed. It amounted to very little that (to borrow the language
of one of the newspapers of the day) "two fanatical women, forgetful of
the obligations of a respected name, and indifferent to the feelings of
their most worthy kinsmen, the Barnwells and the Rhetts, should, by the
novelty of their course, draw to their meetings idle and curious
women." But it became a different matter when men, the intelligent,
respectable and cultivated citizens of every town, began to crowd to
hear them, even following them from one place to another, and giving
them loud and honest applause. Then they were adjudged immodest, and
their conduct denounced as unwomanly and demoralizing. Their devotion
to principle, the purity of their lives, the justice of the cause they
pleaded, the religious stand-point from which they spoke, all were
overlooked, and the pitiless scorn of Christian men and women of every
sect was poured down upon them. Nor should we wonder when we remember
that, at that time, the Puritan bounds of propriety still hedged in the
education and the training of New England women, and limited the views
of New England men. Even many of the abolitionists had first to hear
Sarah and Angelina Grimké to be convinced that there was nothing
unwomanly in a woman's raising her voice to plead for those helpless to
plead for themselves. So good a man and so faithful an anti-slavery
worker as Samuel J. May confesses that his sense of propriety was a
little disturbed at first. Letters of reproval, admonition, and
persuasion, some anonymous, some signed by good conscientious people,
came to the sisters frequently. Clergymen denounced them from their
pulpits, especially warning their women members against them. Municipal
corporations refused the use of halls for their meetings, and threats
of personal violence came from various quarters. Friends especially
felt outraged. The New England Yearly Meeting went so far as to advise
the closing of meeting-house doors to all anti-slavery lecturers and
the disownment the sisters had long expected now became imminent.

We can well imagine how terrible all this must have been to their
shrinking, sensitive, and proud spirits. But their courage never
failed, nor was their mighty work for humanity stayed one instant by
this storm of indignation and wrath. Angelina, writing to her dear Jane
an account of some of the opposition to them, says:

"And now, thou wilt want to know how we feel about all these things.
Well, dear, poor enough in ourselves, and defenceless; but rich and
strong in the help which our Master is pleased to give from time to
time, making perfect his strength in our weakness. This is a truly
humbling dispensation, but when I am speaking I am favored to forget
little _I_ entirely, and to feel altogether hidden behind the great
cause I am pleading. Were it not for this, I do not know how I could
face such audiences and such opposition. O Jane, how good it is that we
can cast all our burdens upon the Lord."

And Sarah, writing to Sarah Douglass, says: "They think to frighten us
from the field of duty; but they do not move us. God is our shield, and
we do not fear what man can do unto us," A little further on she says:
"It is really amusing to see how the clergy are arrayed against two
women who are telling the story of the slave's wrongs."

This was before the celebrated "Pastoral Letter" appeared. Sarah's
answer to that in her letters to the N.E. Spectator shows how far the
clergy had gone beyond amusing her.

There were, of course, many church members of every denomination, and
many ministers, in the abolition ranks. Indeed, at some of the
Anti-Slavery Conventions, it was a most edifying sight to see clergymen
of different churches sitting together and working together in harmony,
putting behind them, for the time being, all creeds and dogmas, or,
rather, sinking them all in the one creed taught by the blessed command
to do unto others as they would be done by.

Some of the more conservative of the clergy objected, it is true, to
the great freedom of thought and speech allowed generally in the
Conventions, but this was slight compared to the feeling excited by the
encouragement given to women to take prominent and public part in the
work, even to speaking from the platform and the pulpit.

The general prejudice against this was naturally increased by the
earnest eloquence with which Angelina Grimké pointed out the
inconsistent attitude of ministers and church members towards slavery;
by Sarah's strongly expressed views concerning a paid clergy; and the
indignant protests of both sisters against the sin of prejudice, then
as general in the church as out of it.

The feeling grew very strong against them. They were setting public
sentiment at defiance, it was said; they were seeking to destroy
veneration for the ministers of the Gospel; they were casting contempt
upon the consecrated forms of the Church; and much more of the same
kind. Nowhere, however, did the feeling find decided public expression
until the General Association of Congregational Ministers of
Massachusetts saw proper to pass a resolution of censure against Sarah
and Angelina Grimké, and issued a pastoral letter, which, in the light
and freedom of the present day, must be regarded as a most
extraordinary document, to say the least of it. The opening sentences
show the degree of authority felt and exercised by the clergy at that
time. It maintained that, as ministers were ordained by God, it was
their place and duty to judge what food was best to feed to the flock
over which they had been made overseers by the Holy Ghost; and that, if
they did not preach on certain topics, as the flock desired, the flock
had no right to put strangers in their place to do it; that deference
and subordination were necessary to the happiness of every society, and
peculiarly so to the relation of a people to their pastor; and that the
sacred rights of ministers had been violated by having their pulpits
opened without their consent to lecturers on various subjects of
reform.

All this might pass without much criticism: but it was followed by a
tirade against woman-preachers, aimed at the Grimké sisters especially,
which was as narrow as it was shallow. The dangers which threatened
the female character and the permanent injury likely to result to
society, if the example of these women should be followed, were
vigorously portrayed. Women were reminded that their power was in
their dependence; that God had given them their weakness for their
protection; and that when they assumed the tone and place of man,
as public reformers, they made the care and protection of man seem
unnecessary. "If the vine," this letter fancifully said, "whose
strength and beauty is to lean upon the trellis-work, and half
conceal its clusters, thinks to assume the independence and the
overshadowing nature of the elm, it will not only cease to bear
fruit, but will fall in shame and dishonor into the dust."

Sarah Grimké had just begun a series of letters on the "Province of
Woman" for the _N.E. Spectator_, when this pastoral effusion came out.
Her third letter was devoted to it. She showed in the clearest manner
the unsoundness of its assertions, and the unscriptural and unchristian
spirit in which they were made. The delicate irony with which she also
exposed the ignorance and the shallowness of its author must have
caused him to blush for very shame.

Whittier's muse, too, found the Pastoral Letter a fitting theme for its
vigorous, sympathetic utterances. The poem thus inspired is perhaps one
of the very best among his many songs of freedom. It will be remembered
as beginning thus:--

    "So this is all! the utmost reach
      Of priestly power the mind to fetter,
    When laymen _think_, when women _preach_,
      A war of words, a 'Pastoral Letter!'"

Up to this time nothing had been said by either of the sisters in
their lectures concerning their views about women. They had carefully
confined themselves to the subject of slavery, and the attendant
topics of immediate emancipation, abstinence from the use of slave
products, the errors of the Colonization Society, and the sin of
prejudice on account of color. But now that they found their own
rights invaded, they began to feel it was time to look out for the
rights of their whole sex.

The Rev. Amos Phelps, a staunch abolitionist, wrote a private letter
to the sisters, remonstrating earnestly but kindly against their
lecturing to men and women, and requesting permission to publish the
fact of his having done so, with a declaration on their part that they
preferred having female audiences only. Angelina says to Jane Smith:--

"I wish you could see sister's admirable reply to this. We told him we
were entirely willing he should publish anything he felt it right to,
but that we could not consent to his saying in our name that we
preferred female audiences only, because in so saying we should
surrender a fundamental principle, believing, as we did, that as moral
beings it was our duty to appeal to all moral beings on this subject,
without any distinction of sex. He thinks we are throwing a
responsibility on the Anti-Slavery Society which will greatly injure
it. To this we replied that we would write to Elizur Wright, and give
the Executive Committee an opportunity to throw off all such
responsibility by publishing the facts that we had no commission from
them, and were not either responsible to or dependent on them. I wrote
this letter. H.B. Stanton happened to be here at the time; after
reading all the letters, he wrote to Elizur Wright, warning him by no
means to publish anything which would in the least appear to
disapprove of what we were doing. I do not know what the result will
be. My only fear is that some of our anti-slavery brethren will commit
themselves, in this excitement, against _women's rights and duties_
before they examine the subject, and will, in a few years, regret the
steps they may now take. This will soon be an absorbing topic. It must
be discussed whether women are moral and responsible beings, and
whether there is such a thing as male and female virtues, male and
female duties, etc. My opinion is that there is no difference, and
that this false idea has run the ploughshare of ruin over the whole
field of morality. My idea is that whatever is morally right for a man
to do is morally right for a woman to do. I recognize no rights but
human rights. I know nothing of men's rights and women's rights; for
in Christ Jesus there is neither male nor female.... I am persuaded
that woman is not to be as she has been, a mere second-hand agent in
the regeneration of a fallen world, but the acknowledged equal and
co-worker with man in this glorious work.... Hubbard Winslow of Boston
has just preached a sermon to set forth the proper sphere of our sex.
I am truly glad that men are not ashamed to come out boldly and tell
us just what is in their hearts."

In another letter she mentions that a clergyman gave out a notice of
one of their meetings, at the request, he said, of his deacons, but
under protest; and he earnestly advised his members, particularly the
women, not to go and hear them. At a meeting, also, at Pepperell,
where they had to speak in a barn, on account of the feeling against
them, she mentions that an Orthodox clergyman opened the meeting with
prayer, but went out immediately after finishing, declaring that he
would as soon rob a hen-roost as remain there and hear a woman speak
in public.

This, however, did not prevent the crowding of the barn "almost to
suffocation," and deep attention on the part of those assembled.

In the face of all this censure and ridicule, the two sisters
continued in the discharge of a duty to which they increasingly felt
they were called from on high. The difficulties, inconveniences, and
discomforts to which they were constantly subjected, and of which the
women reformers of the present day know so little, were borne
cheerfully, and accepted as means of greater refinement and
purification for the Lord's work. They were often obliged to ride six
or eight or ten miles through the sun or rain, in stages or wagons
over rough roads to a meeting, speak two hours, and return the same
distance to their temporary abiding-place. For many weeks they held
five and six meetings a week, in a different place every time, were
often poorly lodged and poorly fed, especially the latter, as they ate
nothing which they did not know to be the product of free labor;
taking cold frequently, and speaking when ill enough to be in bed, but
sustained through all by faith in the justice of their cause, and by
their simple reliance upon the love and guidance of an Almighty
Father. The record of their journeyings, as copied by Angelina from
her day-book for the benefit of Jane Smith, is very interesting, as
showing how, in spite of continued opposition to them, anti-slavery
sentiment grew under their eloquent preaching. Wendell Phillips says:
"I can never forget the impulse our cause received when those two
sisters doubled our hold on New England in 1837 and 1838, and made a
name, already illustrious in South Carolina by great services, equally
historical in Massachusetts, in the two grandest movements of our
day."

Angelina's eloquence must have been something marvellous. The sweet,
persuasive voice, the fluent speech, and occasionally a flash of the
old energy, were all we who knew her in later years were granted, to
show us what had been; but it was enough to confirm the accounts given
by those who had felt the power of her oratory in those early times.
Says Wendell Phillips: "I well remember evening after evening
listening to eloquence such as never then had been heard from a woman.
She swept the chords of the human heart with a power that has never
been surpassed and rarely equalled."

Mr. Lincoln, in whose pulpit she lectured in Gardiner, says: "Never
before or since have I seen an audience so held and so moved by any
public speaker, man or woman; and never before or since have I seen a
Christian pulpit so well filled, nor in the pews seen such absorbed
hearers."

Robert F. Walcutt testifies in the same manner. "Angelina," he says,
"possessed a rare gift of eloquence, a calm power of persuasion, a
magnetic influence over those who listened to her, which carried
conviction to hearts that nothing before had reached. I shall never
forget the wonderful manifestation of this power during six successive
evenings, in what was then called the Odeon. It was the old Boston
Theatre, which had been converted into a music hall; the four
galleries rising above the auditorium all crowded with a silent
audience carried away with the calm, simple eloquence which narrated
what she and her sister had seen from their earliest days. And yet
this Odeon scene, the audience so quiet and intensely absorbed,
occurred at the most enflamed period of the anti-slavery contest. The
effective agent in this phenomenon was Angelina's serene, commanding
eloquence, a wonderful gift, which enchained attention, disarmed
prejudice, and carried her hearers with her."

Another, who often heard her, speaks of the gentle, firm, and
impressive voice which could ring out in clarion tones when speaking
in the name of the Lord to let the oppressed go free.

Many travelled long distances to hear her. Mechanics left their shops,
and laborers came in out of the field, and sat almost motionless
throughout her meetings, showing impatience only when the lecture was
over and they could hear no more. Sarah's speaking, though fully as
earnest, was not nearly so effective as Angelina's. She was never very
fluent, and cared little for the flowers of rhetoric. She could state
a truth in clear and forcible terms, but the language was unvarnished,
sometimes harsh, while the manner of speaking was often embarrassed.
She understood and felt her deficiencies, and preferred to serve the
cause through her pen rather than through her voice. Writing to Sarah
Douglass, in September, 1837, she says:--

"That the work in which we are engaged is in a peculiar manner dear
Angelina's, I have no doubt. God called and qualified her for it by
deep travail of spirit. I do not think my mind ever passed through the
preparation hers did, and I regard my being with her more as an
evidence of our dear Saviour's care for us, than a design that I
should perform a conspicuous part in this labor of love. Hence,
although at first I was permitted to assist her, as her strength
increased and her ability to do the work assigned her was perfected, I
was more and more withdrawn from the service. Nor do I think anyone
ought to regret it. My precious sister has a gift in lecturing, in
reasoning and elucidating, so far superior to mine, that I know the
cause is better pleaded if left entirely in her hands. My spirit has
not bowed to this dispensation without prayer for resignation to being
thus laid aside, but since I have been enabled to take the above view,
I have been contented to be silent, believing that so is the will of
God."

Sarah's religious anxieties seem all to have vanished before the
absorbing interest of her new work. She had no longer time to think of
herself, or to stand and question the Lord on every going-out and
coming-in. She relied upon Him as much as ever, but she understood Him
better, and had more faith in His loving-kindness. In a letter to T.
D. Weld, she says:--

"For many years I have been inquiring the way to Zion, and now I know
not but I shall have to surrender all or many long-cherished points of
religion, and come back to the one simple direction: 'Follow after
holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord.'"

All her letters show how much happier she was under her new
experiences. Angelina thus writes of her:--

"Sister Sarah enjoys more real comfort of mind than I ever saw her
enjoy before, and it is delightful to be thus yoked with her in this
work."

But with Sarah's wider, fuller sympathies came bitter regrets over the
spiritual bondage which had kept her idle and useless so long. And
yet, in spite of all, her heart still clung to the Society of Friends,
and the struggle to give them up, to resign the long-cherished hope of
being permitted to preach among them the unsearchable riches of
Christ, was very great. But conscientious and true to her convictions
even here, as her own eyes had been mercifully opened to the faults of
this system of religion, she must do what she could to help others.
Under a solemn sense of responsibility, she wrote and printed a
pamphlet exposing the errors of the Quaker Church, and showing the
withering influence it exerted over all moral and religious progress.
For this, she doubted not, she would be at once disowned; but Friends
seem to have been very loth to part with the two rebellious subjects,
who had certainly given them much trouble, but in whom they could not
help feeling a certain pride of ownership. They showed their
willingness to be patient yet a little while longer.

All through the summer and early fall, the meetings were continued
with slightly decreasing opposition, and continued abuse from press
and pulpit and "good society." Sarah still bore her share of the
labors, frequently speaking an hour at a time, and taking charge
chiefly of the legal side of the question of slavery, while the moral
and religious sides were left for Angelina. At Amesbury, Angelina
writes:--

"We met the mother, aunt, and sister of brother Whittier. They
received us at their sweet little cottage with sincere pleasure, I
believe, they being as thoroughgoing as their dear J.G.W., whom they
seem to know how to value. He was absent, serving the good cause in
New York."

At an evening meeting they held at Amesbury, a letter was handed
Angelina, which stated that some gentlemen were present, who had just
returned from the South, and had formed very different opinions from
those of the lecturers, and would like to state them to the meeting.

Sarah read the letter aloud, and requested the gentlemen to proceed
with their remarks. Two arose, and soon showed how little they really
knew, and how close an affinity they felt with slave-holders. A
discussion ensued, which lasted an hour, when Angelina went on with
her lecture on the "Dangers of Slavery." When it was over, the two
gentlemen of Southern sympathies requested that another opportunity be
granted for a free discussion of the subject. This was agreed to, and
the 19th of the month, August, settled upon.

This was another and a great step forward, and when known gave rise to
renewed denunciations, the press being particularly severe against
such an unheard-of thing, which, it was declared, would not be
tolerated if the Misses Grimké were not members of the Society of
Friends. The abolitionists, however, rallied to their support, H.B.
Stanton even proposing to arrange some meeting where he and they could
speak together. But even Angelina shrank from such an irretrievable
committal on his part as this would be, and did not think the time had
yet come for such an anomaly. On the 19th they returned to Amesbury,
and Angelina writes that great excitement prevailed, and that many had
come from neighboring towns to hear two _Massachusetts men defend_
slavery against the accusations of two _Southern women_. "May the
blessed Master," she adds, "stand at our right hand in this trying and
uncommon predicament."

Two evenings were given to the discussion, the hall being packed both
evenings, many, even ladies, standing the whole time. Angelina gives
no details about it, as, she says, she sends a paper with a full
account to Jane Smith; but we may judge of the interest it excited
from the fact that the people urged a continuance of the discussion
for two more evenings, which, however, the sisters were obliged to
decline. Angelina adds:--

"Everyone is talking about it; but we have given great offence on
account of our womanhood, which seems to be as objectionable as our
abolitionism. The whole land seems aroused to discussion on the
province of woman, and I am glad of it. We are willing to bear the
brunt of the storm, if we can only be the means of making a breach in
the wall of public opinion, which lies right in the way of woman's
true dignity, honor, and usefulness. Sister Sarah does preach up
woman's rights most nobly and fearlessly, and we find that many of our
New England sisters are prepared to receive these strange doctrines,
feeling, as they do, that our whole sex needs emancipation from the
thraldom of public opinion. What dost thou think of some of _them
walking_ two, four, six, and eight miles to attend our meetings?"

This preaching of the much-vexed doctrine was, however, done chiefly
in private, indeed altogether so by Angelina. Sarah's nature was so
impulsive that she could not always refrain from putting in a stroke
for her cherished views when it seemed to fit well into the argument
of a lecture. What prominent abolitionists thought of the subject in
its relation to the anti-slavery cause, and especially what T.D. Weld
and John G. Whittier thought, must be told in another chapter.




CHAPTER XIV.


Among the most prominent opposers of immediate emancipation were Dr.
Lyman Beecher and the members of his remarkable family; and though
they ultimately became converts to it, even so far as to allow a
branch of the "underground railway" to run through their barn, their
conversion was gradual, and only arrived at after various
controversies and discussions, and much bitter feeling between them
and the advocates of the unpopular cause. Opposed to slavery in the
abstract, that is, believing it to be a sin to hold a fellow creature
in bondage for the "_mere purposes of gain_," they utterly condemned
all agitation of the question. The Church and the Gospel were, with
them, as with so many evangelical Christians, the true means through
which evils should be reached and reforms effected. All efforts
outside were unwise and useless, not to say sinful. And further, as
Catherine Beecher expressed it, they considered the matter of Southern
slavery as one with which the North was no more called to interfere
than in the abolition of the press-gang system in England, or the
tithe system in Ireland. Some chapters back, the short but pleasant
friendship of Catherine Beecher and Angelina Grimké was mentioned.
Very soon after that little episode, the Beechers removed to
Cincinnati, where the doctor was called to the Presidency of the Lane
Theological Seminary. We can well understand that the withdrawal of
nearly all its students after the great discussion was a sore trial to
the Beechers, and intensified their already adverse feelings towards
abolitionists. The only result of this with which we have to do is the
volume published by Catherine Beecher during the summer of 1837,
entitled "Miss Beecher on the Slave Question," and addressed to
Angelina Grimké.

Catherine was the true counterpart of her father, and the most
intellectual of his children, but she lacked the gentle, feminine
graces, and was so wanting in tenderness and sympathy that Angelina
charitably implies that her heart was sunk forever with her lover,
Professor Fisher of Yale, who perished in a storm at sea. With
independence, striking individuality, and entire freedom from timidity
of any sort, it would appear perfectly natural that Catherine should
espouse the Woman's Rights reform, even though opposing that of
abolitionism. But she presented the singular anomaly of a
strong-minded woman, already successful in taking care of herself,
advocating woman's subordination to man, and prescribing for her
efforts at self-help limits so narrow that only the few favored as she
was could venture within them.

Her book was received with much favor by slave-holders and their
apologists, though it was harshly criticised by a few of the more
sensible of the former. These declared that they had more respect for
abolitionists who openly denounced the system of slavery, than for
those people who, in order to please the South, cloaked their real
sentiments under a garb like that of Miss Beecher's book. It was also
severely handled by abolitionists, and Lucretia Mott wrote a very able
review of it, which Angelina, however, pronounced entirely too mild.
She writes to Jane Smith:

"Catherine's arguments are the most insidious things I ever read, and
I feel it my duty to answer them; only, I know not how to find
language strong enough to express my indignation at the view she takes
of woman's character and duty."

The answer was given in a number of sharp, terse, letters, sent to the
_Liberator_ from various places where the sisters stopped while
lecturing. A few passages will convey some idea of the spirit and
style of these letters, thirteen in number. In the latter part of the
second letter she says:--

"Dost thou ask what I mean by emancipation? I will explain myself in a
few words.

"1st. It is to reject with indignation the wild and guilty phantasy
that man can hold _property_ in man.

"2d. To pay the laborer his hire, for he is worthy of it.

"3d. No longer to deny him the right of marriage, but to let every man
have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband, as saith
the apostle.

"4th. To let parents have their own children, for they are the gift of
the Lord to them, and no one else has any right to them.

"5th. No longer to withhold the advantages of education, and the
privilege of reading the Bible.

"6th. To put the slave under the protection of equitable laws.

"Now why should not _all_ this be done immediately? Which of these
things is to be done next year, and which the year after? and so on.
_Our_ immediate emancipation means doing justice and loving mercy
_to-day_, and this is what we call upon every slave-holder to do....

"I have seen too much of slavery to be a gradualist. I dare not, in
view of such a system, tell the slave-holder that he is 'physically
unable to emancipate his slaves.'[6] I say _he is able_ to let the
oppressed go free, and that such heaven-daring atrocities ought to
cease _now_, henceforth, and forever. Oh, my very soul is grieved to
find a Northern woman 'thus sewing pillows under all arm-holes,'
framing and fitting soft excuses for the slave-holder's conscience,
whilst with the same pen she is _professing_ to regard slavery as a
sin. 'An open enemy is better than such a secret friend.'

"Hoping that thou mayst soon be emancipated from such inconsistency, I
remain until then,

"Thine _out_ of the bonds of Christian abolitionism.

"A.E. GRIMKÉ."

  [6] The plea made by many of the apologists was that, as the laws of
  some of the States forbade emancipation, the masters were physically
  unable to free their slaves.

The last letter, which Angelina says she wrote in sadness and read to
her sister in tears, ends thus:--

"After endeavoring to show that woman has no moral right to exercise
the right of petition for the dumb and stricken slave; no business to
join, in any way, in the excitement which anti-slavery principles are
producing in our country; no business to join abolition societies,
etc., thou professest to tell our sisters what they are to do in order
to bring the system of slavery to an end. And now, my dear friend,
what does all thou hast said in many pages amount to? Why, that women
are to exert their influence in private life to allay the excitement
which exists on this subject, and to quench the flame of sympathy in
the hearts of their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons. Fatal
delusion! Will Christian women heed such advice?

"Hast thou ever asked thyself what the slave would think of thy book
if he could read it? Dost thou know that, from the beginning to the
end, not a word of compassion for _him_ has fallen from thy pen?
Recall, I pray, the memory of hours which thou spent in writing it.
Was the paper once moistened by the tear of pity? Did thy heart once
swell with sympathy for thy sister in _bonds_? Did it once ascend to
God in broken accents for the deliverance of the captive? Didst thou
even ask thyself what the free man of color would think of it? Is it
such an exhibition of slavery and prejudice as will call down _his_
blessing on thy head? Hast thou thought of _these_ things? or carest
thou not for the blessings and prayers of these our suffering
brethren? Consider, I entreat, the reception given to thy book by the
apologists of slavery. What meaneth that loud acclaim with which they
hail it? Oh, listen and weep, and let thy repentings be kindled
together, and speedily bring forth, I beseech thee, fruits meet for
repentance, and henceforth show thyself faithful to Christ and His
bleeding representative, the slave.

"I greatly fear that thy book might have been written just as well,
hadst thou not had the heart of a woman. It bespeaks a superior
intellect, but paralyzed and spellbound by the sorcery of a
worldly-minded expediency. Where, oh, where in its pages are the
outpourings of a soul overwhelmed with a sense of the heinous crimes of
our nation, and the necessity of immediate repentance? ... Farewell!
Perhaps on a dying bed thou mayst vainly wish that '_Miss Beecher on
the Slave Question_' might perish with the mouldering hand which penned
its cold and heartless pages. But I forbear, and in deep sadness of
heart, but in tender love though I thus speak, I bid thee again,
farewell. Forgive me if I have wronged thee, and pray for her who still
feels like

"Thy sister in the bonds of a common sisterhood.

"A.E. GRIMKÉ."


While Angelina was writing these letters, Sarah was publishing her
letters on the "Province of Woman" in the _Spectator_. This was a
heavier dose than Boston could stand at one time; harsh and bitter
things were said about the sisters, notices of their meetings were
torn down or effaced, and abolitionism came to be so mixed up in the
public mind with Woman's Rights, that anti-slavery leaders generally
began to feel anxious lest their cause should suffer by being
identified with one to which the large majority of abolitionists was
decidedly opposed. Even among them, however, there was a difference of
opinion, Garrison, H.C. Wright and others, non-resistants, encouraging
the agitation of Woman's Rights. A few lines from one of Angelina's
letters will best define the position taken by herself and Sarah.

"Sister and I," she writes, "feel quite ready for the discussion about
women, but brothers Whittier and Weld entreat us to let it alone for
the present, because it will involve topics of such vast
importance,--a paid ministry, clerical domination, etc.,--and will,
they fear, divert our attention and that of the community from the
anti-slavery cause; and that the wrongs of the slave are so much
greater than the wrongs of woman, they ought not to be confounded. In
their letters, received last week, they regret exceedingly that the
letters in the _Spectator_ had been written. They think just as we do,
but believe that, for the time being, a persevering, practical
assertion of woman's right to speak to mixed audiences is the best one
we can make, and that we had better keep out of controversies, as our
hands are full. On the other hand, we fear that the leaven of the
Pharisees will be so assiduously worked into the minds of the people,
that if they come to hear us, they will be constantly thinking it is a
_shame_ for us to speak in the churches, and that we shall lose that
influence which we should otherwise have. We know that _our_ views on
this subject are quite new to the _mass_ of the people of this State,
and I think it best to throw them open for their consideration, just
letting them have both sides of the argument to look at, at the same
time. Indeed some wanted to have a meeting in Boston for us to speak
on this subject now, and we went into town on purpose to hold a
conference about it at Maria Chapman's. She, Mary Parker, and sister
were against it for the present, fearing lest it would bring down such
a storm upon our heads, that we could not work in the country, and so
Henrietta Sargent and I yielded, and I suppose this is the wisest
plan, though, as brother Stanton says, I am ready for the battle
_now_. I am still glad of sister's letters, and believe they are doing
great good. Some noble-minded women cheer her on, and she feels
encouraged to persevere, the brethren notwithstanding. I tell them
that this is _a part_ of the great doctrine of Human Rights, and can
no more be separated from emancipation than the light from the heat of
the sun; the rights of the slave and of woman blend like the colors of
the rainbow. However, I rarely introduce this topic into my addresses,
except to urge my sisters up to duty. Our _brethren_ are dreadfully
afraid of this kind of amalgamation. I am very glad to hear that
Lucretia Mott addressed the Moral Reform Society, and am earnest in
the hope that _we_ are only pioneers, going before a host of worthy
women who will come up to the help of the Lord against the mighty."

The letters of Whittier and Weld, alluded to by Angelina, are so good
and so important that I feel no reluctance in giving them here almost
entire. The first is Whittier's, and is dated: "Office of Am. A.S.
Soc., 14th of 8th Mo., 1837,"--and is as follows:

"MY DEAR SISTERS,--I have been waiting for an opportunity to answer
the letter which has been so kindly sent me. I am anxious, too, to
hold a long conversation with you on the subject of _war_, human
government, and church and family government. The more I reflect on
this subject, the more difficulty I find, and the more decidedly am I
of opinion that we ought to hold all these matters far aloof from the
cause of abolition. Our good friend, H.C. Wright, with the best
intentions in the world, is doing great injury by a different course.
He is making the anti-slavery party responsible in a great degree, for
his, to say the least, startling opinions. I do not censure him for
them, although I cannot subscribe to them in all their length and
breadth. But let him keep them distinct from the cause of
emancipation. This is his duty. Those who subscribe money to the
Anti-Slavery Society do it in the belief that it will be spent in the
propagation, not of Quakerism or Presbyterianism, but of the doctrines
of Immediate Emancipation. To employ an agent who devotes half his
time and talents to the propagation of 'no human or no family
government' doctrines in connection--_intimate connection_--with the
doctrines of abolition, is a fraud upon the patrons of the cause. Just
so with papers. Brother Garrison errs, I think, in this respect. He
takes the 'no church, and no human government' ground, as, for
instance, in his Providence speech. Now, in his prospectus, he engaged
to give his subscribers an anti-slavery paper, and his subscribers
made their contract with him on that ground. If he fills his paper
with Grahamism and no governmentism, he defrauds his subscribers.
However, I know that brother Garrison does not look at it in this
light.

"In regard to another subject, '_the rights of woman_,' you are now
doing much and nobly to vindicate and assert the rights of woman. Your
lectures to crowded and promiscuous audiences on a subject manifestly,
in many of its aspects, _political_, interwoven with the framework of
the government, are practical and powerful assertions of the right and
the duty of woman to labor side by side with her brother for the
welfare and redemption of the world. Why, then, let me ask, is it
necessary for you to enter the lists as controversial writers on this
question? Does it not _look_, dear sisters, like abandoning in some
degree the cause of the poor and miserable slave, sighing from the
cotton plantations of the Mississippi, and whose cries and groans are
forever sounding in our ears, for the purpose of arguing and disputing
about some trifling oppression, political or social, which we may
ourselves suffer? Is it not forgetting the great and dreadful wrongs
of the slave in a selfish crusade against some paltry grievance of our
own? Forgive me if I have stated the case too strongly. I would not
for the world interfere with you in matters of conscientious duty, but
I wish you would weigh candidly the whole subject, and see if it does
not _seem_ an abandonment of your first love. Oh, let us try to forget
everything but our duty to God and our fellow beings; to dethrone the
selfish principle, and to strive to win over the hard heart of the
oppressor by truth kindly spoken. The Massachusetts Congregational
Association can do you no harm if you do not allow its splenetic and
idle manifesto to divert your attention from the great and holy
purpose of your souls.

"Finally, dear sisters, rest assured that you have my deepest and
warmest sympathy; that my heart rejoices to know that you are mighty
instruments in the hands of Him who hath come down to deliver. May the
canopy of His love be over you, and His peace be with you!

"Your friend and brother,

"JNO. G. WHITTIER."

Weld's first letter, written the day after Whittier's, begins by
defining his own position on the disturbing question. He says: "As to
the rights and wrongs of woman, it is an old theme with me. It was the
first subject I ever discussed. In a little debating society, when a
boy, I took the ground that sex neither qualified nor disqualified for
the discharge of any functions, mental, moral, or spiritual: that
there is no reason why woman should not make laws, administer justice,
sit in the chair of State, plead at the Bar, or in the pulpit, if she
has the qualifications, just as much as man. What I advocated in
boyhood, I advocate now--that woman, in every particular, shares,
equally with man, rights and responsibilities. Now that I have made
this statement of my creed on this point, to show you that we fully
agree, except that I probably go much further than you do, I must say
I do most deeply regret that you have begun a series of articles in
the papers on the rights of woman. Why, my dear sisters, the best
possible advocacy which you can make is just what you are making day
by day. Thousands hear you every week who have all their lives held
that women must not speak in public. Such a practical refutation of
the dogma which your speaking furnishes has already converted
multitudes."

He then goes on to urge two strong points:--

1st. That as Southerners, and having been brought up among
slaveholders, they could do more to convince the North than twenty
Northern women, though they could speak as well, and that they would
lose this peculiar advantage the moment they took up another subject.

2d. That almost any other women of their capacity and station could
produce a greater effect on the public mind on that subject than they,
because they were Quakers, and woman's right to speak and minister was
a Quaker doctrine. Therefore, for these and other reasons, he urged
them to leave the lesser work to others who could do it better than
they, and devote, consecrate their whole souls, bodies, and spirits to
the greater work which they could do far better than anybody else. He
continues: "Let us all first wake up the nation to lift millions of
slaves from the dust and turn them into men, and then, when we all
have our hand in, it will be an easy matter to take millions of women
from their knees and set them on their feet; or, in other words,
transform them from _babies_ into _women_."

A spirited, almost dogmatic, controversy was the result of these
letters. In a letter to Jane Smith, Angelina says: "I cannot
understand why they (the abolitionists) so exceedingly regret sister's
having begun those letters. Brother Weld was not satisfied with
writing us _one_ letter about them, but we have received two more
setting forth various reasons why we should not moot the subject of
woman's rights _at all_, but our judgment is not convinced, and we
hardly know what to do about it, for we have just as high an opinion
of Brother Garrison's views, and _he_ says, '_go on_.' ... The great
effort of abolitionists now seems to be to keep every topic but
slavery out of view, and hence their opposition to Henry O. Wright and
his preaching anti-government doctrines, and our even writing on
woman's rights. Oh, if I _only_ saw they were _right_ and _we_ were
_wrong_, I would yield immediately."

One of the two other letters from T.D. Weld, referred to by Angelina,
is a very long one, covering over ten pages of the old-fashioned
foolscap paper, and is in reply to letters received from the sisters,
and which were afterwards returned to them and probably destroyed. I
have concluded to make some extracts from this long letter from Mr.
Weld, not only on account of the arguments used, but to show the
frank, fearless spirit with which he met the reasoning of his two
"sisters." When we consider that he was even then courting Angelina,
his hardihood is a little surprising.

After observing that he had carefully read their letters, and made an
abstract on half a sheet of paper of the "positions and conclusions
found therein," he continues:--

"This abstract I have been steadily looking at with great marvelling,

"1st. That you should argue at length the doctrine of Woman's Rights,
as though I was a _dissentient_;

"2d. That you should so magnify the power of the New England clergy;

"3d. That you should so misconceive the actual convictions of
ministers and Christians, and almost all, as to the public speaking of
women;

"4th. That you should take the ground that the clergy, and the whole
church government, must come down _before_ slavery can be abolished (a
proposition which to my mind is absurd).

"5th. That you should so utterly overlook the very _threshold_
principle upon which alone any moral reformation can be effectually
promoted. Oh, dear! There are a dozen other things--marvellables--in
your letters; but I must stop short, or I can say nothing on other
points.

"... Now, before we commence action, let us clear the decks; for if
they are clogged we shall have foul play. _Overboard_ with everything
that don't _belong on board_. Now, first, _what is the precise point
at issue between us?_ I answer first _negatively_, that we may
understand each other on all points kindred to the main one. 1st. It
is _not_ whether _woman's_ rights are inferior to _man's_ rights."

He then proceeded to state the doctrine of Woman's Rights very
forcibly. Of _sex_, he says:--

"Its _only_ design is not to give nor to take away, nor in any respect
to modify, or even touch, rights or responsibilities in any sense,
except so far as the peculiar offices of each sex may afford less or
more opportunity and ability for the exercise of rights, and the
discharge of responsibilities, but merely to continue and enlarge the
human department of God's government."

For an entire page he continues in this manner of "_negatives_" to
"_clear the decks_," until he has shown through seven negative
specifications what do _not_ constitute the point at issue, and then
goes on:--

"Well, waving further negatives, the question at issue between us
_is_, whether _you_, S.M.G. and A.E.G., should engage in the public
discussion of the rights of women as a distinct topic. Here you
affirm, and I deny. Your reasons for doing it, as contained in your
two letters, are the following:--

"1st. The _New England Spectator_ was _opened_; you were invited to
write on the subject, and some of the Boston abolitionists _urged_ you
to do so, and you say, 'We viewed this unexpected opportunity of
throwing our views before the public, as _providential_.'

"_Answer_. When the devil is hard pushed, and likely to be run down in
the chase, it is an old trick of his to start some smaller game, and
thus cause his pursuers to strike off from his own track on to that of
one of his imps. It was certainly a very _providential_ opportunity
for Nehemiah to 'throw his views before the public,' when Geshem,
Sanballat, and Tobiah invited and urged him to stop building the wall
and hold a public discussion as to the _right_ to build. And doubtless
a great many Jews said to him, 'Unless we _establish_ the right in the
first place, it will surely be taken from us utterly. This is a
providential opportunity to preach truth in the very camp of the
enemy.' But who got it up, God or the devil?... Look over the history
of the world, and in nine cases out of ten we shall find that Satan,
after being foiled in his arts to stop a great moral enterprise, has
finally succeeded by diverting the reformers from the _main_ point to
a _collateral_, and that too just at the _moment_ when such diversion
brought ruin. Now, even if this opportunity made it the duty of
_somebody_ to take up the subject (which is not proved by the fact of
the opportunity), why should _you_ give _your_ views, and with _your
name_? Others as able might be found, and as familiar with the
subject. But you say, others 'are driven off the field, and cannot
answer the objections.' I answer, your _names_ do not answer the
objections.... How very easy to have helped a third person to the
argument. By publicly making an onset in your own names, in a
widely-circulated periodical, upon a doctrine cherished as the apple
of their eye (I don't say really _believed_) by nine tenths of the
church and the world; what was it but a formal challenge to the whole
community for a regular set-to?"

He proceeds to speak of such a "set to" and debate as "producing
alienation wide-spread in our own ranks, and introducing confusion and
every evil work." He urges the necessity of vindicating a right "by
exercising it," instead of simply arguing for it.

Of ministers he says: "True, there is a pretty large class of
ministers who are fierce about it, and will fight, but a still larger
class that will come over _if_ they first witness the successful
practice rather than meet it in the shape of a doctrine to be
swallowed. Now, if instead of blowing a blast through the newspapers,
sounding the onset, and summoning the ministers and churches to
surrender, you had without any introductory flourish just gone right
among them and lectured, _when_ and _where_ and _as_ you could find
opportunity, and paid no attention to criticism, but pushed right on,
without making any ado about 'attacks,' and 'invasions,' and
'opposition,' and have let the barkers bark their bark out,--within
one year you might have practically brought over five hundred thousand
persons, of the very moral _élite_ of New England. You may rely upon
it.... No moral enterprise, when prosecuted with ability and any sort
of energy, _ever_ failed under heaven so long as its conductors pushed
the _main_ principle, and did not strike off until they reached the
summit level. On the other hand, every reform that ever foundered in
mid-sea, was capsized by one of these gusty side-winds. Nothing more
utterly amazes me than the fact that the _conduct_ of a great, a
_pre-eminently_ great moral enterprise, should exhibit so little of a
wise, far-sighted, comprehensive _plan_. Surely it is about plain
enough to be called _self-evident_, that the only common-sense method
of conducting a great moral enterprise is to _start_ with a
_fundamental, plain principle, so_ fundamental as not to involve
side-relations, and _so_ plain, that it cannot be denied."

The main obvious principle he urges is to be pushed until the
community surrenders to it. He adds:--

"Then, when you have drawn them up to the top of the general
principle, you can slide them down upon all the derivative principles
_all at once_. But if you attempt to start off on a derivative
principle, from any other point than the summit level of the main
principle, you must beat up stream--yes, up a cataract. It reverses
the order of nature, and the laws of mind....

"You put the cart before the horse; you drag the tree by the top, in
attempting to push your woman's rights until human rights have gone
ahead and broken _the path_.

*       *       *       *       *

"You are both liable, it seems to me, from your structure of mind, to
form your opinions upon _too slight_ data, and too narrow a range of
induction, and to lay your plans and adopt your measures, rather
_dazzled_ by the glare of false _analogies_ than _led on_ by the
relations of cause and effect. Both of you, but especially Angelina,
unless I greatly mistake, are constitutionally tempted to push for
_present_ effect, and upon the suddenness and impulsiveness of the
onset rely mainly for victory. Besides from _her_ strong
_resistiveness_ and constitutional obstinacy, she is liable every
moment to turn short from the main point and spend her whole force
upon some little one-side annoyance that might temporarily nettle her.
In doing this she might win a _single battle_, but _lose a whole
campaign_. Add to this, great pride of character, so closely curtained
as to be almost searchless to herself, with a passion for adventure
and novel achievements, and she has in all an amount of temptation to
poor human nature that can be overmastered only by strong conflicts
and strong faith. Under this, a sense of justice so keen that
violation of justice would be likely to lash up such a tide of
indignation as would drive her from all anchorage. I say this to her
_not_ in raillery. I _believe_ it, and therefore utter it. It is
either fiction or fact. If _fiction_ it can do no hurt; if _fact_, it
may not be in vain in the Lord, and then my heart's desire and prayer
will be fulfilled. May the Lord have you in his keeping, my own dear
sisters.

"Most affectionately, your brother ever,

"T.D. WELD."

"One point I designed to make _more_ prominent. It is this: What is
done for the _slave_ and _human rights_ in this country _must be done
note, now, now_. Delay is madness, ruin, whereas woman's rights are
not a life and death business, _now or never_. Why can't you have eyes
to see this? The wayfaring man, though a _fool_, need not err _here_,
it is so plain. What will you run a tilt at next?"

And he names several things,--the tariff, the banks, English tithe
system, burning widows, etc., and adds:--

"If you adopt the views of H.C. Wright, as you are reported to have
done, in his official bulletin of a 'domestic scene' (where you are
made to figure conspicuously among the conquests of the victor as rare
spoils gracing the triumphal car), why then we are in one point of
doctrine just as wide asunder as extremes can be."

This letter was answered by Sarah, and with the most admirable
patience and moderation. She begins by saying:--

"Angelina is so wrathy that I think it will be unsafe to trust the pen
in her hands to reply to thy two last _good_ long letters. As I feel
nothing but gratitude for the kindness which I am sure dictated them,
I shall endeavor to answer them, and, as far as possible, allay thy
uneasiness as to the course we are pursuing."

She then proceeds to calmly discuss his objections, and to defend
their views on the woman question, which, she says, she regards as
second in importance to none, but that she does not feel bound to take
up every _caviller_ who presents himself, and therefore will not
notice some others who had criticised her letters in the _Spectator_.

About H.C. Wright, she says: "I must say a few words concerning
Brother Wright, towards whom I do not feel certain that the law of
love predominated when thou wrote that part of thy letter relative to
him.... We feel prepared to avow the principles set forth in the
'domestic scene.' I wonder thou canst not perceive the simplicity and
beauty and consistency of the doctrine that all government, whether
civil or ecclesiastical, conflicts with the government of Jehovah, and
that by the Christian no other can be acknowledged, without leaning
more or less on an arm of flesh. Would to God that all abolitionists
put their trust where I believe H.C. Wright has placed his, in God
alone.... I have given my opinions (in the _Spectator_). Those who
read them may receive or reject or find fault. I have nothing to do
with that. I shall let thee enjoy thy opinion, but I must wait and see
the issue before I conclude it was one of Satan's providences.... I
know the opposition to our views arises in part from the fact that
women are habitually regarded as inferior beings, but chiefly I
believe from a desire to keep them in unholy subjection to man, and
one way of doing this is to deprive us of the means of becoming their
equals by forbidding us the privileges of education which would fit us
for the performance of duty. I am greatly mistaken if most men have
not a desire that women should be silly.... I have not said half I
wanted, but this must suffice for the present, as Angelina has
concluded to try her hand at scolding. Farewell, dear brother. May the
Lord reward thee tenfold for thy kindness, and keep thee in the hollow
of His holy hand.

"Thy sister in Jesus,

"S.M.G."

Angelina's part of the letter is not written in the sweet, Quaker
spirit which prevails through Sarah's, but shows a very interesting
consciousness of her power over the man she addressed.

"Sister," she writes, "seems very much afraid that my pen will be
transformed into a venomous serpent when I employ it to address thee,
my dear brother, and no wonder, for I like to pay my debts, and, as I
received ten dollars' worth of scolding,[7] I should be guilty of
injustice did I not return the favor. Well! such a lecture I never
before had from anyone. What is the matter with thee? One would really
suppose that we had actually abandoned the anti-slavery cause, and
were roving the country, preaching _nothing_ but woman's rights, when,
in fact, I can truly say that whenever I lecture, I forget _everything
but the slave_. He is all in all for the time being. And what is the
reason _I_ am to be scolded because _sister_ writes letters in the
_Spectator_? Please let every woman bear _her own burdens_. Indeed, I
should like to know what I have done yet? And dost thou really think
in my answer to C.E. Beecher's absurd views of woman that I had better
suppress my own? If so, I will do it, as thou makest such a monster
out of the molehill, but my judgment is _not_ convinced that in this
incidental way it is wrong to throw light on the subject."

  [7] Angelina and Sarah had sent Mr. Weld ten dollars for some
  supposed debts. He returned it, and said if any trifling sums fell
  due, he would take them out in scolding, and pay himself thus.

She speaks very gratefully of "Brother Lincoln, of Gardner," who
rejoiced to have them speak in his pulpit, and says:--

"My _keen sense of justice_ compels me to admire such nobility. He
hoped sister would give her views on this branch of the subject in the
_Spectator_. He thought they were needed, and _we_ are well convinced
they are, T.D.W. notwithstanding. So much for my bump of obstinacy
which even thy sledge-hammer cannot beat down."

The subsequent correspondence, which I regret I have not room to
insert, shows that the remonstrances of Whittier and Weld were
effective in restraining, for the time being, the impatience of the
sisters to urge in their public meetings what, however, they
faithfully preached in private--their conviction that the wrongs of
woman were the root of _all_ oppression.

Sarah meekly writes to "brother Weld."

"After a struggle with my feelings, so severe that I was almost
tempted to turn back from the anti-slavery cause, I have given up to
what seemed the inevitable, and have thought little of it since.
Perhaps I have done wrong, and if so, I trust I shall see it and
repent it. I do not intend to make any promises, because I may have
reason to regret them, but I do not know that I shall scribble any
more on the objectionable topic of woman."

This interesting controversy did not end until several more letters
had passed back and forth, and various other topics had been brought
in; but it was carried through with the same spirit of candor and love
on all sides which marked the beginning. There was one subject
introduced, a sort of side-question which I must notice, as it reveals
in a very pleasant manner the religious principle and manly moral
courage of Theodore D. Weld. At the close of one of her letters, Sarah
says:--

"Now just as it has come into my head, please tell me whether thy
clothing costs one hundred dollars per annum? I ask because it was
insisted upon that Mr. Weld must spend that amount on his wardrobe,
and I as strenuously insisted he did not. It was thought impossible a
gentleman could spend less, but I think anti-slavery agents know
better."

To this, he answered thus, at the end of one of _his_ letters.

"Oh! I forgot the wardrobe! I suppose you are going to take me to task
about my shag-overcoat, linsey-woolsey coat, and cowhide shoes; for
you Quakers are as notional about _quality_ as you are precise about
_cut_. Well, now to the question. While I was travelling and
lecturing, I think that _one_ year my clothing must have cost me
nearly one hundred dollars. It was the first year of my lecturing in
the West, when one entire suit and part of another were destroyed or
nearly so by mobs. Since I resigned my commission as agent, which is
now nearly a year, my clothing has not cost me one third that amount.
I don't think it _even_ cost me fifty dollars a year, except the year
I spoke of, when it was ruined by mobs, and the year 1832, when, in
travelling, I lost it all with my other baggage in the Alum River.
There, I believe I have answered your question as well as I can.
However, I have always had to encounter the criticism and chidings of
my acquaintances about my coarse dress. They will have it that I have
always curtailed my influence and usefulness by such a John the
Baptist attire as I have always been habited in. But I have remarked
that those persons who have beset me on that score have shown in some
way that they had their hearts set more or less on showing off their
persons to advantage by their dress. Now I think of it, I believe you
are in great danger of making a little god out of your caps and your
drab color, and '_thee_' and '_thou_.' Besides, the tendency is quite
questionable. The moment certain shades of color, or a certain
combination of letters, or modulation of sounds, or arrangement of
seams and angles, are made the _sine qua non_ of religion and
principle, that moment religion and principle are hurled from their
vantage-ground and become _slaves_ instead of _rulers_. I cannot get
it out of my mind that these must be a fetter on the spirit that
clings to such stereotyped forms and ceremonies that rustle and
clatter the more because life and spirit and power do not inhabit
them. Think about it, dear sisters."

In Sarah's next letter to him she says:--

"Now first about the wardrobe. Thou art greatly mistaken in supposing
that I meant to quiz thee; no, not I, indeed. I wish from my heart
more of us who take the profession of Jesus on our lips were willing
to wear shag cloaks and linsey-woolsey garments. Now I may inform thee
that, notwithstanding my prim caps, etc., I am as economical as thou
art. I do many things in the way of dress to please my friends, but
perhaps their watchfulness is needful."

Dear Aunt Sarah! these last words will make many smile who remember
how scrupulously careful she was about spending more on her dress than
was absolutely necessary to cleanliness and health. Every dollar
beyond this she felt was taken from the poor or from some benevolent
enterprise. The watchfulness of her friends was indeed needful!

It appears from the above correspondence that both Sarah and Angelina
had become tinctured with the doctrines of "non-resistance," which,
within a few years, had gained some credit with a few "perfectionists"
and active reformers in and about Boston. They had been presented by
Lydia Maria Child, a genial writer, under the guise of the Scriptural
doctrine of love. This sentiment was held to be adequate to the
regulation of social and political life: by it, ruffians were to be
made to stand in awe of virtue; thieves, burglars, and murderers were
to be made ashamed of themselves, and turned into honest and amiable
citizens; children were to be governed without punishment; and the
world was to be made a paradise. Rev. Henry C. Wright, a man of some
ability, but tossed by every wind of doctrine, embraced the new
gospel. He applied its principles to public matters. From the
essential sinfulness of all forms of force, if used towards human
beings, he inferred that penal laws, prisons, sheriffs, and criminal
courts should be dispensed with; that governments, which, of
necessity, execute their decrees by force, should be abolished; that
Christians should not take part in politics, either by voting or
holding office; that they should not employ force, even to resist
encroachment or in the defence of their wives and children; and that
although slavery, being a form of force, was wrong, no one should vote
against it. The slave-holder was to be converted by love. The free
States should show their grief and disapprobation by seceding from the
slave States, and by nullifying within their limits any unjust laws
passed by the nation. All governments, civil, ecclesiastical, and
family, were to disappear, so that the divine law, interpreted by each
one for himself, might have free course. To this fanciful,
transcendental, and anarchical theory, Mr. Wright made sundry
converts, more or less thorough, including Parker Pillsbury, Wm. L.
Garrison, and Stephen S. Foster. That he took a good deal of pains to
capture the subjects of our biography is evident. He attended their
lectures, cultivated their acquaintance, extended to them his
sympathy, and made them his guests. There are certain affinities of
the non-resistance doctrines with Quakerism, which made them
attractive to these two women who had little worldly knowledge, and
who had been trained for years in the peace doctrines of the
Philadelphia Friends.

It was fortunate for the anti-slavery cause that Sarah and Angelina
were warned in time by their New York friends of the fatally dangerous
character of the heresies they were inclined to accept. They went no
further in that direction. In all their subsequent letters, journals,
and papers there is not a word to show that either of them ever
entertained no-government notions, or identified herself with persons
who did. During the remaining months of their stay in Massachusetts,
they devoted themselves to their true mission of anti-slavery work,
accepting the co-operation and friendship of all friends of the slave,
but avoiding compromising relations with those known as "no human
government" non-resistants. This course was continued in after years,
and drew upon them the disapprobation and strictures of the
non-voting, non-fighting faction. In a letter from Sarah to Augustus
Wattles, dated May 11, 1854, about the time of the Kansas war, she
says:--

"We were fully aware of the severe criticisms passed upon us by many
of those who showed their unfitness to be in the judgment seat, by the
unmerciful censure they have pronounced against us when we were doing
what to us seemed positive duty. They wanted us to live out Wm. Lloyd
Garrison, not the convictions of our own souls, entirely unaware that
they were exhibiting, in the high places of moral reform, the genuine
spirit of slave-holding by wishing to curtail the sacred privilege of
conscience. But we have not allowed their unreasonableness to sever us
from them; they have many noble traits, have acted grandly for
humanity, and it was perhaps a part of their business to abuse us. I
do not think I love Garrison any the less for what he has said. His
spirit of intolerance towards those who did not draw in his traces,
and his adulation of those who surrendered themselves to his guidance,
have always been exceedingly repulsive to me, weaknesses which marred
the beauty and symmetry of his character, and prevented its
symmetrical development, but nevertheless I know the stern principle
which is the basis of his action. He is Garrison and nobody else, and
all I ask is that he would let others be themselves."

The feeling thus expressed was probably never changed until after the
sisters had taken up their residence in the neighborhood of Boston,
when visits were interchanged with Mr. Garrison, and friendly
relations established, which ended only with death. It is certain,
however, that Sarah and Angelina sympathized with the stalwart freemen
who used Sharp's rifles in the defence of free Kansas, who voted the
Liberty, Free Soil, and Republican ticket, who elected Abraham Lincoln
President, and who shouldered muskets against the rebels.




CHAPTER XV.


The anti-slavery cause, and intimate association with so many of its
enthusiastic advocates, had indeed done much for Sarah Grimké. Her
mind was rapidly becoming purified from the dross that had clogged it
so long; religious doubts and difficulties were fading away one by
one, and the wide, warm sympathies of her nature now freed, expanded
gladly to a new world of light and love and labor. As she expressed
it, she was like one coming into a clear brisk atmosphere, after
having been long shut up in a close room. Her drowsy faculties were
all stirred and invigorated, and though her disappointments had left
wounds whose pain must always remind her of them, she had no longer
time to sit down and bemoan them. There was so much to do in the
broad, fresh fields which stretched around her, and she had been idle
so long! Is it any wonder that she tried to grasp too much at first?

The affection between her and Angelina was growing daily more
tender--perhaps a little more maternal on her part. Drawn closer
together by the now complete separation from every member of their own
family, and by the disapproval and coldness of their Philadelphia
friends, they were an inexpressible solace and help to each other.
Identified in all their trials, as now in their labors, they worked
together in a sweet unity of spirit, which lessened every difficulty
and lightened every burden.

They continued to lecture almost uninterruptedly for five months, and
though the prejudice against them as women appeared but slightly
diminished, people were becoming familiarized to the idea of women
speaking in public, and the way was gradually being cleared for the
advance-guard of that noble army which has brought about so many
changes favorable to the weak and downtrodden of its own sex.

Invitations to speak came to the sisters from all parts of the State,
and not even by dividing their labors among the smaller towns could
they begin to respond to all who wished to hear them. Sometimes the
crowds around the place of meeting were so great that a second hall or
church would have to be provided, and Sarah speak in one, while
Angelina spoke in the other. At one place, where over a thousand
people crowded into a church, one of the joists gave way; it was
propped up, but soon others began to crack, and, although the people
were warned to leave that part of the building, only a few obeyed, and
it was found impossible to persuade them to go, or to consent to have
the speaking stopped.

At another place ladders were put up at all the windows, and men
crowded upon them, and tenaciously held their uncomfortable positions
through the whole meeting. In one or two places they were refused a
meeting-house, on account of strong sectarian feeling against them as
Quakers. At Worcester they had to adjourn from a large Congregational
church to a small Methodist one, because the clergyman of the former
suddenly returned from an absence, and declared that if they spoke in
his church he would never enter it again. At Bolton, notices of their
meetings were torn down, but the town hall was packed notwithstanding,
many going away, unable to get in. The church here had also been
refused them. Angelina, in the course of her lecture, seized an
opportunity to refer to their treatment, saying that if the people of
her native city could see her lecturing in that hall because every
church had been closed against the cause of God's down-trodden
creatures, they would clap their hands for joy, and say, "See what
slavery is doing for us in the town of Bolton!"

She describes very graphically going two miles to a meeting on a dark
and rainy night, when Sarah was obliged to remain at home on account
of a cold, and Abby Kelly drove her in a chaise, and how nearly they
came to being upset, and how they met men in flocks along the road,
all going to the meeting. She says:--

"It seemed as if I could not realize they were going to hear me," and
adds:--

"This was the first large meeting I ever attended without dear sister,
and I wonder I did not feel desolate, for I knew not a creature there.
Nevertheless, the Lord strengthened me, and I spoke with ease for an
hour and a quarter."

But the incessant strain upon her nervous system, together with the
fatigue and exposure of almost constant travelling, began to tell
seriously on her health. In October she frequently speaks of being "so
tired," of being "so glad to rest a day," etc., until, all these
warnings being unheeded, nature peremptorily called a halt. In the
beginning of November, after a week of unusual fatigue, having
lectured six times in as many different places, they reached Hingham
quite worn out. Sarah, though still suffering with a cold, begged to
lecture in her sister's place, but Angelina had been announced, and
she knew the people would be disappointed if she failed to appear.
When they entered the crowded hall, a lady seeing how unwell Angelina
looked, seized both her hands and exclaimed:--

"Oh, if you will only hold out to-night, I will nurse you for a week!"

She did hold out for an hour and a half, and then sank back exhausted,
and was obliged to leave the lecture unfinished. This was the
beginning of an illness which lasted, with its subsequent
convalescence, through the remainder of the year. Their good friends,
Samuel and Eliza Philbrick, brought the sisters to their beautiful
home in Brookline, and surrounded them with every care and comfort
kind hearts could suggest. Sarah then found how very weary she was
also, and how opportune was this enforced rest.

"Thus," wrote Angelina some weeks afterwards to Jane Smith, "thus
ended our summer campaign. Oh, how delightful it was to stretch my
weary limbs on a bed of ease, and roll off from my mind all the heavy
responsibilities which had so long pressed upon it, and, above all, to
feel in my soul the language, 'Well done.' It was luxury indeed, well
worth the toil of months."

Sarah, too, speaks of looking back upon the labors of the summer with
feelings of unmixed satisfaction.

That the leaven prepared in Sarah Grimké's letters on the "Province of
Woman" was beginning to work was evidenced by a public discussion on
woman's rights which took place at the Boston Lyceum on the evening of
Dec. 4, 1837. The amount of interest this first public debate on the
subject excited was shown by the fact that an audience of fifteen
hundred of the most intelligent and respectable people of Boston
crowded the hall and listened attentively to the end. Sarah and
Angelina, the latter now almost entirely recovered, were present,
accompanied by Mr. Philbrick.

"A very noble view throughout," says Angelina, and adds: "The
discussion has raised my hopes of the woman question. It was conducted
with respect, delicacy, and dignity, and many minds no doubt were
roused to reflection, though I must not forget to say it was decided
against us by acclamation, our enemies themselves being judges. It was
like a meeting of slave-holders deciding that the slaves are happier
in their present condition than they would be freed."

Soon after this, Angelina writes that some Boston women, including
Maria Chapman and Lydia M. Child, were about to start a woman's rights
paper, and she adds: "We greatly hope dear Maria Chapman will soon
commence lecturing, and that the spark we have been permitted to kindle
on the woman question will never die out."

The annual meeting of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society was held
the latter part of January, 1838, and was notable in several respects.
On the second day, the "great Texas meeting," as it was called, was
held in Faneuil Hall, and the fact that this Cradle of Liberty was
loaned to the abolitionists was bitterly commented upon by their
opponents, while abolitionists themselves regarded it as strong
evidence of the progress their cause had made. Angelina writes Jane
Smith a graphic account of the speakers and speeches at this meeting,
but especially mentions Henry B. Stanton, who made the most powerful
speech of the whole session, and was so severe on Congress, that a
representative who was present arose to object to the "hot thunderbolts
and burning lava" that had been let loose on the heads of "the powers
that be, of those whom we were commanded to honor and obey." These
remarks were so ridiculous as to excite laughter, and the manner in
which Stanton demolished the speaker by his own arguments called forth
such repeated rounds of applause that the great orator was obliged to
_insist_ upon silence.

At this meeting, said to have been the largest ever held in Boston,
several hundred women were present, a most encouraging sign to Sarah
Grimké of the progress of _her_ ideas.

After some parleying, the hall of the House of Representatives was
granted the Society for their remaining meetings, and here Quincy,
Colver, Phelps, and Wendell Phillips spoke and made a deep impression,
so deep that a committee was appointed to take into consideration the
petitions on the subject of slavery.

Stanton, half in jest, asked Angelina if she would not like to speak
before that committee, as the names of some thousands of women were
before it as signers of petitions. She had never thought of such a
thing, but, after reflecting upon it a day, sent Stanton word that if
the friends of the cause thought well of it, she _would_ speak as he
had proposed. He was surprised and troubled, for, though he was all
right in the abstract on the woman question, he feared the
consequences of such a manifest assertion of equality.

"It seems," Angelina writes, "even the stout-hearted tremble when the
woman question is to be acted out in full. Jackson, Fuller, Phelps,
and Quincy were consulted. The first is sound to the core, and went
right up to the State House to inquire of the chairman of the
committee whether I could be heard. Wonderful to tell, he said Yes,
without the least hesitation, and actually helped to remove the
scruples of some of the timid-hearted abolitionists. Perhaps it is
best I should bear the responsibility _wholly_ myself. I feel willing
to do it, and think I shall say nothing more about it, but just let
Birney and Stanton make the speeches they expect to before the
committee this week, and when they have done, make an independent
application to the chairman as a woman, as a Southerner, as a moral
being.... I feel that this is the most important step I have ever been
called to take: important to woman, to the slave, to my country, and
to the world."

This plan was carried out, thanks to James C. Alvord, the chairman of
the committee; and the halls of the Massachusetts Legislature were
opened for the first time to a woman. Wendell Phillips says of that
meeting:--"It gave Miss Grimké the opportunity to speak to the best
culture and character of Massachusetts; and the profound impression
then made on a class not often found in our meetings was never wholly
lost. It was not only the testimony of one most competent to speak,
but it was the profound religious experience of one who had broken out
of the charmed circle, and whose intense earnestness melted all
opposition. The converts she made needed no after-training. It was
when you saw she was opening some secret record of her own experience
that the painful silence and breathless interest told the deep effect
and lasting impression her words were making."

We have not Angelina's account of this meeting, but referring to it in
a letter to Sarah Douglass, she says: "My heart never quailed before,
but it almost died within me at that tremendous hour."

But one hearing did not satisfy her, and the committee needed no
urging to grant her another. At the second meeting, the hall was
literally packed, and hundreds went away unable to obtain seats. When
she arose to speak, there was some hissing from the doorways, but the
most profound silence reigned through the crowd within. Angelina first
stood in front of the Speaker's desk, then she was requested to occupy
the Secretary's desk on one side, and soon after, that she might be
seen as well as heard, she was invited to stand in the Speaker's
place. And from that conspicuous position she spoke over two hours
without the least interruption. She says to Sarah Douglass:--

"What the effect of these meetings is to be, I know not, nor do I feel
that _I_ have anything to do with it. This I know, that the chairman
was in tears almost the whole time I was speaking," and she adds: "We
abolition women are turning the world upside down, for during the
whole meeting there was sister seated up in the Speaker's chair of
state."

These meetings were followed by the six evening lectures at the Odeon,
to which reference has already been made. Sarah delivered the first
lecture, taking for her subject the history of the country in
reference to slavery. She spoke for two hours, fearlessly, as she
always did, and though she says Garrison told her he trembled with
apprehension, the audience of fifteen hundred people listened
respectfully and attentively, frequently applauding the utterance of
some strongly expressed truth, and showing no excitement even under
the rebukes she administered to Edward Everett, then Governor of
Massachusetts, for his speech in Congress in 1826, and to ex-Governor
Lincoln for his in 1831. Both these worthies had declared their
willingness to go down South to suppress servile insurrection.

This was the last time Sarah spoke in public. Her throat, which had
long troubled her, was now seriously affected, and entire rest was
prescribed. She did not murmur, for she had increasingly felt that
Angelina's speaking was more effective than hers, and now she believed
the Lord was showing her that this part of the work must be left to
her more gifted sister, and she gladly yielded to her the task of
delivering the five succeeding lectures. In relation to these
lectures, the son of Samuel Philbrick has kindly sent me the following
extract from a diary kept by his father. Under date of April 23, 1838,
he says:--

"In February Angelina addressed the committee of our legislature on
the subject of slavery and the slave trade in the District of Columbia
and Florida, and the inter-state slave trade, during three sittings of
two hours each, in the Representatives' Hall in Boston, before a
crowded audience, stowed as close as they could stand in every aisle
and corner. Her addresses were listened to with profound attention and
respect, without interruption to the last. More than five hundred
people could not get seats, but stood quietly during two full hours,
in profound silence.

"During the last few weeks she has delivered five lectures, and Sarah
one at the Odeon, before an assembly of men and women from all parts
of the city. Every part of the building was crowded, every aisle
filled. Estimated number, two thousand to three thousand at each
meeting. There was great attention and silence, and the addresses were
intensely interesting."

These over, the sisters bade farewell to their most excellent
Brookline friends, in whose family they had so peacefully rested for
six months, and returned to Philadelphia, Sarah accepting a temporary
home with Jane Smith, while Angelina went to stay with Mrs. Frost, at
whose house two weeks later, that is on the 14th of May, she was
united in marriage to Theodore D. Weld.

No marriage could have been more true, more fitting in every respect.
The solemn relation was never entered upon in more holiness of purpose
or in higher resolve to hold themselves strictly to the best they were
capable of. It was a rededication of lives long consecrated to God and
humanity; of souls knowing no selfish ambition, seeking before all
things the glory of their Creator in the elevation of His creatures
everywhere. The entire unity of spirit in which they afterwards lived
and labored, the tender affection which, through a companionship of
more than forty years, knew no diminution, made a family life so
perfect and beautiful that it brightened and inspired all who were
favored to witness it. No one could be with them under the most
ordinary circumstances without feeling the force and influence of
their characters.

Invitations were sent to about eighty persons, mostly abolitionists,
of all colors, some jet black. Nearly all came; representing
Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and
Massachusetts. Among them were H.B. Stanton, C.C. Burleigh, William
Lloyd Garrison, Amos Dresser, H.C. Wright, Maria and Mary Chapman,
Abby Kelly, Samuel Philbrick, Jane Smith, and Sarah Douglass of
course, and Mr. Weld's older brother, the president of the asylum for
deaf mutes. Sarah Grimké's account of the wedding, written to a friend
in England, is most interesting; and one cannot but wonder if another
like it ever took place. The letter was written while the then and
ever after inseparable trio was at Manlius, New York, visiting Mr.
Weld's family. After a slight mention of other matters, she says:--

"I must now give thee some account of my dear sister's marriage, which
probably thou hast already heard of. Her precious husband is
emphatically a man of God, a member of the Presbyterian Church. Of
course Angelina will be disowned for forming this connection, and I
shall be for attending the marriage. We feel no regret at this
circumstance, believing that the discipline which cuts us off from
membership for an act so strictly in conformity with the will of God,
and so sanctioned by His word as is the marriage of the righteous,
must be anti-Christian, and I am thankful for an opportunity to
testify against it. The marriage was solemnized at the house of our
sister, Anna R. Frost, in Philadelphia, on the 14th instant. By the
law of Pennsylvania, a marriage is legal if witnessed by twelve
persons. Neither clergyman nor magistrate is required to be present.
Angelina could not conscientiously consent to be married by a
clergyman, and Theodore D. Weld cheerfully consented to have the
marriage solemnized in such manner as comported with her views. We all
felt that the presence of a magistrate, a stranger, would be
unpleasant to us at such a time, and we therefore concluded to invite
such of our friends as we desired, and have the marriage solemnized as
a religious act, in a religious and social meeting. Neither Theodore
nor Angelina felt as if they could bind themselves to any preconceived
form of words, and accordingly uttered such as the Lord gave them at
the moment. Theodore addressed Angelina in a solemn and tender manner.
He alluded to the unrighteous power vested in a husband by the laws of
the United States over the person and property of his wife, and he
abjured all authority, all government, save the influence which love
would give to them over each other as moral and immortal beings. I
would give much could I recall his words, but I cannot. Angelina's
address to him was brief but comprehensive, containing a promise to
honor him, to prefer him above herself, to love him with a pure heart
fervently. Immediately after this we knelt, and dear Theodore poured
out his soul in solemn supplication for the blessing of God on their
union, that it might be productive of enlarged usefulness, and
increased sympathy for the slave. Angelina followed in a melting
appeal to our Heavenly Father, for a blessing on them, and that their
union might glorify Him, and then asked His guidance and
over-shadowing love through the rest of their pilgrimage. A colored
Presbyterian minister then prayed, and was followed by a white one,
and then I felt as if I could not restrain the language of praise and
thanksgiving to Him who had condescended to be in the midst of this
marriage feast, and to pour forth abundantly the oil and wine of
consolation and rejoicing. The Lord Jesus was the first guest invited
to be present, and He condescended to bless us with His presence, and
to sanction and sanctify the union which was thus consummated. The
certificate was then read by William Lloyd Garrison, and was signed by
the company. The evening was spent in pleasant social intercourse.
Several colored persons were present, among them two liberated slaves,
who formerly belonged to our father, had come by inheritance to sister
Anna, and had been freed by her. They were our invited guests, and we
thus had an opportunity to bear our testimony against the horrible
prejudice which prevails against colored persons, and the equally
awful prejudice against the poor."

This unconventional but truly religious marriage ceremony was in
perfect harmony with the loyal, noble natures of Theodore Weld and
Angelina Grimké, exemplifying the simplicity of their lives and the
strength of their principles. No grand preparations preceded the
event; no wedding bells were rung on the occasion; no rare gifts were
displayed: but the blessing of the lowly and the despised, and the
heart-felt wishes of co-workers and co-sufferers were the offerings
which lent to the occasion its purest joy and brightest light.

But though so quietly and peacefully solemnized, this marriage was to
have its celebration,--one little anticipated, but according well with
the experiences which had preceded it, and serving to make it all the
more impressive and its promises more sacred.

Refused the use of churches and lecture-rooms, and denied the
privilege of hiring halls for their meetings, the abolitionists of
Philadelphia, with other friends of free discussion, formed an
association, and built, at an expense of forty thousand dollars, a
beautiful hall, to be used for free speech on any and every subject
not of an immoral character. Daniel Neall was the president of this
association, and William Dorsey the secretary. The hall, one of the
finest buildings in the city, was situated at the southwest corner of
Delaware, Sixth, and Harris streets, between Cherry and Sassafras
streets.

It was opened for the first time on Angelina Grimké's wedding-day, and
was filled with one of the largest audiences ever assembled in
Philadelphia.

As soon as the president of the association had taken his seat, the
secretary arose and explained the uses and purposes the hall was
expected to serve. He said:--

"A number of individuals of all sects, and those of no sect, of all
parties, and those of no party, being desirous that the citizens of
Philadelphia should possess a room wherein the principles of _liberty_
and _equality of civil rights_ could be freely discussed, and the
evils of slavery fearlessly portrayed, have erected this building,
which we are now about to dedicate to liberty and the rights of
man.... A majority of the stockholders are mechanics or working-men,
and (as is the case in almost every other good work) a number are
women."

The secretary then proceeded to read letters from John Quincy Adams,
Thaddeus Stevens, Gerrit Smith, Theodore Weld, and others, who had
been invited to deliver addresses, but who, from various causes, were
obliged to decline. That from Weld was characteristic of the
earnestness of the man. After stating that for a year and a half he
had been prevented from speaking in public on account of an affection
of the throat, and must therefore decline the invitation of the
committee, he adds:--

"I exult in the erection of your 'temple of freedom,' and the more, as
it is the first and only one, in a republic of fifteen millions,
consecrated to free discussion and equal rights."

"For years they have been banished from our halls of legislation and
of justice, from our churches and our pulpits. It is befitting that
the city of Benezet and of Franklin should be the first to open an
asylum where the hunted exiles may find a home. God grant that your
Pennsylvania Hall may be _free, indeed!_"

"The empty name is everywhere,--_free_ government, _free_ men, _free_
speech, _free_ people, _free_ schools, and _free_ churches. Hollow
counterfeits all! _Free!_ It is the climax of irony, and its million
echoes are hisses and jeers, even from the earth's ends. _Free! Blot
it out_. Words are the signs of _things_. The substance has gone! Let
fools and madmen clutch at shadows. The husk must rustle the more when
the kernel and the ear are gone. Rome's loudest shout for liberty was
when she murdered it, and drowned its death shrieks in her hoarse
huzzas. She never raised her hands so high to swear allegiance to
freedom as when she gave the death-stab, and madly leaped upon its
corpse; and her most delirious dance was among the clods her hands had
cast upon its coffin. _Free!_ The word and sound are omnipresent masks
and mockers. An impious lie, unless they stand for free _lynch law_
and free _murder_, for they _are_ free.

"But I'll hold. The times demand brief speech, but mighty deeds. On,
my brethren! uprear your temple. "Your brother in the sacred strife
for all,

"THEODORE D. WELD."

David Paul Brown, of Philadelphia, was invited to deliver the
dedicatory address, which, with other exercises, occupied the mornings
and evening of three days, and included addresses by Garrison, Thomas
P. Hunt, Arnold Buffum, Alanson St. Clair, and others, on slavery,
temperance, the Indians, right of free discussion, and kindred topics.
On the second day, an appropriate and soul-stirring poem by John G.
Whittier was read by C.C. Burleigh. The first lines will give an idea
of the spirit of the whole poem, one of the finest efforts Whittier
ever made:--

    "Not with the splendors of the days of old,
    The spoil of nations and barbaric gold,
    No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
    Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,
    And the proud eagles of his cohorts saw
    A world war-wasted, crouching to his law;
    Nor blazoned car, nor banners floating gay,
    Like those which swept along the Appian Way,
    When, to the welcome of imperial Rome,
    The victor warrior came in triumph home,
    And trumpet peal, and shoutings wild and high,
    Stirred the blue quiet of th' Italian sky,
    But calm and grateful, prayerful, and sincere,
    As Christian freemen only, gathering here,
    We dedicate our fair and lofty hall,
    Pillar and arch, entablature and wall,
    As Virtue's shrine, as Liberty's abode,
    Sacred to Freedom, and to Freedom's God."

The Anti-Slavery Convention of American Women was then holding a
session in the city, and among the members present were some of the
brightest and noblest women of the day, women with courage as calm and
high to dare, as with hearts tender to feel for human woe. The
Convention occupied the lecture-room of Pennsylvania Hall, under the
main saloon. A strong desire having been expressed by many citizens to
hear some of these able pleaders for the slave, notice was given that
there would be a meeting in the main saloon on the evening of the
16th, at which Angelina, E.G. Weld, Maria Chapman, and others would
speak.

Up to the time of this announcement, no apprehension of any
disturbance had been felt by the managers of the hall. So far all the
meetings had been conducted without interruption; nor could anyone
have supposed it possible that in a city renowned for its order and
law, and possessing a large and efficient police force, a public
outrage upon an assemblage of respectable citizens, many of them
women, could be perpetrated. But it was soon to be shown how deeply
the spirit of slavery had infused itself into the minds of the people
of the free States, leading them to disregard the rights of
individuals and to wantonly violate the sacred principles guaranteed
by the Constitution of the country.

During the day some threats of violence were thrown out, and _written_
placards were posted about the city inviting interference with the
proposed meeting, _forcibly if necessary_. But this was regarded only
as the expression of malice on the part of a few, or perhaps of an
individual, and occasioned no alarm. Still, the precaution was taken
to request the mayor to hold his police force in readiness to protect
the meeting in case of need. The day passed quietly. Long before the
time announced for the meeting, the hall, capable of containing three
thousand people, was thronged, and, by the time the speakers arrived,
every seat was filled, every inch of standing room was occupied, and
thousands went away from the doors unable to obtain admittance. The
audience was for the most part a highly respectable and intelligent
one, and, notwithstanding the great crowd, was exceedingly quiet.
William Lloyd Garrison opened the meeting with a short but
characteristic speech, during which he was frequently interrupted by
hisses and groans; and when he ended, some efforts were made to break
up the meeting. In the midst of the confusion, Maria W. Chapman arose,
calm, dignified, and, with a wave of her hand, as though to still the
noise, began to speak, but, before she had gone far, yells from the
outside proclaimed the arrival there of a disorderly rabble, and at
once the confusion inside became so great, that, although the brave
woman continued her speech, she was not heard except by those
immediately around her.

Sarah Grimké thus wrote of Mrs. Chapman's appearance on that occasion:
"She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw; the perfection of
sweetness and intelligence being blended in her speaking countenance.
She arose amid the yells and shouts of the infuriated mob, the crash
of windows and the hurling of stones. She looked to me like an angelic
being descended amid that tempest of passion in all the dignity of
conscious superiority."

Then Angelina Weld, the bride of three days, came forward, and so
great was the effect of her pure, beautiful presence and quiet,
graceful manner, that in a few moments the confusion within the hall
had subsided. With deep solemnity, and in words of burning eloquence,
she gave her testimony against the awful wickedness of an institution
which had no secrets from her. She was frequently interrupted by the
mob, but their yells and shouts only furnished her with metaphors
which she used with unshrinking power. More stones were thrown at the
windows, more glass crashed, but she only paused to ask:--

"What is a mob? What would the breaking of every window be? Any
evidence that we are wrong, or that slavery is a good and wholesome
institution? What if that mob should now burst in upon us, break up
our meeting, and commit violence upon our persons--would this be
anything compared with what the slaves endure? No, no: and we do not
remember them 'as bound with them,' if we shrink in the time of peril,
or feel unwilling to sacrifice ourselves, if need be, for their sake.
I thank the Lord that there is yet life enough left to feel the truth,
even though it rages at it--that conscience is not so completely
seared as to be unmoved by the truth of the living God."

Here a shower of stones was thrown through the windows, and there was
some disturbance in the audience, but quiet was again restored, and
Angelina proceeded, and spoke for over an hour, making no further
reference to the noise without, and only showing that she noticed it
by raising her own voice so that it could be heard throughout the
hall.

Not once was a tremor or a change of color perceptible, and though the
missiles continued to fly through the broken sashes, and the hootings
and yellings increased outside, so powerfully did her words and tones
hold that vast audience, that, imminent as seemed their peril,
scarcely a man or woman moved to depart. She sat down amid applause
that drowned all the noise outside.

Abby Kelly, then quite a young woman, next arose and said a few words,
her first public utterances. She was followed by gentle Lucretia Mott
in a short but most earnest speech, and then this memorable meeting,
the first of the kind where men and women acted together as moral
beings, closed.

There was a dense crowd in the streets around the hall as the immense
audience streamed out, but though screams and all sorts of appalling
noises were made, no violence was offered, and all reached their homes
in safety.

But the mob remained, many of its wretched members staying all night,
assaulting every belated colored man who came along. The next morning
the dregs of the populace, and some respectable _looking_ men again
assembled around the doomed hall, but the usual meetings were held,
and even the convention of women assembled in the lecture room to
finish up their business. The evening was to have been occupied by a
public meeting of the Wesleyan Anti-Slavery Society of Philadelphia,
but as the day waned to its close, the indications of approaching
disturbance became more and more alarming. The crowd around the
building increased, and the secret agents of slavery were busy
inflaming the passions of the rabble against the abolitionists, and
inciting it to outrage. Seeing this, and realizing the danger which
threatened, the managers of the hall gave the building over to the
protection of the mayor of the city, _at his request_. Of course the
proposed meeting was postponed. All the mayor did was to appear in
front of the hall, and, in a friendly tone, express to the mob the
hope that it would not do anything disorderly, saying that he relied
upon the men he saw before him, as his _policemen_, and he wished them
"good evening!" The mob gave "three cheers for the mayor," and, as
soon as he was out of sight, extinguished the gas lights in front of
the building. The rest is soon told. Doors and windows were broken
through, and with wild yells the reckless horde dashed in, plundered
the Repository, scattering the books in every direction, and, mounting
the stairways and entering the beautiful hall, piled combustibles on
the Speaker's forum, and applied the torch to them, shrieking like
demons,--as they were, for the time. A moment more, and the flames
roared and crackled through the building, and though it was estimated
that fifteen thousand persons were present, and though the fire
companies were early on the scene, not one effort was made to save the
structure so recently erected, at such great cost, and consecrated to
such Christian uses. In a few hours the smouldering walls alone were
left.

Angelina Weld never again appeared in public. An accident soon after
her marriage caused an injury of such a nature that her nervous system
was permanently impaired, and she was ever after obliged to avoid all
excitement or over-exertion. The period of her public labors was
short, but how fruitful, how full of blessings to the cause of the
slave and to the many who espoused it through her powerful appeals!
Great was her grief; for, knowing now her capabilities, she had looked
forward to renewed and still more successful work; but she accepted
with sweet submission the cross laid upon her. Not a murmur arose to
her lips. She was content to leave all to the Lord. He could find some
new work for her to do. She would trust Him, and patiently wait.

The loss of the services of one so richly endowed, so devoted, and so
successful, was deeply felt by the friends of emancipation, and
especially as at this important epoch efficient speakers were sorely
needed, and two of the most efficient, Weld and Burleigh, were
already, from overwork, taken from the platform.

But though denied the privilege of again raising her voice in behalf
of the oppressed, Angelina continued to plead for them through her
pen. She could never forget the cause that could never forget her, and
to her writings was transferred much of the force and eloquence of her
speaking.

Immediately after the destruction of Pennsylvania Hall, Mr. and Mrs.
Weld, accompanied by Sarah Grimké, paid a visit to Mr. Weld's parents
in Manlius, from which place, Sarah, writing to Jane Smith, says:--

"O Jane, it looks like almost too great a blessing for us three to be
together in some quiet, humble habitation, living to the glory of God,
and promoting the happiness of those around us; to be spiritually
united, and to be pursuing with increasing zeal the great work of the
abolition of slavery."

The "quiet, humble habitation" was found at Fort Lee, on the Hudson,
and there the happy trio settled down for their first housekeeping.




CHAPTER XVI.


They were scarcely settled amid their new surroundings before the
sisters received a formal notice of their disownment by the Society of
Friends because of Angelina's marriage. The notification, signed by
two prominent women elders of the Society, expressed regret that Sarah
and Angelina had not more highly prized their right of membership, and
added an earnest desire that they might come to a sense of their real
state, and manifest a disposition to condemn their deviations from the
path of duty.

Angelina replied without delay that they wished the discipline of the
Society to have free course with regard to them. "It is our joy," she
wrote, "that we have committed no offence for which Christ Jesus will
disown us as members of the household of faith. If you regret that we
have valued our right of membership so little, we equally regret that
our Society should have adopted a discipline which has no foundation
in the Bible or in reason; and we earnestly hope the time may come
when the simple Gospel rule with regard to marriage, 'Be not unequally
yoked together with unbelievers,' will be as conscientiously enforced
as that sectarian one which prohibits the union of the Lord's own
people if their shibboleth be not exactly the same.

"We are very respectfully, in that love which knows no distinction in
color, clime, or creed, your friends,

"A.E.G. WELD.

"SARAH M. GRIMKÉ."

It will be noticed that in this reply Angelina avoids the Quaker
phraseology, and neither she nor Sarah ever after used it, except
occasionally in correspondence with a Quaker friend.

Thus ended their connection with the Society of Friends. From that
time they never attached themselves to any religious organization, but
rested contentedly in the simple religion of Christ, illustrating by
every act of their daily lives how near they were to the heart of all
true religion.

As I am approaching the limits prescribed for this volume, I can, in
the space remaining to me, only note with any detail the chief
incidents of the years which followed Angelina's marriage. I would
like to describe at length the beautiful family life the trio created,
and which disproved so clearly the current assertion that interest in
public matters disqualifies woman for home duties or make these
distasteful to her. In the case of Sarah and Angelina those duties
were entered upon with joy and gratitude, and with the same
conscientious zeal that had characterized their public labors. The
simplicity and frugality, too, which marked all their domestic
arrangements, and which neither thought it necessary to apologize for
at any time, recall to one's mind the sweet pictures of Arcadian life
over which goodness, purity, and innocence presided, creating an
atmosphere of perfect inward and outward peace.

Sarah's letters detail their every-day occupations, their division of
labor, their culinary experiments, often failures,--for of practical
domestic economy they had little knowledge, though they enjoyed the
new experience like happy children. She tells of rambles and picnics
along the Hudson, climbing rocks to get a fine view, halting under the
trees to read together for a while, taking their simple dinner in some
shady nook, and returning weary but happy to their "dear little No.
3," as she designates their house.

"Oh, Jane," she writes, "words cannot tell the goodness of the Lord to
us since we have sat down under the shadow of our own roof, and
gathered around our humble board. Peace has flowed sweetly through our
souls. The Lord has been in the midst, and blessed us with his
presence, and the daily aspiration of our souls is: Lord, show us thy
will concerning us." And in another letter she says, "We are delighted
with our arrangement to do without a girl. Angelina boils potatoes to
admiration, and says she finds cooking much easier than she expected."

During the summer they were gratified by a visit from their good
friend Jane, who, it appears, gave them some useful and much-needed
lessons in the art of cookery. But about this time Sarah became
converted to the Graham system of diet, which Mr. "Weld had adopted
three, and Mrs. Weld two years before. Sarah thus writes of it:--

"We have heard Graham lectures, and read Alcott's 'Young Housekeeper,'
and are truly thankful that the Lord has converted us to this mode of
living, and that we are all of one heart and one mind. We believe it
is the most conducive to health, and, besides, it is such an
emancipation of woman from the toils of the kitchen, and saves so much
precious time for purposes of more importance than eating and
drinking. We have a great variety of dishes, and, to our taste, very
savory. We can make good bread, and this with milk is an excellent
meal. This week I am cook, and am writing this while my beans are
boiling and pears stewing for dinner. We use no tea or coffee, and
take our food cool."

She then tells of the arrival one day of two friends from the city,
just as they had sat down to their simple meal of rice and molasses.
"But," she says, "we were very glad to see them, and with bread and
milk, and pie without shortening, and hominy, we contrived to give
them enough, and as they were pretty hungry they partook of it with
tolerable appetite." Answering some inquiries from Jane Smith,
Angelina writes:--

"As to how I have made out with cooking, it so happens that labor
(planting a garden) gives Theodore such an appetite that everything is
sweet to him, so that my rice and asparagus, potatoes, mush, and
Indian bread all taste well, though some might think them not fit to
eat."

They had but one cooking day, when enough was generally prepared to
last a week, so that very little time and mind was given to creature
comforts; in fact, no more than was necessary to the preservation of
health. Their motto literally was "to eat to live," and this they felt
to be a part of that non-conformity to the world of which the apostle
speaks, and after which Sarah, at least, felt she must still strive.
Their furniture corresponded with the simplicity of their table.
Angelina writes shortly after her marriage:--

"We ordered our furniture to be made of cherry, and quite enjoy the
cheapness of our outfit as well as our manner of life; for the less we
spend, the less the Anti-Slavery Society will have to pay my Theodore
for his labors as editor of all the extra publications of the
Society."

Thus some high or unselfish motive inspired all their conduct and
influenced every arrangement. Nothing superfluous or merely ornamental
found a place with these true and zealous followers of Him whose
precepts guided their lives. Everything in doors and out served a
special purpose of utility, or suggested some duty or great moral aim.
Angelina was exceedingly fond of flowers, but refrained from
cultivating them, because of the time required, which she thought
could be better employed. She felt she had no right to use one moment
for her own selfish gratification which could be given to some more
necessary work. Therefore, though both sisters were peculiarly gifted
with a love of the beautiful, as their frequent descriptions of
natural scenery show, they contented themselves, from principle, with
the enjoyment of "glorious sunsets," and with the flowers of the field
and wayside. Later they learned a different appreciation of all the
innocent pleasures of life; but at the time I am describing, they had
just emerged from Quaker asceticism, and in the flush of their new
religion, and looking upon their past years as almost wasted, they
were eager only to make amends for them. In one of her letters to her
English friend, Angelina acknowledges the present from her of a large
picture of a _Kneeling Slave_, and adds:--

"We purpose pasting it on binder's boards, binding it with colored
paper, and fixing it over our mantelpiece. It is just such a speaking
monument of suffering as we want in our parlor, and suits my fireboard
most admirably. I first covered this with plain paper, and then
arranged as well as I could about forty anti-slavery pictures upon it.
I never saw one like it, but we hope other abolitionists will make
them when they see what an ornamental and impressive article of
furniture can thus be manufactured. We want those who come into our
house to see at a glance that we are on the side of the oppressed and
the poor."

Sarah Douglass spent a day with them in September, and as I can have
no more fitting place to show how conscientious were these rare
spirits in their practical testimony against the color prejudice, I
will quote a few passages from a letter written to Sarah Douglass
after her departure from the circle where she had been treated as a
most honored guest. Sarah Grimké begins as follows:--

"Thy letter, my beloved Sarah, was truly acceptable as an evidence of
thy love for us, and because it told us one of our Lord's dear
children had been comforted in being with us. It would have been truly
grateful to have had thee a longer time with us, and we hope thy next
visit may be less brief. By the way, dear, as I love frankness, I am
going to tell thee what I have thought in reading thy note. It seemed
to me thy proposal 'to spend a day' with us was made under a little
feeling something like this: 'Well, after all, I am not quite certain
I shall be an acceptable visitor.' I can only say that it is no
surprise to me that thou shouldst be beset with such a temptation, but
set a strong guard against this entrance to thy heart, lest the
adversary poison all the springs of comfort. I want thee to rise above
the suspicions which are so naturally aroused. They are among the
subtle devices of Satan, by which he alienates us from Jesus, and
makes us go mourning on our way with the language in our hearts: 'Is
there not a cause?'"

Angelina adds:--

"MY DEAR SARAH,--I can fully unite with my precious sister in all she
has said relative to thy late visit to us. Theodore and I both felt
surprised and disappointed that thou proposedst spending but one day
with us when we had expected a visit of a week. It was indeed a
comfort to receive such a letter from thee, dear, and yet there was
much of pain mingled in the feeling. Thou thankest us for our
'Christian conduct.' In what did it consist? In receiving and treating
thee as an equal, a sister beloved in the Lord? Oh, how humbling to
receive such thanks! What a crowd of reflections throng the mind as we
inquire, _Why_ does her full heart thus overflow with gratitude? Yes,
how irresistibly are we led to contemplate the woes which iron-hearted
prejudice inflicts on the oppressed of our land, the hidden sorrows
they endure--the full cup of bitterness which is wrung out to them by
the hands of professed followers of Him who is no respecter of
persons. And oh, how these reflections ought to lead us to labor and
to pray that the time may soon come when thou canst no longer write
_such_ a letter! The Lord in his mercy has made our little household
_one_ in sentiment on this subject, and we know we have been blessed
in the exercise of those Christian feelings which He hath taught us to
cherish, not only towards the outraged people of color, but towards
that large class of individuals who serve in families, and are, at the
same time, almost completely separated from human society and sympathy
so far as their employers are concerned.

"Let me tell thee, dear Sarah, how much good it did me to find that
thy visit had made thee love my precious husband as a brother, and
afforded thee an opportunity to _feel_ what manner of spirit is his.
Now I greatly want thy dear mother to know him too, and cannot but
believe she will come and visit us next summer."

The gratitude of Sarah Douglass for the reception given her at Fort
Lee was not surprising, considering how different such kindness was
from the treatment she and her excellent mother had always received
from the Society of Friends, of which they were members. Scarcely
anything more damaging to the Christian spirit of the Society can be
found than the testimony of this mother and daughter, which Sarah
Grimké obtained and wrote out, but, I believe, never published.

Before his marriage, Mr. Weld lodged, on principle, in a colored
family in New York, even submitting to the inconvenience of having no
heat in his room in winter, and bearing with singular charity and
patience what Sarah calls the sanctimonious pride and Pharisaical
aristocracy of his hosts. He, also, and the sisters when they were in
the city, attended a colored church, which, however, became to Sarah,
at least, a place of such "spiritual famine" that she gave up going.

In the winter of 1839-40, when it became necessary to have more help
in the household, a colored woman, Betsy Dawson by name, was sent for.
She had been a slave in Colonel Grimké's family, and, falling to the
share of Mrs. Frost when the estate was settled up, was by her
emancipated. She was received into the family at Fort Lee as a friend,
and so treated in every respect. Sarah expresses the pleasure it was
to have one as a helper who knew and loved them all, and adds:
"Besides I cannot tell thee how thankful we are that our heavenly
Father has put it in our power to have one who was once a slave in our
family to sit at our table and be with us as a sister cherished, to
place her on an entire equality with, us in social intercourse, and do
all we can to show her we feel for her as we, under like
circumstances, would desire her to feel for us. I don't know what M.C.
[a friend from New York] thought of our having her at table and in our
parlor just like one of ourselves."

Some time later, Angelina writes of another of the family slaves,
Stephen, to whom they gave a home, putting him to do the cooking,
lest, being unaccustomed to a Northern climate, he should suffer by
exposure to outdoor work. He proved an eyesore in every way, but they
retained him as long as it was possible to do so, and bore with him
patiently, as no one else would have him. Mrs. Weld frequently allowed
him to hire out for four or five hours a day to husk corn, etc., and
was glad to give him this opportunity to earn something extra while
she did his work at home. In short, wherever and whenever they could
testify to their convictions of duty on this point, it was done
unhesitatingly and zealously, without fear or favor of any man. We
might consider the incidents I have related, and a dozen similar ones
I could give, as evidence only of a desire to perform a religious
duty, to manifest obedience to the command to do as they would be done
by, while beneath still lay the bias of early training sustained by
the almost universal feeling concerning the inferiority of the negro
race. With people of such pure religious dedication, and such exalted
views, it was perhaps not difficult to treat their ex-slaves as human
beings, and the fact that they did so may not excite much wonder. But
there came a time, then far in their future, when the sincerity of
their convictions upon this matter of prejudice was most triumphantly
vindicated.

Such a vindication even they, with all their knowledge of the hidden
evils of slavery, never dreamed could ever be required of _them_, but
the manner in which they met the tremendous test was the crowning
glory of their lives. In all the biographies I have read, such a
manifestation of the spirit of Jesus Christ does not appear. This will
be narrated in its proper place.

Happy as the sisters were in their home, it must not be supposed that
they had settled down to a life of ease and contented privacy,
abandoning altogether the great work of their lives. Far from it. The
time economized from household duties was devoted chiefly to private
labor for the cause, from the public advocacy of which they felt they
had only stepped aside for a time. Neither had any idea that this
public work was over. Angelina writes to her friend in England soon
after her marriage:--

"I cannot tell thee how I love this private life--how I have thanked
my heavenly Father for this respite from public labor, or how
earnestly I have prayed that whilst I am thus dwelling at ease I may
not forget the captives of my land, or be unwilling to go forth again
on the high places of the field, to combat the giant sin of Slavery
with the smooth stones of the river of Truth, if called to do so by
Him who put me forth and went before me in days that are past. My dear
Theodore entertains the noblest views of the rights and
responsibilities of woman, and will never lay a straw in the way of my
lecturing. He has many times strengthened my hands in the work, and
often tenderly admonished me to keep my eye upon my great Leader, and
my heart in a state of readiness to go forth whenever I am called out.
I humbly trust I may, but as earnestly desire to be preserved from
going before I hear a voice saying unto me, 'This is the way, walk in
it, and I will be thy shield and thy buckler.' This was the promise
which was given me before, and how faithfully it was fulfilled, my
soul knoweth right well."

Sarah too, writes to Sarah Douglass--

"I have thought much of my present situation, laid aside from active
service, but I see no pointing of the divine finger to go forth, and I
believe the present dispensation of rest has been granted to us not
only as a reward for past faithfulness, but as a means of personal
advancement in holiness, a time of deep searching of heart, when the
soul may contemplate itself, and seek nearer and fuller and higher
communion with its God."

And again she says:--

"It is true my nature shrinks from public work, but whenever the
mandate goes forth to declare on the housetops that which I have heard
in the ear, I shall not dare to hold back. I conclude that whenever my
Father needs my services, He will prepare me to obey the call by
exercise of mind."

In the meanwhile Sarah finished and published a most important
contribution to the arguments on the woman's rights subject. This was
a small volume of letters on the "Equality of the Sexes," commenced
during her lecturing tour, and addressed to Mary S. Parker, president
of the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society. Written in a gentle,
reverent spirit, but clothed in Sarah's usual forcible language, they
not only greatly aided the cause which lay so near her heart, but
relieved and strengthened many tender consciences by their strong
arguments.

An extract or two from a letter written to Sarah by Angelina and
Theodore early in the autumn of 1838 will show the tender relations
existing between these three, and which continued undisturbed by all
the changes and trials of succeeding years.

In September, Sarah went to Philadelphia to attend the Annual
Anti-Slavery Convention. Angelina writes to her a few days after her
departure:--

"We have just come up from our evening meal, my beloved sister, and
are sitting in our little study for a while before taking our
moonlight ramble on the river bank. After thou left us, I cleared up
the dishes, and then swept the house; got down to the kitchen just in
time for dinner, which, though eaten alone, was, I must confess, very
much relished, for exercise gives a good appetite, thou knowest. I
then set my beans to boil whilst I dusted, and was upstairs waiting,
ready dressed, for the sound of the 'Echo's' piston. Soon I heard it,
and blew my whistle, which was _not_ responded to, and I began to fear
my Theodore was not on board. But I blew again, and the glad response
came merrily over the water, and I thought I saw him. In a little
while he came, and gave me all your parting messages. On Second Day
the weather was almost cold, and we were glad to take a run at noon up
the Palisades and sun ourselves on the rock at the first opening.
Returning, we gathered some field beans, and some apples for stewing,
as our fruit was nearly out. In the evening it was so cool that we
thought a fire would be more comfortable, so we sat in the kitchen,
paring apples, shelling beans, and talking over the Bible argument;[8]
and, as we had a fire, I thought we had better stew the apples at
once. This was done to save time the next day, but I burnt them sadly.
However, thou knowest they were just as nice to our Theodore, who
_never_ complains of anything. Third Day evening we took a walk up the
Palisades. The moon shone most beautifully, throwing her mantle of
light all abroad over the blue arch of heaven, the gently flowing
river, and the woods and vales around us. I could not help thinking,
if earth was so lovely and bright, what must be the glories of that
upper Temple which needeth not the light of the sun or of the moon. O
sister, shall we ever wash our robes so white in the blood of the Lamb
as to be clean enough to enter that pure and holy Temple of the Most
High? We returned to our dear little home, and went to bed by the lamp
of heaven; for we needed no other, so brightly did she shine through
our windows. We remembered thee, dear sister, in our little seasons of
prayer at the opening and closing of each day. We pray the Lord to
bring thee back to us in the fulness of the blessing of the Gospel of
peace, and to make our house a _home_ to thy weary, tossed, afflicted
spirit. We feel it a great blessing to have thee under our roof. Thy
room looks very desolate; for, though the sun shines brightly in it, I
find, after all, _thou_ art the light of it."

  [8] This was the argument which Angelina heard Mr. Weld make before
  the A.S. Convention in New York two years before, and which was
  afterwards published by the A.A.S. Society. He was now revising it
  for a new edition. It made many converts to emancipation. Among them
  was the Rev. Dr. Brisbane of South Carolina, a slave-owner, who,
  after reading it, sat down to answer and refute it; but, before
  proceeding half way, he became convinced that he was wrong, and Weld
  right. Acting upon this conviction, he freed his slaves, went to
  Cincinnati, joined the abolition ranks, and became one of their most
  eloquent advocates.

Theodore adds a postscript, addresses Sarah as "My dearly loved
sister," and says, "As dear Angy remarks, your room does look so chill
and desolate, and your place at table, and your chair in our little
morning and evening circle, that we talk about it a dozen times a day.
But we rejoice that the Master put it into your heart to go and give
your testimony for our poor, suffering brothers and sisters, wailing
under bonds, and we pray without ceasing that He who sent will teach,
strengthen, and help you greatly to do for Him and the bleeding
slave."

Debarred from lecturing by the condition of his throat, Mr. Weld was a
most untiring worker in the Anti-Slavery office in New York, from
which he received a small salary. His time out of office hours was
employed in writing for the different anti-slavery papers, and in
various editorial duties. Soon after his marriage he began the
preparation of a book, which, when issued, produced perhaps a greater
sensation throughout the country than anything that had yet been
written or spoken. This was, "American Slavery as it is: Testimony of
a Thousand Witnesses," a book of two hundred and ten pages, and
consisting of a collection of facts relating to the actual condition
and treatment of slaves; facts drawn from slaveholders themselves, and
from Southern publications. The design was to make the South condemn
herself, and never was success more complete. Of all the lists of
crimes, all the records of abominations, of moral depravity, of
marvellous inhumanity, of utter insensibility to the commonest
instincts of nature, the civilized world has never read anything equal
to it. Placed by the side of Fox's "Book of Martyrs," it outrivals it
in all its revolting characters, and calls up the burning blush of
shame for our country and its boasted Christian civilization.
Notwithstanding all that had been written on the subject, the public
was still comparatively ignorant of the sufferings of the slaves, and
the barbarities inflicted upon them. Mr. Weld thought the state of the
abolition cause demanded a work which would not only prove by argument
that slavery and cruelty were inseparable, but which would contain a
mass of incontrovertible facts, that would exhibit the horrid
brutality of the system. Nearly all the papers, most of them of recent
date, from which the extracts were taken, were deposited at the office
of the American Anti-Slavery Society in New York, and all who thought
the atrocities described in Weld's book were incredible, were invited
to call and examine for themselves.

This book was the most effective answer ever given to the appeal made
against free discussion, based on the Southampton massacre. It was, in
fact, an offset of the horrors of that bloody affair, giving, as it
did, a picture of the deeper horrors of slavery. It was the first
adequate disclosure of this "bloodiest picture in the book of time,"
which had yet been made, and all who read it felt that, fearful as was
the Virginia tragedy, the system which provoked it included many
things far worse, and demanded investigation and discussion. Issued in
pamphlet form, the "Testimony of a Thousand Witnesses," was
extensively circulated over the country, and most advantageously used
by anti-slavery lecturers and advocates; and it is not too much to say
that by awakening the humanity and pride of the people to end this
national disgrace, it made much easier the formation of the
anti-slavery political party.

In the preparation of this work, Mr. Weld received invaluable
assistance from his wife and sister. Not only was the testimony of
their personal observation and experience given over their own names,
but many files of Southern papers were industriously examined for such
facts as were needed, and which Mr. Weld arranged. Early in January,
1839, Sarah writes:--

"I do not think we ever labored more assiduously for the slave than we
have done this fall and winter, and, although our work is of the kind
that may be privately performed, yet we find the same holy peace in
doing it which we found in the public advocacy of the cause."

Referring a little later to this work, she says: "We have been almost
too busy to look out on the beautiful winter landscape, and have been
wrought up by our daily researches almost to a frenzy of justice,
intolerance, and enthusiasm to crush the viper that is eating out the
vitals of the nation. Oh, what a blessed privilege to be engaged in
labor for the oppressed! We often think, if the slaves are never
emancipated, we are richly rewarded by the hallowed influence of
abolition principles on our own hearts."

In a recent letter to me, Mr. Weld makes some interesting statements
respecting this work. I will give them in his own words:--

"The fact is, those dear souls spent six months, averaging more than
six hours a day, in searching through thousands upon thousands of
Southern newspapers, marking and cutting out facts of slave-holding
disclosures for the book. I engaged of the Superintendent of the New
York Commercial Reading-Room all his papers published in our Southern
States and Territories. These, after remaining upon the files one
month, were taken off and sold. Thus was gathered the raw material for
the manufacture of 'Slavery As It Is.' After the work was finished, we
were curious to know how many newspapers had been examined. So we went
up to our attic and took an inventory of bundles, as they were packed
heap upon heap. When our count had reached _twenty thousand_
newspapers, we said: 'There, let that suffice.' Though the book had in
it many thousand facts thus authenticated by the slave-holders
themselves, yet it contained but a tiny fraction of the nameless
atrocities gathered from the papers examined."

Besides this absorbing occupation, the sisters busied themselves that
winter getting up a petition to Congress for the abolition of slavery
in the District of Columbia, and walked many miles, day after day, to
obtain signatures, meeting with patience, humility, and sweetness the
frequent rebuffs of the rude and the ignorant, feeling only pity for
them, and gratitude to God who had touched and softened their own
hearts and enlightened their minds.

They received repeated invitations from the different anti-slavery
organizations to again enter the lecture field, and great
disappointment was felt by all who had once listened to them that they
should have retired from public work.

Sarah speaks of attending "meeting," as, from habit, she called it,
and doubtless they all went regularly, as Mr. Weld was a communicant
of the Presbyterian Church, and Mrs. Weld and Sarah were still sound
on all the fundamental points of Christian doctrine. During some
portion of every Sunday, Mrs. Weld was in the habit of visiting among
the very poor, white and colored, and preaching to them the Gospel of
peace and good will. In her peculiarly tender and persuasive way, she
opened to those unhappy and benighted souls the promises and hopes
which supported her, and lavished upon them the treasures of an
eloquence that thousands had and would still have crowded to listen
to. There were none to applaud in those sorrowful abodes, but her
words of courage and consolation lifted many a despondent heart from
the depths, while her own faith in the love and mercy of her heavenly
Father brought confidence and comfort to many a benumbed and wavering
soul.

In December, 1839, the happiness of the little household was increased
by the birth of a son, who received the name of Charles Stuart, in
loving remembrance of the eminent English philanthropist, with whom
Mr. Weld had been as a brother, and whom he regarded as living as near
the angels as mortal man could live. The advent of this child was not
only an inexpressible blessing to the affectionate hearts of the
father and mother, but to Sarah it seemed truly a mark of divine love
to her, compensating her for the home ties and affections once so
nearly within her grasp, and still often mourned for. She describes
her feelings as she pressed the infant in her arms and folded him to
her breast as a rhapsody of wild delight. "Oh, the ecstacy and the
gratitude!" she exclaimed: "How I opened the little blanket and peeped
in to gaze, with swimming eyes, at my treasure, and looked upon that
face forever so dear!"

For months before the birth of her child, Mrs. Weld had read carefully
different authors on the treatment of children, and felt herself
prepared at every point with the best theories derived from Combes'
"Physiological and Moral Management of Infancy," and kindred works. It
is rather amusing to read how systematically this baby was trained,
and how little he appreciated all the wise theories; how he protested
against going to sleep by rule; how he wouldn't be bathed in cold
water; how he was fed, a tablespoonful at a time, five times during
the twenty-four hours,--at 8, 12, 4, 8, and 3 in the morning; how his
fretting at last induced his Aunt Sarah to take the responsibility of
giving him a little license with his bottle, when, horrified at his
gluttony, she was, at the same time, convinced that the child had been
slowly starving ever since his birth. Allowed more indulgence in food,
he soon stopped fretting, and became a healthy, lively baby.

Angelina, writing to a friend, speaks of the blessed influence the
child was exerting over them all. "The idea," she says, "of a baby
exercising moral influence never came into my mind until I felt its
power on my own heart. I used to think all a parent's reward for early
care and anxiety was reaped in after-life, save the enjoyment of an
infant as a pretty plaything. But the Lord has taught me differently,
and woe be unto me if I do not profit by the instructions of this
little teacher sent from God."

It was about this time that the injury referred to in the last chapter
was received, which frustrated all Angelina's hopes and plans for
continued public service for the slave, and condemned her, with all
her rare intellectual gifts, to a quiet life. The sweet submission
with which she bore this trial proved how great was the peace which
possessed her soul, and kept her ready for whatever it seemed good for
the Father to send her. Henceforth, shut out from the praises and
plaudits of men, in her own home, among her neighbors and among the
poor and afflicted, quietly and unobtrusively she fulfilled every law
of love and duty. And though during the remainder of her life she was
subject to frequent weakness and intense pain, all was borne with such
fortitude and patience that only her husband and sister knew that she
suffered.

In the latter part of February, 1840, Mr. Weld, having purchased a
farm of fifty acres at Belleville, New Jersey, removed his family
there. Angelina, announcing the change to Jane Smith, says:--

"Yes, we have left the sweet little village of Fort Lee, a spot never
to be forgotten by me as the place where my Theodore and I first lived
together, and the birthplace of my darling babe, the scene of my
happiest days. There, too, my precious sister ministered with untiring
faithfulness to my wants when sick, and there, too, I welcomed _thee_
for the first time under my roof."

To their new home they brought the simplicity of living to which they
had adhered in their old one, a simplicity which, with their more
commodious house, enabled them to exercise the broad hospitality which
they had been obliged to deny themselves in a measure at Fort Lee. All
the good deeds done under this sacred name of hospitality during their
fourteen years' residence at Belleville can never be known. Few ever
so diligently sought, or so cheerfully accepted, opportunities for the
exercise of every good word and work. Scarcely a day passed that they
did not feel called upon to make some sacrifice of comfort or
convenience for the comfort or convenience of others; and more than
once the sacrifice involved the risk of health and life. But in true
humility and with an unwavering trust in God, they looked away from
themselves and beyond ordinary considerations.

One of their first acts, after their removal, was to take back to
their service the incompetent Stephen whom they had been forced to
discharge from Fort Lee, and who had lived a precarious life
afterwards. They gave him work on the farm, paid him the usual wages,
and patiently endeavored to correct his faults. A young nephew in
delicate health was also added to their household; and, a few months
later, Angelina having heard that an old friend and her daughter in
Charleston were in pecuniary distress and feeble health, wrote and
offered them a home with her for a year.

"They have no means of support, and are anxious to leave Carolina,"
wrote Angelina to Jane Smith; "we will keep them until their health is
recruited, their minds rested, and some situation found for them where
they can earn their own living. We know not," she adds, "whom else the
Lord may send us, and only pray Him to help us to fulfil His will
towards all whose lot may be cast among us."

The visitors to the Belleville farm--chiefly old and new anti-slavery
friends--were numerous, and were always received with a cordiality
which left no room to doubt its sincerity.

At one time they received into their family a poor young man from
Jamaica, personally a stranger, but of whose labors as a
self-appointed missionary among the recently emancipated slaves of the
West Indies they had heard. He had labored for three years, supporting
himself as he could, until he was utterly broken down in health, when
he came back to die. His friendless situation appealed to the warmest
sympathy of the Welds, and he was brought to their hospitable home.
The pleasantest room in the house was given to him, and every
attention bestowed upon him, until death came to his relief.

The people of their neighborhood soon learned to know where they could
confidently turn for help in any kind of distress. It would be
difficult to tell the number of times that one or the other of the
great-hearted trio responded to the summons from a sick or dying bed,
and gave without stint of their sympathy, their time, and their labor.

Once, following only her own conviction of duty, Angelina left her
home to go and nurse a wretched colored man and his wife, ill with
small-pox and abandoned by everyone. She stayed with them night and
day until they were so far recovered as to be able to help themselves.

What a picture is this! That humble cabin with its miserable
occupants--and they negroes--ill with a loathsome disease, suffering,
praying for help, but deserted by neighbors and friends. Suddenly a
fair, delicate face bends over them; a sweet, low voice bids them be
comforted, and gentle hands lift the cooling draught to their parched
lips, bathe their fevered brows, make comfortable their poor bed, and
then, angel as she appears to them, stations herself beside them, to
minister to them like the true sister of mercy she was.

In this action, we may well suppose, Angelina was not encouraged by
her husband or sister, but it was a sacred principle with them never
to oppose anything which she conscientiously saw it was her duty to
do. When this appeared to her so plain that she felt she could not
hold back from it, they committed her to the Lord, and left their
doubts and anxieties with Him. She never shrank from the meanest
offices to the sick and suffering, though their performance might be
followed, as was often the case, by faintness and nausea. She would
return home exhausted, but cheerful, and grateful that she had been
able to help "one of God's suffering children."

In other ways the members of this united household were diligent in
good works. If a neighbor required a few hundred dollars to save the
foreclosure of a mortgage, the combined resources of the family were
taxed to aid him; if a poor student needed a helping hand in his
preparation for college, or for teaching, it was gladly extended to
him--perhaps his board and lodging given him for six months or a
year--with much valuable instruction thrown in. The instances of
charity of this kind were many, and were performed with such a
cheerful spirit that Sarah only incidentally alludes to the increase
of their cares and work at such times. In fact, their roof was ever a
shelter for the homeless, a home for the friendless; and it is
pleasant to record that the return of ingratitude, so often made for
benevolence of this kind, was never their portion. They always seem to
have had the sweet satisfaction of knowing, sooner or later, that
their kindness was not thrown away or under-estimated.

Besides the work of the farm, Mr. Weld interested himself in all the
local affairs of his neighborhood. His energy, common sense, and
enthusiasm pushed forward many a lagging improvement, while the
influence of his moral and intellectual views was felt in every
household. He taught the young men temperance, and the dignity of
honest labor; to the young women he preached self-reliance, contempt
for the frivolities of fashion, and the duty of making themselves
independent. He became superintendent of the public schools of the
township, and gave to them his warmest and most active services.

Sarah, although always ready to second Angelina in every charity,
found her chief employment at home. She relieved her sister almost
entirely of the care of the children, for in the course of years two
more little ones were given to them, and she lessened the expenses by
attending to household work, which would otherwise have called for
another servant. After a short time, Mr. Weld's father, mother,
sister, and brother, all invalids, came to live near them, claiming
much of their sympathy and their care. Their niece also, the daughter
of Mrs. Frost, now married, and the mother of children, took up her
residence in the neighborhood, and Aunt Sai, as the children called
her, and as almost every one else came, in time, to call her, found
even fuller occupation for heart and hands. Her love for children was
intense, and she had the rare faculty of being able to bring her
intelligence down to theirs. Angelina's children were literally as her
own, on whom she ever bestowed the tenderest care, and with whose
welfare her holiest affections were intertwined. She often speaks of
loving them with "all but a mother's love," of having them "enshrined
in her heart of hearts," of "receiving through them the only cordial
that could have raised a heart bowed by sorrow and crushing memories."

In one of her letters she says: "I live for Theodore and Angelina and
the children, those blessed comforters to my poor, sad heart," and,
during an absence from home, she writes to Angelina:--

"I have enjoyed being with my friends: still there is a longing, a
yearning after my children. I miss the sight of those dear faces, the
sound of those voices that comes like music to my ears."

In a letter to Sarah Douglass, written towards the close of their
residence in Belleville, she says:---

"In our precious children my desolate heart found a sweet response to
its love. They have saved me from I know not what of horrible despair,
or rushing into some new and untried and unsanctified effort to let
off the fire that consumed me. Crushed, mutilated, torn, they
comforted and cheered me, and furnished me with objects of interest
which drew me from myself. I feel that they were the gift of a pitying
Father, and that to love and cherish them is my highest manifestation
of love to the Giver."

As the children grew, the parents began to feel the difficulty of
educating them properly without other companions, and it was at last
decided to take a few children into the family to be instructed with
their own.

This was the beginning of another important chapter in their lives. As
educators Mr. and Mrs. Weld very soon developed such rare ability,
that although they had thought of limiting the number of pupils to two
or three, so many were pressed upon them, with such good reasons for
their acceptance, that the two or three became a dozen, and were with
difficulty kept at that figure. In this new life their trials were
many, their labor great, and the pecuniary compensation exceedingly
moderate; but it is inspiring to read from Sarah the accounts of
Theodore's courage--"always ready to take the heaviest end of every
burden," and of Angelina's cheerfulness; and from Angelina the
frequent testimony to Sarah's patience and fidelity. It took this dear
Aunt Sai many years to learn to like teaching, especially as she never
had any talent for governing, save by love, and this method was not
always appreciated.

With their new and exacting work, the farm, of course, had to be given
up, and was finally sold.

In 1852 the Raritan Bay Association, consisting of thirty or forty
educated and cultured families of congenial tastes, was formed at
Eagleswood, near Perth Amboy, New Jersey; and a year later Mr. and
Mrs. Weld were invited to join the Association, and take charge of its
educational department. They accepted in the hope of finding in the
change greater social advantages for themselves and their children,
with less responsibility and less labor; for of these last the
husband, wife, and sister, in their Belleville school, had had more
than they were physically able to endure longer. Their desire and plan
was to establish, with the children of the residents at Eagleswood, a
school also for others, and to charge such a moderate compensation
only as would enable the middle classes to profit by it. In this
project, as with every other, no selfish ambition found a place.

They removed to Eagleswood in the autumn of 1854.

And now, as I am nearing the end of my narrative, this seems to be the
place to say a few words relative to the religious views into which
the two sisters finally settled. We have followed them through their
various conflicts from early youth to mature age, and have seen in
their several changes of belief that there was no fickleness, no real
inconsistency. They sought the truth, and at different times thought
they had found it. But it was the truth as taught in Christ Jesus, the
simple doctrine of the Cross they wanted, the preaching and practice
of love for God, and for the meanest, the weakest, the lowest of His
children. The spiritual conflicts through which they passed, prepared
them to see the nothingness of all outward forms, and they came at
last to reject the so-called orthodox creed, and to look only to God
for help and comfort.

During the entire period of Sarah's connection with religious
organizations, and even from her very first religious impressions, she
found it difficult to accept the doctrine of the Atonement; and yet
she professed and tried to think she believed it, but only because the
Bible, which she accepted as a revelation from God, taught it. That
her reason rebelled against it is shown in her frequent prayers to be
delivered from this great temptation of the arch enemy, and her deep
repentance whenever she lapsed into a state of doubt. The fear that
she might come to reject this fundamental dogma was--at least up to
the time when she was driven from the Quaker Church--one of her most
terrible trials, causing her at intervals more agony than all else put
together. But the worshipful element was so strong in Sarah that she
could not, even after her reason had satisfied her conscience on this
point, give up this Christ at whose feet she had learned her most
precious lessons of faith and meekness and gentleness and
long-suffering, and whom she had accepted and adored as her
intermediary before an awful Jehovah. In her whole life there appears
to me nothing more beautiful than this full, tender, abiding love of
Jesus, and I believe it to have been the inspiration always of all
that was loveliest and grandest in her character. In one of her
letters, written while at Belleville, she says:--

"I cannot grasp the idea of an Infinite Being; but, without perplexing
myself with questions which I cannot solve, everything around me
proclaims the presence and the government of an intelligent,
law-abiding Law-giver, and I believe implicitly in his power and his
love. But I must have the Friend of sinners to rest in."

And again: "In one sense, as Creator and Benefactor, I feel this
Infinite Being to be my Father, but I want a Jesus whom I can approach
as a fellow creature, yet who is so nearly allied to God that I can
look up to Him with reverence, and love Him and lie in His bosom."

And later, in a letter to Gerrit Smith, she says:--

"God is love, and whoso dwelleth in love dwelleth in God and God in
him. O friends, but for this faith, this anchor to the soul both sure
and steadfast, I know not what would have become of us in the sweep
which there has been of what we called the doctrines of Christianity
from our minds. They have passed away like the shadows of night, but
the glorious truth remains that the Lord of love and mercy reigns, and
great peace have they who do His will."

Their increasingly liberal views, and their growing indifference to
most of the established forms in religion, drew upon them the severe
censure of their Charleston relatives, and finally, when, about 1847,
it came to be known that they no longer considered the Sabbath in a
sacred light, their sister Eliza wrote to them that all personal
intercourse must end between them and her, and that her doors would be
forever closed against them. Angelina's answer, covering four full
pages of foolscap, was most affectionate; but, while she expressed her
sorrow at the feeling excited against them, she could not regret that
they had been brought from error to truth. She argued the point fully,
patiently giving all the best authorities concerning the substitution
of the Christian for the Jewish Sabbath, and against their sister's
assertion that the former was a divine institution.

"When I began to understand," she says, "what the gift of the Holy
Spirit really was, then all outwardisms fell off. I did not throw them
off through force of argument or example of others, but all reverence
for them died in my heart. I could not help it; it was unexpected to
me, and I wondered to find even the Sabbath gone. And now, to give to
God alone the ceaseless worship of my life is all my creed, all my
desire. Oh, for this pure, exalted state, how my soul pants after it!
In my nursery and kitchen and parlor, when ministering to the common
little wants of my family, and encountering the fretfulness and
waywardness of my children, oh, for the pure worship of the soul which
can enable me to meet and bear all the _little_ trials of life in
quietness and love and patience. This is the religion of Christ, and I
feel that no other can satisfy me or meet the wants of human nature. I
cannot sanction any other, and I dare not teach any other to my
precious children."

Thus it came to pass with them and with Theodore also, that to love
Jesus more, and to follow more and more after him, became the sum of
their religion. With increasing years and wider experiences, their
views broadened into the most comprehensive liberality, but the high
worship of an infinite God, and the sweet reverence for his purest
disciple never left them.




CHAPTER XVII.


In a letter to Dr. Harriot Hunt, Sarah Grimké thus describes Eagleswood:--

"It was a most enchanting spot. Situated on the Raritan Bay and River,
just twenty-five miles from New York, and sixty miles from
Philadelphia, in sight of the beautiful lower bay and of the dark
Neversink Hills, all its surroundings appeal to my sense of the
beautiful. In rambles through the woods or along the shore, new charms
are constantly presented. The ever-varying face of the bay alone is a
source of ceaseless enjoyment, and with the sound of its waves,
sometimes dashing impetuously, sometimes murmuring softly, the eye,
the ear, and the soul are filled with wonder and delight."

In this beautiful spot a commodious stone building was erected,
suitable for association purposes. One end was divided into flats for
a limited number of families; the other into school-rooms,
dormitories, and parlors for social uses, while the centre contained
the refectory for pupils and teachers, of whom there was an efficient
corps, and dining-rooms for the other residents and their visitors.
Several families of intelligence and culture resided in the immediate
neighborhood, adding much to the social life of the place. All who
were so fortunate as to be members of the Eagleswood family during Mr.
Weld's administration must often look back with the keenest pleasure
to the days passed there. It seems to me there can never be such a
centre to such a circle as the Welds drew around them. Here gathered,
at different times, many of the best, the brightest, the broadest
minds of the day. Here came James G. Birney, Wm. H. Channing, Henry
W. Bellows, O.B. Frothingham, Dr. Chapin, Wm. H. Furness, Wm. Cullen
Bryant, the Collyers, Horace Greeley, Gerrit Smith, Moncure D. Conway,
James Freeman Clarke, Joshua R. Giddings, Youmans, and a host of
others whose names were known throughout the land. Here, too, came
artists and poets for a few days' inspiration, and weary men of
business for a little rest and intellectual refreshment, and leaders
of reform movements, attracted by the liberal atmosphere of the place.
Nearly all of these, invited by Mr. Weld, gave to the pupils and their
families and friends, assembled in the parlors, something of
themselves,--some personal experience, perhaps, or a lecture or short
essay, or an insight into their own especial work and how it was done.
The amount of pleasant and profitable instruction thus imparted was
incalculable; while the after discussions and conversation were as
enjoyable as might be expected from the friction of such minds.
Seldom, if ever, in the famous _salons_ of Europe were better things
said or higher topics treated than in the Eagleswood parlors. All the
rights and wrongs of humanity received here earnest consideration;
while questions of general interest, politics, religion, the arts and
sciences, even the last new novel or poem, had each its turn. Thoreau,
also, spent many days at Eagleswood, and spoke often to the pupils;
and A. Bronson Alcott gave them a series of his familiar lectures.

Here, on Sundays, Theodore D. Weld delivered lay sermons, so full of
divine light and love, of precious lessons of contempt for all
littleness, of patience with the weaknesses of our fellow-men, that
few could listen without being inspired with higher and holier
purposes in life.

Here James G. Birney died, in 1857, and was buried in the beautiful
little cemetery on the crest of the hill.

Here were brought and interred the bodies of Stevens and Hazlitt, two
of John Brown's mistaken but faithful apostles.

Here stirring lessons of patriotism were learned in 1860-61, and from
this place went forth, at the first call, some of the truest defenders
of the liberties of the nation.

At Eagleswood, Mr. Weld and his faithful wife and sister passed some
of their most laborious as well as some of their most pleasant and
satisfactory years. They did not find the association all or even the
half of what they had expected. "We had indulged the delightful hope,"
writes Sarah, "that Theodore would have no cares outside of the
schoolroom, and Angelina would have leisure to pursue her studies and
aid in the cause of woman. Her heart is in it, and her talents qualify
her for enlarged usefulness. She was no more designed to serve tables
than Theodore to dig potatoes. But verily, to use a homely phrase, we
have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire in point of leisure,
for there are innumerable sponges here to suck up every spare moment;
but dear Nina is a miracle of hope, faith, and endurance."

In the new school Angelina taught history, for which she was admirably
qualified, while Sarah taught French, and was also book-keeper, both
of which offices were distasteful to her because of her conscious
incompetency. She did herself great injustice, as the results of her
work showed, but it required a great mental struggle to reconcile
herself to it in the beginning.

"I am driven to it," she says, "by a stern sense of duty. I feel its
responsibilities and my own insufficiency so deeply, that I never hear
the school bell with pleasure, and seldom enter the schoolroom without
a sinking of the heart, a dread as of some approaching catastrophe.
Oh, if I had only been developed into usefulness in early life, how
much happier I should have been and would be now. From want of
training, I am all slip-shod, and all I do, whether learning or
teaching, is done slip-shod fashion. However, I must try and use the
fag-end of me that is left, to the most advantage."

In order to do this, although sixty-one years old, she set earnestly
to work to brush up her intellectual powers and qualify herself as far
as possible for her position. She took French lessons daily, that she
might improve her accent and learn the modern methods of teaching, and
for months after she entered the Eagleswood school her reading was
confined to such books as could enlighten her most on her especial
work. She was rewarded by finding her interest in it constantly
increasing, and she would doubtless have learned to love it, if, as
she expressed it, her heart, soul, and mind had not been so nearly
absorbed by the woman movement. Age and reflection had not only
modified her views somewhat on this subject, but had given her a more
just appreciation of the real obstacles in the way of the
enfranchisement of her sex. Speaking of Horace Mann, she says:--

"He will not help the cause of woman greatly, but his efforts to
educate her will do a greater work than he anticipates. Prepare woman
for duty and usefulness, and she will laugh at any boundaries man may
set for her. She will as naturally fall into her right position as the
feather floats in the air, or the pebble sinks in the water."

And at another time she writes: "I feel more and more that woman's
work is inside, that the great battle must first be fought within, and
the conquest obtained over her love of admiration, her vanity, her
want of moral courage, her littleness, ere she is prepared to use her
rights without abusing them. Women must come into the arena with men,
not to increase the number of potsherds, but to elevate the standard
of right."

Her ideal of womanhood was very high, and comprehended an education so
different from the usual one, that she seldom ventured to unfold it.
But she longed to do something towards it, and there is no doubt that
but for home duties, which she felt were paramount, she would have
undertaken a true missionary work of regeneration among women,
especially of the lower classes. Many sleepless nights were passed
pondering upon the subject. At one time she thought of editing a
paper, then of studying law, that she might sometimes be able to
advise and protect the weak and defenceless of her sex. She went so
far in this as to consult an eminent lawyer in Philadelphia, but was
discouraged by him. Then she considered the medical profession as
opening to her a door of influence and usefulness among poor women.
Sarah Douglass, who was a successful medical lecturer among the
colored women of Philadelphia and New York, encouraged her friend in
this idea, and urged her to take a course of lectures.

"I would dearly like to do as you say," Sarah Grimké answered, "but it
must not be in Philadelphia. I cannot draw a long breath there,
intellectual or moral. Freedom to live as my conscience dictates, to
give free utterance to my thoughts, to have contact with those who are
pressing after progress and whose watchword is onward, is needful to
me. In Philadelphia there is an atmosphere of repression that would
destroy me. Ground to powder as I was, in the mill of bigotry and
superstition, I shudder at the thought of encountering again the same
suffering I went through there. Indeed, I wonder I was not altogether
stultified and dried up beyond the power of revivification, when the
spring came to my darkened soul after that long, long winter.... There
must be something in this wide, progressive world for me to do, but I
must wait patiently to see what the future has in store for me."

All this, from a woman in her sixty-second year, shows how fresh was
still her interest in humanity, and how little her desires for
usefulness and improvement were dampened by age. But Angelina's
continued delicate health kept her from carrying out any of her plans.
She could see no way of escape consistent with duty and her devotion
to the children, and she cheerfully submitted to the inevitable. But
she could never bring herself to be satisfied with the Association
life. She had had no ideal about it, no golden dreams, but joined it
because she could not be separated from those she loved, and, with
singular reasoning, she put one thousand dollars into it, because, if
there was to be a failure and loss, she wished to share it with her
sister and brother. But she had no affinity for living together in a
great hotel, and it fretted her much, also, to see Mr. and Mrs. Weld
taking constantly increasing burdens upon themselves as the school
increased. Her longings, for their sake, for a little quiet home, are
very pathetic. But she never allowed her anxieties to affect her
intercourse in the household; on the contrary, no one was more full of
life and good humor than she. Her favorite maxim was: "Bravely to meet
our trials is true heroism; to bear them cheerfully, an exhibition of
strength and fortitude infinitely beyond trying to get rid of them."

But it is doubtful, after all, if everything else had been favorable
to it, that Sarah could have brought herself to leave Angelina and the
children. She says herself:--

"A separation from the darling children who have brightened a few
years of my lonely and sorrowful life overwhelms me when I think of it
as the probable result of any change. They seem to be the links that
bind me to life, the stars that shed light on my path, the beings in
whom past, present, and future enjoyments are centred, without whom
existence would have no charms."

All through her letters we see that, though generally cheerful, and
often even merry, there were bitter moments in this devoted woman's
life, moments when all the affection with which she was surrounded
failed to fill the measure of her content. The old wounds would still
sometimes bleed and the heart ache for home joys all her own. Writing
to Jane Smith in 1852, she says: "I chide myself that I am not happier
than I am, surrounded by so many blessings, but there are times when I
feel as though the sun of earthly bliss had set for me. I know not
what would have become of me but for Angelina's children. They have
strewed my solitary path with flowers, and gemmed my sky with stars.
My heart has brooded o'er sorrows untold, until life has seemed an
awful blank, humanity a cheat, and myself an outcast. Then have come
the soft accents of my children's voices, and they have spoken to me
so lovingly, that I have turned from my bitter thoughts and have said:
'Forgive thy poor, weak servant, Lord.'"

All through Sarah's life, children had a great attraction for her.
Even amid her cares and doubts at Eagleswood she writes: "Surrounded
by all these dear young people, and drinking in from their exuberance,
and scarcely living my own life, I cannot but be cheerful."

And describing an evening in the school parlor, when she joined in the
Virginia reel, she says: "The children make one feel young if we will
only be children with them. I owe them so much that I shall try to be
cheerful to the end of my days."

And in this school, where boys and girls of all ages and all
temperaments mingled, "Aunt Sai" was the great comforter and
counsellor. Her inexhaustible tenderness and mother-love blessed all
who came near her and soothed all who had a heartache. The weak and
erring found in her a frank but pitying rebuker; the earnest and good,
a kind friend and wise helper, and a child never feared to go to her
either to ask a favor or to confess a fault.

At Eagleswood the Welds kept up as far as practicable their frugal
habits, though, soon after their establishment, they all modified
their Graham diet so far as to take meat once a day. Sarah's economy,
especially in trifles, was remarkable, almost as much so as the
untiring, almost painful industry of herself and Mrs. Weld. A penny
was never knowingly wasted, a minute never willingly lost. Among other
thrifty devices, she generally wrote to her friends on the backs of
circulars, on blank pages of notes she received, on almost any clean
scrap, in fact. Angelina often remonstrated with her, but to no avail.

"It gives me a few more pennies for my love purse, and my friends
won't mind," she would say.

This "love purse" was well named. Into it were cast all her small
economies: a car-fare when she walked instead of riding; a few pennies
saved by taking a simpler lunch than she had planned, when in New York
on business; the ten cents difference in the quality of a cap, ribbon,
or a handkerchief,--all these savings were dropped into the love
purse, to be drawn out again to buy a new book for some friend too
poor to get it herself; to subscribe to a paper for another; to
purchase some little gift for a sick child, or a young girl trying to
keep up a neat appearance. It was a pair of cuffs to one, mittens or
slippers of her own knitting to another, a collar or a ribbon to a
third. All through the letters written during the last twenty years of
her life, the references to such little gifts are innumerable, and
show that her generosity was only equalled by her thoughtfulness, and
only limited by her means. Nothing was spent unnecessarily, in the
strictest sense of the word, on herself; not a dollar of her narrow
income laid by. All went for kindly or charitable objects, and was
gladly given without a single selfish twinge.

It is scarcely necessary to say that few schools have ever been
established upon such a basis of conscientiousness and love, and with
such adaptability in its conductors as that at Eagleswood; few have
ever held before the pupils so high a moral standard, or urged them on
to such noble purposes in life. Children entered there spoiled by
indulgence, selfish, uncontrolled, sometimes vicious. Their teachers
studied them carefully; confidence was gained, weaknesses sounded,
elevation measured. Very slowly often, and with infinite patience and
perseverance, but successfully in nearly every case, these children
were redeemed. The idle became industrious, the selfish considerate,
the disobedient and wayward repentant and gentle. Sometimes the fruits
of all this labor and forbearance did not show themselves immediately,
and in a few instances the seed sown did not ripen until the boy or
girl had left school and mingled with the world. Then the contrast
between the common, every-day aims they encountered, and the teachings
of their Eagleswood mentors, was forced upon them. Forgotten lessons
of truth and honesty and purity were remembered, and the wavering
resolve was stayed and strengthened; worldly expediency gave way
before the magnanimous purpose, cringing subserviency before
independent manliness. The letters of affection, gratitude, and
appreciation of what had been done to make true men and women of them,
which were received by the Welds, in many cases, years after they had
parted from the writers, were treasured as their most precious
souvenirs, and quite reconciled them to the trials through which such
results were reached.

A short time before leaving Belleville, Mrs. Weld and Sarah adopted
the Bloomer costume on account of its convenience, and the greater
freedom it permitted in taking long rambles, but neither of them ever
admired it or urged its adoption on others. Mrs. Weld, it is true,
wrote a long and eloquent letter to the Dress Reform Convention which
met in Syracuse in the summer of 1857, but it was not to advocate the
Bloomer, but to show the need of some dress more suitable than the
fashionable one, for work and exercise. She also urged that as woman
was no longer in her minority, no longer "man's pretty idol before
whom he bowed in chivalric gallantry," or "his petted slave whom he
coaxed and gulled with sugar-plum privileges, whilst robbing her of
intrinsic rights," but was emerging into her majority and claiming her
rights as a human being, and waking up to a higher destiny: as she was
beginning to answer the call to a life of useful exertion and
honorable independence, it was time that she dressed herself in
accordance with the change. "I regard the Bloomer costume," she says,
"as only an approach to that true womanly attire which will in due
time be inaugurated. We must experiment before we find a dress
altogether suitable.... Man has long enough borne the burden of
supporting the women of the civilized world. When woman's temple of
liberty is finished--when freedom for the world is achieved--when she
has educated herself into useful and lucrative occupations, then may
she fitly expend upon her person _her own earnings_, not man's. Such
women will have an indefeasible right to dress elegantly if they wish,
but they will discard cumbersomeness and a useless and absurd
circumference and length."

Sarah says, in a letter to a friend, that the Bloomer dress violated
her taste, and was so opposed to her sense of modesty that she could
hardly endure it. During the residence at Eagleswood, both sisters
discarded it altogether.

The John Brown tragedy was of course deeply felt by Sarah and
Angelina, and the bitter and desperate feelings which inspired it
fully sympathized with. Angelina was made quite ill by it, while Sarah
felt her soul bowed with reverence for the deluded but grand old man.
"O Sarah!" she writes to Sarah Douglass, "what a glorious spectacle is
now before us. The Jerome of Prague of our country, the John Huss of
the United States, now stands ready, as they were, to seal his
testimony with his life's blood. Last night I went in spirit to the
martyr. It was my privilege to enter into sympathy with him; to go
down, according to my measure, into the depths where he has travailed,
and feel his past exercises, his present sublime position."

As mentioned a few pages back, two of John Brown's men, who died with
him at Harper's Ferry, were brought to Eagleswood and there quietly
interred. The pro-slavery people of Perth Amboy threatened to dig up
the bodies, but the men and boys of Eagleswood showed such a brave
front, and guarded the graves so faithfully, that the threat could not
be accomplished.

The breaking out of the war found the Welds in deep family sorrow,
watching anxiously by the sick bed of a dear son, with scarcely a hope
of his recovery. Of Sarah's absolute devotion, of her ceaseless care
by day, and her tireless watching by night, during the many long and
weary months through which that precious life flickered, it is
needless to speak. She took the delicate mother's place beside that
bed of suffering, and, strong in her faith and hope, gave strength and
hope to the heart-stricken parents, sustaining them when they were
ready to sink beneath the avalanche of their woe. And when at last,
though life was spared, it was evident that the invalid must remain an
invalid for a long time, perhaps forever, Sarah's sublime courage
stood steadfast. There was no sign of faltering. With a resignation
almost cheerful, she took up her fresh burden, and, intent only on
cheering her dear patient and comforting the sorrow of her sister and
brother, she forgot her seventy-one years and every grief of the past.
"I try," she writes, "to accept this, the most grinding and bitter
dispensation of my checkered life, as what it must be, educational and
disciplinary, working towards a better preparation for a higher life."

Chiefly on account of this son and the quiet which was necessary for
him, Mr. and Mrs. Weld gave up their position at Eagleswood, to the
deep regret of all who knew them and had children to educate. They
settled themselves temporarily in a pleasant house in Perth Amboy.
Here, between nursing their sick, and working for the soldiers, they
watched the progress of events which they had long foreseen were
inevitable.

Sarah speaks of the war as a retribution. "Hitherto," she says, "we
have never been a republic, but one of the blackest tyrannies that
ever disgraced the earth."

She calls attention to the fact that the South, by starting out with a
definite and declared purpose, added much to its strength. "In great
revolutions," she says, "confusion in popular ideas is fatal. The
South avoided this. She set up one idea as paramount; she seized a
great principle and uttered it. She shouted the talismanic words,
'Oppression and Liberty,' and said, 'Let us achieve our purpose or
die!' The masses, blinded by falsehood, caught the spirit of the
leaders, and verily believe they are struggling for freedom. We have
never enunciated any great truth as the cause of our uprising. We have
no great idea to rally around, and know not what we are fighting for."

Later she expresses herself very strongly concerning the selfishness
of the politicians, North and South.

"It is true there are some," she writes, "who are waging this war to
make our Declaration of Independence a fact; there is a glorious band
who are fighting for human rights, but the government, with Lincoln at
its head, has not a heart-throb for the slave. I want the South to do
her own work of emancipation. She would do it only from dire
necessity, but the North will do it from no higher motive, and the
South will feel less exasperation if she does it herself."

In another letter in 1862, she writes:--

"The negro has generously come forward, in spite of his multiplied
wrongs, and offered to help to defend the country against those who
are trying to fasten the chains on the white as well as the black. We
have impiously denied him the right of citizenship, and have virtually
said, 'Stand back; I am holier than thou.' I pray that victory may not
crown our arms until the negro stands in his acknowledged manhood side
by side in this conflict with the white man, until we have the
nobility to say that this war is a war of abolition, and that no
concession on the part of the South shall save slavery from
destruction. Whatever Lincoln and his Cabinet are carrying on the war
to accomplish, God's design is to deliver from bondage his innocent
people."

About this time Mrs. Weld published one of the most powerful things
she ever wrote, "A Declaration of War on Slavery." She and Sarah also
drew up a petition to the government for the entire abolition of
slavery, and took it around themselves for signatures. Very few
refused to sign it; and they were proposing to canvass, by means of
agents, the entire North, when the Emancipation Proclamation was
issued.

With their Charleston relatives, Mrs. Weld and Sarah had always kept
up a rather irregular, but, on one side, at least, an affectionate
correspondence. Their mother died in 1839, retaining, to the
never-ceasing grief of her Northern daughters, her slave-holding
principles to the last. The few remaining members of the family were
settled in and around Charleston, and were, with one exception, in
comfortable circumstances at the beginning of the war. This exception
was their brother John, who was infirm, and had outlived his resources
and the ability to make a living. For years before the war, Sarah and
Angelina sent him from their slender incomes a small annuity,
sufficient to keep him from want, and it was continued, at much
inconvenience during the war, until his death, which occurred in the
latter part of 1863. Their sisters, Mary and Eliza, wrote very proud
and defiant letters during the first two years of hostilities, and
declared they were secure and happy in their dear old city. But
gradually their tone changed, and they did not refuse to receive,
through blockade-runners, a variety of necessary articles from their
abolition sisters. As their slaves deserted them, and one piece of
property after another lost its value or was destroyed, they saw
poverty staring them in the face; but their pride sustained them, and
it was not until they had lived for nearly a year on little else but
hominy and water that they allowed their sisters to know of their
condition. But in informing them of it, they still declared their
willingness to die "for slavery and the Confederacy."

"Blind to the truth," writes Sarah, "they religiously believe that
slavery is a divine institution, and say they hope never to be guilty
of disbelieving the Bible, and thus rendering themselves amenable to
the wrath of God. I am glad," she adds, "to have this lesson of honest
blindness. It shows me that thousands like themselves are worshipping
a false god of their own creation."

Of course relief was sent to these unhappy women as soon as possible;
and when hostilities ceased, more than two hundred dollars' worth of
necessaries of every kind was despatched to them, with an urgent
invitation to come and accept a home at the North. Some time before
this, however, the Welds had moved to Hyde Park, near Boston, and were
delightfully located, owning their house, and surrounded by kind and
congenial neighbors. But much as they all needed entire rest, and well
as they had earned it, they could not afford to be idle. Sarah became
housekeeper and general manager, while Mr. and Mrs. Weld accepted
positions, in Dr. Dio Lewis's famous school at Lexington. They were
obliged to leave home every Monday and return on Friday.

The Charleston sisters refused for some time to accept the invitation
given them; but so delicately and affectionately was it urged, that,
goaded by necessity, they finally consented. They made their
preparations to leave Charleston; but in the midst of them, the older
sister, Mary, who had been very feeble for some time, was taken
suddenly ill, and died. Eliza, then, a most sad and desolate woman, as
we may well suppose, made the voyage to New York alone. There Sarah
met her, and accompanied her to Hyde Park, where she was received with
every consideration affection could devise. She seems to have soon
made up her mind to make the best of her altered circumstances, and
thus show her gratitude to those who had so readily overlooked her
past abuse of them. Sarah writes of her in 1866:--

"My sister Eliza is well and so cheerful. She is a sunbeam in the
family, but the failure of the Confederacy and the triumph of the
'Yankees' is hard to bear,--the wrong having crushed the right."

This sister was tenderly cared for until arrangements were made for
her return to Charleston with Mrs. Frost. There she died in 1867. This
was only one of the many minor cases of retribution brought about by
the Nemesis of the civil war. Sarah mentions another. The sale of
lands for government taxes at Beaufort, S.C., was made from the
verandah of the Edmond Rhett House, where, more than ten years before,
the rebellion was concocted by the very men whose estates then (1866)
were passing under the hammer. And the chairman of the tax committee
was Dr. Wm. H. Brisbane, who, twenty-five years before, was driven
from the State because he would liberate his slaves.

Quietly settled in what she felt was a permanent home, and with, no
cares outside of her family, Sarah found time not only to read, but to
indulge her taste for scribbling, as she called it. She sent, from
time to time, articles to the New York _Tribune_, the _Independent_,
the _Woman's Journal_, and other papers, all marked by remarkable
freshness as well as vigor. She also translated from the French
several stories illustrative of various social reforms, and in 1867,
being then seventy-five years old, she made a somewhat abridged
translation of Lamartine's poetical biography of Joan of Arc. This was
Sarah's most finished literary work, and aroused in her great
enthusiasm. "Sometimes," she writes, "it seems to infuse into my soul
a mite of that divinity which filled hers. Joan of Arc stands
pre-eminent in my mind above all other mortals save the Christ."

When the book was finished, Sarah was most anxious to get it
published, "in order," she writes, "to revive the memory in this
country of the extraordinary woman who was an embodiment of faith,
courage, fortitude, and love rarely equalled and never excelled."

But she had many more pressing demands on her income at that time, and
had nearly given up the project, when a gentleman from Lynn called to
see her, to whom she read a few pages of the narrative. He was so much
pleased with it that he undertook to have it published. It was brought
out in a few weeks by Adams & Co., of Boston, in a prettily bound
volume of one hundred and six pages, and had, I believe, a large sale.
Several long and many short notices of it appeared in papers all over
the country, all highly complimentary to the venerable translator.
These notices surprised Sarah as much as they delighted her, and she
expressed herself as deeply thankful that she had translated the work.

A letter from Sarah Grimké to Jane Smith, written in 1850, contains
the following paragraph: "We have just heard of the death of our
brother Henry, a planter and a kind master. His slaves will feel his
loss deeply. They haunt me day and night. Sleeplessness is my portion,
thinking what will become of them. Oh, the horrors of slavery!"

When she penned those lines, Sarah little imagined how great a mockery
was the title, "kind master," she gave her brother. She little
suspected that three of those slaves whose uncertain destiny haunted
her pillow were that brother's own children, and that he died leaving
the shackles on them--slaves to his heir, their white brother, though
he _did_ stipulate that they and their mother should never be sold.
Well might Sarah exclaim: "Oh, the horrors of slavery!" but in deepest
humiliation and anguish of spirit would the words have been uttered
had she known the truth. Montague Grimké inherited his brothers with
the rest of the human chattels. He knew they were his brothers, and he
never thought of freeing them. They were his to use and to abuse,--to
treat them kindly if it suited his mood; to whip them if he fancied;
to sell them if he should happen to need money,--and they could not
raise voice or hand to prevent it. There was no law to which they
could appeal, no refuge they could seek from the very worst with which
their brother might threaten them. Was ever any creature--brute or
human--in the wide world so defenceless as the plantation slave! The
forlorn case of these Grimké boys was that of thousands of others born
as they were, and inheriting the intelligence and spirit of
independence of their white parent.

I have little space to give to their pitiful story. Many have
doubtless heard it. The younger brother, John, was, at least as a
child, more fortunate. When Charleston was at last occupied by the
Union army, the two oldest, Francis and Archibald, attracted the
attention of some members of the Sanitary Commission by their
intelligence and good behavior, and were by them sent to
Massachusetts, where some temporary work was found for them. Two
vacancies happening to occur in Lincoln University, Oxford,
Pennsylvania, they were recommended to fill them. Thither they went in
1866, and, eager and determined to profit by their advantages, they
studied so well during the winter months, and worked so diligently to
help themselves in the summer, that, in spite of the drawbacks of
their past life, they rose to honorable positions in the University,
and won the regard of all connected with it. Some time in February,
1868, Mrs. Weld read in the _Anti-Slavery Standard_ a notice of a
meeting of a literary society at Lincoln University, at which an
address was delivered by one of the students, named Francis Grimké.
She was surprised, and as she had never before heard of the
university, she made some inquiries about it, and was much interested
in what she learned of its object and character. She knew that the
name of Grimké was confined to the Charleston family, and naturally
came to the conclusion, at first, that this student who had attracted
her attention was an ex-slave of one of her brothers, and had, as was
frequently done, adopted his master's name. But the circumstance
worried her. She could not drive it from her mind. She knew so well
that blackest page of slavery on which was written the wrongs of its
women, that, dreadful as was the suspicion, it slowly grew upon her
that the blood of the Grimkés, the proud descendants of the Huguenots,
flowed in the veins of this poor colored student. The agitation into
which further reflection on the subject threw her came very near
making her ill and finally decided her to learn the truth if possible.
She addressed a note to Mr. Francis Grimké. The answer she received
confirmed her worst fears. He and his brothers were her nephews. Her
nerves already unstrung by the dread of this cruel blow, Angelina
fainted when it came, and was completely prostrated for several days.
Her husband and sister refrained from disturbing her by a question or
a suggestion. Physically stronger than she, they felt the superiority
of her spiritual strength, and uncertain, on this most momentous
occasion, of their own convictions of duty, they looked to her for the
initiative.

The silent conflict in the soul of this tender, conscientious woman
during those days of prostration was known only to her God. The
question of prejudice had no place in it,--that had long and long ago
been cast to the winds. It was the fair name of a loved brother that
was at stake, and which must be sustained or blighted by her action.
"Ask me not," she once wrote to a young person, "if it is expedient to
do what you propose: ask yourself if it is _right_." This question now
came to her in a shape it had never assumed before, and it was hard to
answer. But it was no surprise to her family when she came forth from
that chamber of suffering and announced her decision. She would
acknowledge those nephews. She would not deepen the brand of shame
that had been set upon their brows: hers, rather, the privilege to
efface it. Her brother had wronged these, his children; his sisters
must right them. No doubt of the duty lingered in her mind. Those
youths were her own flesh and blood, and, though the whole world
should scoff, she would not deny them.

Her decision was accepted by her husband and sister without a murmur
of dissent. If either had any doubts of its wisdom, they were never
uttered; and, as was always the case with them, having once decided in
their own minds a question of duty, they acted upon it in no half-way
spirit, and with no stinted measures. In the long letter which
Angelina wrote to Francis and Archibald Grimké, and which Theodore
Weld and Sarah Grimké fully indorsed, there appeared no trace of doubt
or indecision. The general tone was just such in which she might have
addressed newly-found legitimate nephews. After telling them that if
she had not suspected their relationship to herself, she should
probably not have written them, she questions them on various points,
showing her desire to be useful to them, and adds, "I want to talk to
you face to face, and am thinking seriously of going on to your
Commencement in June." A few lines further on she says:--

"I will not dwell on the past: let all that go. It cannot be altered.
Our work is in the present, and duty calls upon us now so to use the
past as to convert its curse into a blessing. I am glad you have taken
the name of Grimké. It was once one of the noblest names of Carolina.
You, my young friends, now bear this _once_ honored name. I charge you
most solemnly, by your upright conduct and your life-long devotion to
the eternal principles of justice and humanity and religion, to lift
this name out of the dust where it now lies, and set it once more
among the princes of our land."

Other letters passed between them until the youths had told all their
history, so painful in its details that Angelina, after glancing at
it, put it aside, and for months had not the courage to read it. When
June came, though far from well, she summoned up strength and
resolution to do as she had proposed in the spring. Accompanied by her
oldest son, she attended the Lincoln University Commencement, and made
the personal acquaintance of Francis and Archibald Grimké. She found
them good-looking, intelligent, and gentlemanly young men; and she
took them by the hand, and, to president and professors, acknowledged
their claim upon her. She also invited them to visit her at her home,
assuring them of a kind reception from every member of her family. She
remained a week at Lincoln University, going over with these young men
all the details of their treatment by their brother Montague, and of
the treatment of the slaves in all the Grimké families. These details
brought back freshly to her mind the horrors which had haunted her
life in Charleston, and she lived them all over again, even in her
dreams. She had been miserably weak and worn for some time before
going to Lincoln; and the mental distress she now went through
affected her nervous system to such an extent that there is no doubt
her life was shortened by it.

The hearty concurrence of every member of the family in the course
resolved on towards the nephews shows how united they were in moral
sentiment as well as in affection. There was not the slightest
hesitancy exhibited. The point touching her brother's shame thrust in
the background by the conviction of a higher duty, Mrs. Weld allowed
it to trouble her no more, but, with her husband and sister, expressed
a feeling of exultation in acknowledging the relationship of the
youths, as a testimony and protest against the wickedness of that hate
which had always trampled down the people of color because they were
as God made them.

On Angelina's return journey, Sarah, ever anxious about her, met her
at Newark and accompanied her home. A few weeks later, writing to
Sarah Douglass an account of the Grimké boys, she says:--

"They are very promising young men. We all feel deeply interested in
them, and I hope to be able to get together money enough to pay the
college expenses of the younger. I would rejoice to meet these
entirely myself, but, not having the means, I intend to try and
collect it somehow. Angelina has not yet recovered from the effects of
her journey and the excitement of seeing and talking to those boys,
the president, etc. When I met her she was so exhausted and excited
that I felt very anxious, and when I found her brain and sight were so
disordered that she could not see distinctly, even striking her head
several times severely, and that she could not read, I was indeed
alarmed. But, notwithstanding all she had suffered, she has not for a
moment regretted that she went. She feels that a sacred duty has been
performed, and rejoices that she had strength for it."

A few weeks later, she writes: "Nina is about and always busy, often
working when she seems ready to drop, sustained by her nervous energy
and irresistible will. She has kept up wonderfully under our last
painful trial, and has borne it so beautifully that I am afraid she is
getting too good to live."

I have no right to say that Angelina Weld suffered martyrdom in every
fibre of her proud, sensitive nature during all the first months at
least of this trial; but I cannot but believe it. She never spoke of
her own feelings to any one but her husband; but Sarah writes to Sarah
Douglass in August, 1869:--

"My cheerful spirit has been sorely tested for some months. Nina has
been sick all summer, is a mere skeleton and looks ten or fifteen
years older than she did before that fatal visit to Lincoln
University. I do not think that she will ever be the same woman she
was before and sometimes I feel sure her toilsome journey on this
earth must be near its close. The tears will come whenever I think of
it."

But not so! the sisters were to work hand in hand a few years longer;
the younger, in her patient suffering, leaning with filial love on the
stronger arm of the older, both now gray-haired and beginning to feel
the infirmities of age, but still devoted to each other and united in
sympathy with every good and progressive movement. The duty, as they
conceived it, to their colored nephews was as generously as
conscientiously performed. They received them into the family, treated
them in every respect as relatives, and exerted themselves to aid them
in finishing their education. Francis studied for the ministry, and is
now pastor of the 15th Street Presbyterian Church of Washington city.
Archibald, through Sarah's exertions and self-denial, took the law
course at Harvard, graduated, and has since practised law successfully
in Boston. Both are respected by the communities in which they reside.
John, the younger brother, remained in the South with his mother.

Mrs. Weld and Sarah still took a warm, and, as far as it was possible,
an active interest in the woman suffrage movement; and when, in
February, 1870, after an eloquent lecture from Lucy Stone, a number of
the most intelligent and respectable women of Hyde Park determined to
try the experiment of voting at the approaching town election, Mrs.
Weld and Sarah Grimké united cordially with them. A few days before
the election, a large caucus was held, made up of about equal numbers
of men and women, among them many of the best and leading people of
the place. A ticket for the different offices was made up, voted for,
and elected. At this caucus Theodore Weld made one of his old-time
stirring speeches, encouraging the women to assert themselves, and
persist in demanding their political rights.

The 7th of March, the day of the election, a terrific snowstorm
prevailed, but did not prevent the women from assembling in the hotel
near the place of voting, where each one was presented, on the part of
their gentlemen friends, with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. At the
proper time, a number of these gentlemen came over to the hotel and
escorted the ladies to the polls, where a convenient place for them to
vote had been arranged. There was a great crowd inside the hall, eager
to see the joke of women voting, and many were ready to jeer and hiss.
But when, through the door, the women filed, led by Sarah Grimké and
Angelina Weld, the laugh was checked, the intended jeer unuttered, and
deafening applause was given instead. The crowd fell back
respectfully, nearly every man removing his hat and remaining
uncovered while the women passed freely down the hall, deposited their
votes, and departed.

Of course these votes were not counted. There was no expectation that
they would be (though the ticket was elected), but the women had given
a practical proof of their earnestness, and though one man said, in
consequence of this movement, he would sell his house two thousand
dollars cheaper than he would have done before, and another declared
he would give his away if the thing was done again, and still another
wished he might _die_ if the women were going to vote, the women
themselves were satisfied with their first step, and more than ever
determined to march courageously on until the citadel of man's
prejudices was conquered.

The following summer, Sarah Grimké, believing that much good might be
accomplished by the circulation of John Stuart Mill's "Subjection of
Women," made herself an agent for the sale of the book, and traversed
hill and dale, walking miles daily to accomplish her purpose. She thus
succeeded in placing more than one hundred and fifty copies in the
hands of the women of Hyde Park and the vicinity, in spite of the
ignorance, narrowness, heartlessness, and slavery which, she says, she
had ample opportunity to deplore. The profits of her sales were given
to the _Woman's Journal_.

Under date of May 25, 1871, she writes:--

"I have been travelling all through our town and vicinity on foot, to
get signers to a petition to Congress for woman suffrage. It is not a
pleasant work, often subjecting me to rudeness and coldness; but we
are so frequently taunted with: 'Women don't want the ballot,' that we
are trying to get one hundred thousand names of women who do want it,
to reply to this taunt."

But the work which enlisted this indefatigable woman's warmest
sympathies, and which was the last active charity in which she
engaged, was that of begging cast-off clothing for the destitute
freedmen of Charleston and Florida. Accounts reaching her of their
wretched condition through successive failures of crops, she set to
work with her old-time energy to do what she could for their relief.
She literally went from house to house, and from store to store,
presenting her plea so touchingly that few could refuse her. Many
barrels of clothing were in this way gathered, and she often returned
home staggering beneath the weight of bundles she had carried perhaps
for a mile. She also wrote to friends at a distance, on whose
generosity she felt she could depend, and collected from them a
considerable sum of money, which, went far to keep the suffering from
starvation until new crops could be gathered. Writing to Sarah
Douglass, she says:--

"I have been so happy this winter, going about to beg old clothing for
the unfortunate freedmen in Florida. I have sent off several barrels
of clothes already. Alas! there is no Christ to multiply the garments,
and what are those I send among so many? I think of these destitute
ones night and day, and feel so glad to help them even a little."

This happiness in helping others was the secret of Sarah Grimké's
unvarying contentment, and there was always some one needing the help
she was so ready to give, some one whose trials made her feel, she
says, ashamed to think of her own. But the infirmities of old age were
creeping upon her, and though her mental faculties remained as bright
as ever, she began to complain of her eyes and her hearing. In August,
1872, she writes to a friend:--

"My strength is failing. I cannot do a tithe of the walking I used to
do, and am really almost good for nothing. But I don't know but I may
learn to enjoy doing nothing; and if it is needful, I shall be
thankful, as that has always appeared to me a great trial."

Notwithstanding this representation, however, she was seldom idle a
moment. She was an untiring knitter, and made quite a traffic of the
tidies, cushion-covers, and other fancy articles she knitted and
netted. These were purchased by her friends, and the proceeds given to
the poor. Soon after she had penned the above quoted paragraph, too,
she copied for the Rev. Henry Giles, the once successful Unitarian
preacher, a lecture of sixty-five pages, from which he hoped to make
some money. His eyesight had failed, and his means were too narrow to
permit of his paying a copyist. She also managed to keep up more or
less, as her strength permitted, her usual visits to the poor and
afflicted; and during the hot summer of 1872 she and Angelina went
daily to read to an old, bed-ridden lady, who was dying of cancer, and
living almost alone. During the following winter Sarah's strength
continued to fail, and she had several fainting spells, of which,
however, she was kept in ignorance. But as life's pulse beat less
vigorously, her heart seemed to grow warmer, and her interest in all
that concerned her friends rather to increase than to lessen. She
still wrote occasional short letters, and enjoyed nothing so much as
those she received, especially from young correspondents. In January,
1873, she writes to an old friend:--

"Yes, dear.... I esteem it a very choice blessing that, as the outer
man decays, the heart seems enlarged in charity, and more and more
drawn towards those I love. Oh, this love! it is as subtle as the
fragrance of the flower, an indefinable essence pervading the soul. My
eyesight and my hearing are both in a weakly condition; but I trust,
as the material senses fail, the interior perception of the divine may
be opened to a clearer knowledge of God, and that I may read the
glorious book of nature with a more heavenly light, and apprehend with
clearer insight the majesty and divinity and capabilities of my own
being."

A few months later, she writes: "My days of active usefulness are
over; but there is a passive work to be done, far harder than actual
work,--namely, to exercise patience and study humble resignation to
the will of God, whatever that may be. Thanks be to Him, I have not
yet felt like complaining; nay, verily, the song of my heart is, Who
so blest as I? In years gone by, I used to rejoice as every year sped
its course and brought me nearer to the grave. But now, though the
grave has no terrors for me, and death looks like a pleasant
transition to another and a better condition, I am content to wait the
Father's own time for my removal. I rejoice that my ideal is still in
advance of my actual, though I can only look for realization in
another life. I know of a truth that my immortal spirit must progress;
not into a state of perfect happiness,--that would have no attractions
for me; there must be deficiencies in my heaven, to leave room for
progression. A realm of unqualified rest were a stagnant pool of
being, and the circle of absolute perfection a waveless calm, the
abstract cipher of indolence. But I believe I shall be gifted with
higher faculties, greater powers, and therefore be capable of higher
aspirations, better achievements, and a nobler appreciation of God and
His works."

The sweet tranquillity expressed in this letter, and which was the
greatest blessing that could have been given to Sarah Grimké's last
years, grew day by day, and shed its benign influence on all about
her. She had long ceased to look back, and had long been satisfied
that though she had had an ample share of sorrows and perplexities,
her life had passed, after all, with more of good than evil in it,
more of enjoyment than sorrow. Her experience had been rich and
varied; and, while she could see, in the past, sins committed, errors
of judgment, idiosyncracies to which she had too readily yielded, she
felt that all had been blest to her in enlarging her knowledge of
herself, in widening her sphere of usefulness, and uniting her more
closely to Him who had always been her guide, and whose promises
sustained and blessed her, and crowned her latter days with joy
supreme.




CHAPTER XVIII.


Sarah Grimké had always enjoyed such good health, and was so
unaccustomed to even small ailments, that when a slight attack came in
the beginning of August, 1873, in the shape of a fainting-fit in the
night, she did not understand what it meant. For two or three years
she had had an occasional attack of the same kind, but was never
before conscious of it, and as she had frequently expressed a desire
to be alone when she died, to have no human presence between her and
her God, she thought, as the faintness came over her, that this desire
was about to be gratified. But not so: she returned to consciousness,
somewhat to her disappointment, and seemed to quite recover her health
in a few days. The weather, however, was extremely warm, and she felt
its prostrating effects. On the 27th of August another fainting-spell
came over her, also in the night, and she felt so unwell on coming out
of it that she was obliged to call assistance. For several weeks she
was very ill, and scarcely a hope of her recovery was entertained; but
again she rallied and tried to mingle with the family as usual, though
feeling very weak. Writing to Sarah Douglass of this illness, she
says:--

"The first two weeks are nearly a blank. I only remember a sense of
intense suffering, and that the second day I thought I was dying, and
felt calm with that sweet peace which our heavenly Father gives to
those who lay their heads on His bosom and breathe out their souls to
Him. Death is so beautiful a transition to another and a higher sphere
of usefulness and happiness, that it no longer looks to me like
passing through a dark valley, but rather like merging into sunlight
and joy. When consciousness returned to me, I was floating in an ocean
of divine love. Oh, dear Sarah, the unspeakable peace that I enjoyed!
Of course I was to come down from the mount, but not into the valley
of despondency. My mind has been calm, my faith steadfast, my
continual prayer that I may fulfil the design of my Father in thus
restoring me to life and finish the work he must have for me to do,
either active or passive. I am lost in wonder, love, and praise at the
vast outlay of affection and means used for my restoration. Stuart was
like a tender daughter, and all have been so loving, so patient."

She continued very feeble, but insisted upon joining the family at
meals, though she frequently had to be carried back to her room. Still
her lively interest in every one about her showed no diminution, and
she still wrote, as strength permitted, short letters to old friends.
A few passages may be quoted from these letters to show how clear her
intellect remained, and with what a holy calm her soul was clothed. To
one nearly her own age, she says:--

"You and I and all who are on the passage to redemption know that
Gethsemane has done more for us than the Mount of Transfiguration. I
am sure I have advanced more in the right way through my sins than
through my righteousness, and for nothing am I more fervently grateful
than for the lessons of humility I have learned in this way."

To another who was mourning the death of a dear child, she writes: "My
whole heart goes out in unspeakable yearnings for you; not, dearest,
that you may be delivered from your present trials; not only that you
may be blessed with returning health, but that you may find something
better, holier, stronger than philosophy to sustain you. Philosophy
may enable us to _endure_; this is its highest mission; it cannot give
the peace of God which passeth all understanding. This is what I covet
for you. And how can you doubt of immortality when you look on your
beloved's face? Can you believe that the soul which looked out of
those eyes can be quenched in endless night? No; never! As soon doubt
existence itself. It is this--these central truths, the existence and
the love of God, and the immortality of the soul, which rob death of
its terrors and shed upon it the blessed light of a hope which
triumphs over death itself. Oh that you could make Christ your friend!
He is so near and dear to me that more than ever does he seem to be my
link to the Father and to the life everlasting."

As she complained only of weakness, Sarah's friends hoped that, when
the cool weather came on, she would regain her strength and be as well
as usual. But though she continued to move about the house, trying to
make herself useful, there was very little perceptible change in her
condition as the autumn passed and winter came on. Thus she continued
until the 12th of December, when she took a violent cold. She was in
the habit of airing her bed every night just before retiring, turning
back the cover, and opening wide her window. On that day it had
rained, and the air was very damp, but she had her bed and window
opened as usual, insisting that Florence Nightingale asserted that
damp air never hurt anyone. That night she coughed a great deal, but
in answer to Angelina's expressions of anxiety, said she felt no worse
than usual. But though she still went down to her meals, it was
evident that she was weaker than she had been. On Sunday, the 14th,
company coming to tea, she preferred to remain in her room. She never
went down again. Her breathing was much oppressed on Monday and her
cough worse, but it was not until Tuesday evening, after having passed
a distressing day, that she would consent to have a physician called.
Everything was done for her that could be thought of, and, as she grew
worse, two other physicians were sent for. But all in vain: it was
evident that the summons to "come up higher" had reached her yearning
soul, and that a bright New Year was dawning for her in that unseen
world which she was so well prepared to enter.

She lingered, suffering at times great agony from suffocation, until
the afternoon of the 23d, when she was seized with the most severe
paroxysm she had yet had. Her family gathered about her bed, relieved
her as far as it was possible, and saw her sink exhausted into an
unconscious state, from which, two hours later, she crossed the
threshold of Eternity. Her "precious Nina" bent over her, caught the
last breath, and exclaimed: "Well done, good and faithful servant,
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!"

The gates of heaven swung wide to admit that great soul, and the form
of clay that was left lying there seemed touched with the glory that
streamed forth. All traces of suffering vanished, and the placid face
wore--

    "The look of one who bore away
    Glad tidings from the hills of day."

Every sorrow brings a peace with it, and Angelina's sorrow was
swallowed up in joy that the beloved sister had escaped from pain and
infirmity, and entered into fuller and closer communion with her
heavenly Father.

She and Sarah had promised each other that no stranger hands should
perform the last offices to their mortal remains. How lovingly this
promise was now kept by Angelina, we must all understand.

The weather was very cold, and in order to give her friends at a
distance opportunity to attend the funeral it did not take place until
the 27th. One of the last requests of this woman, whose life had been
an embodiment of the most tender chanty and the truest humility, was
that she might be laid in a plain pine coffin, and the difference in
price between it and the usual costly one be given as her last gift to
the poor. She knew--divine soul!--that her cold form would sleep just
as quietly, be guarded by the angels just as faithfully, and as
certainly go to its resurrection glory from a pine box as from the
richest rosewood casket. And it was like the sweet simplicity of her
whole life,--nothing for show, all for God and his poor.

Her request was complied with, but loving hands covered every inch of
that plain stained coffin with fragrant flowers, making it rich and
beautiful with those sincere tributes of affection and gratitude to
one whose memory was a benediction.

The funeral services were conducted by the Rev. Francis Williams,
pastor of the Unitarian Church of Hyde Park, and eloquent remarks were
made by him and by Wm. Lloyd Garrison.

Mr. Williams could only testify to Sarah's life as he had known it
since she came to live in the village.

"To the last," he said, "while her mind could plan, her pen could
move, and her heart could prompt, she was busy in the service of
humanity,--with her might and beyond her strength, in constant
nameless deeds of kindness to those in need in our own neighborhood,
and far to the south, deeds which were wise and beautiful,--help to
the poor, sympathy with the suffering, consolation to the dying. She
has fought the good fight of right and love; she has finished her
course of duty; she has kept the faith of friendship and sacrifice.

"We will more truly live because she has lived among us. May her hope
and peace be ours."

Mr. Garrison gave a brief summary of her life, and ended by saying:
"In view of such a life as hers, consecrated to suffering humanity in
its manifold needs, embracing all goodness, animated by the broadest
catholicity of spirit, and adorned with every excellent attribute, any
attempt at panegyric here seems as needless as it must be inadequate.
Here there is nothing to depress or deplore, nothing premature or
startling, nothing to be supplemented or finished. It is the
consummation of a long life, well rounded with charitable deeds,
active sympathies, toils, loving ministrations, grand testimonies, and
nobly self-sacrificing endeavors. She lived only to do good, neither
seeking nor desiring to be known, ever unselfish, unobtrusive,
compassionate, and loving, dwelling in God and God in her."

The last look was then taken, the last kiss given, and the coffin,
lifted by those who loved and honored the form it enclosed, was borne
to its resting-place in Mount Hope Cemetery.

"Dear friend," wrote Angelina to me, before yet the last rites had
been performed, "you know what I have lost, not _a sister only_, but a
mother, friend, counsellor,--everything I could lose in a woman."

The longer our loved ones are spared to us, the closer becomes the tie
by which we are bound to them, and the deeper the pain of separation.
It was thus with Angelina. She could rejoice at her sister's blessed
translation, but she keenly felt the bereavement notwithstanding.
Their lives had been so bound together; they had walked so many years
side by side; they had so shared each other's burdens, cares, and
sorrows, that she who was left scarcely knew how to live the daily
life without that dear twin-soul. And so tender, so true and sacred
was the communion which had grown between them, that they could not be
separated long.

Angelina continued, as her feeble health permitted, to do alone the
work Sarah had shared with her. The sick, the poor, the sorrowing,
were looked after and cared for as usual; but as she was already
weighed down by declining years, the burdens she tried to bear were
too heavy. Sarah used to say: "Angelina's creed is, for herself, work
till you drop; for others, spare yourself." Now, with no anxiously
watchful sister to restrain her, she overtaxed every power, and
brought on the result which had been long feared,--the paralysis which
finally ended her life.

Those who have read Mr. Weld's beautiful memorial of his wife, with
the touching account of her last days, will find no fault, I am sure,
if I reproduce a portion of it here, while to those who have not been
so fortunate, it will show her sweet Christian spirit, mighty in its
gentleness, as no words of mine could do. In vain may we look back
through the centuries for a higher example of divine love and patience
and heroic fortitude; and, as a friend observed, her expressions of
gratitude for the long and perfect use of her faculties at the very
moment when she felt the fatal touch which was to deprive her of them,
was the sublimity of sweet and grateful trust.

The early shattering of Angelina's nervous system rendered her always
exceedingly sensitive to outward impressions. She could not look upon
any form of suffering without, in a measure, feeling it herself; nor
could she read or listen to an account of great physical agony without
a sensation of faintness which frequently obliged her, at such times,
to leave the room and seek relief in the open air. The first stroke of
paralysis occurred the summer after Sarah's death, and was brought on
in a singular manner. Mr. Weld's account of the incident and its
consequences is thus given:--

"For weeks she had visited almost daily a distant neighbor, far gone
in consumption, whose wife was her dear friend. One day, over-heated
and tired out by work and a long walk in the sun, she passed their
house in returning home, too much overdone to call, as she thought to
do, and had gone a quarter of a mile toward home, when it occurred to
her, Mr. W. may be dying now! She turned back, and, as she feared,
found him dying. As she sat by his bedside, holding his hand, a
sensation never felt before seized her so strongly that she at once
attempted to withdraw her hand, but saw that she could not without
disturbing the dying man's last moments. She sat thus, in exceeding
discomfort, half an hour, with that strange feeling creeping up her
arm and down her side.

"At last his grasp relaxed, and she left, only able to totter, and
upon getting home, she hardly knew how, declined supper, and went at
once to bed, saying only, 'Tired, tired.' In the morning, when her
husband rose, she said, 'I've something to tell you.' Her tone alarmed
him. 'Don't be alarmed,' she said. To his anxious question, 'Pray,
what is it?' she said again, 'Now you mustn't be troubled, I'm not;
it's all for the best. Something ails my right side, I can't move hand
or foot. It must be paralysis. Well, how thankful I should be that I
have had the perfect use of all my faculties, limbs, and senses for
sixty-eight years! And now, if they are to be taken from me, I shall
have it always to be grateful for that I have had them so long. Why, I
do think I am grateful for _this_, too. Come, let us be grateful
together.' Her half-palsied husband could respond only in weakest
words to the appeal of his unpalsied wife. While exulting in the
sublime triumph of her spirit over the stroke that felled her, well
might he feel abashed, as he did, to find that, in such a strait, he
was so poor a help to her who, in all his straits, had been such a
help to him. After a pause she added: 'Oh, possibly it is only the
effect of my being so tired out last night. Why, it seems to me I was
never half so tired. I wonder if a hard rubbing of your strong hands
mightn't throw it off.' Long and strongly he plied with friction the
parts affected, but no muscle responded. All seemed dead to volition
and motion. Though thus crippled in a moment, she insisted upon
rising, that she might be ready for breakfast at the usual hour. As
the process of dressing went on, she playfully enlivened it thus:
'Well, here I am a baby again; have to be dressed and fed, perhaps
lugged round in arms or trundled in a wheel-chair, taught to walk on
one foot, and sew and darn stockings with my left hand. Plenty of new
lessons to learn that will keep me busy. See what a chance I have to
learn patience! The dear Father knew just what I needed,' etc.

"Soon after breakfast she gave herself a lesson in writing with her
left hand, stopping often, as she slowly scrawled on, to laugh at her
'quail tracks.' After three months of tireless persistence, she
partially recovered the use of her paralyzed muscles, so that she
could write, sew, knit, wipe dishes, and sweep, and do 'very
shabbily,' as she insisted, almost everything that she had done
before.

"During the six years that remained of her life here, she had what
seemed to be two other slight shocks of paralysis,--one about three
years after the first, and the other only three weeks before her
death. This last was manifest in the sudden sinking of her bodily
powers, preeminently those of speech. During all those years she
looked upon herself as 'a soldier hourly awaiting orders,' often
saying with her good-night kiss, 'May be this will be the last
_here_,' or, 'Perhaps I shall send back my next from the other shore;'
or, 'The dear Father may call me from you before morning;' or,
'Perhaps when I wake, it may be in a morning that has no night; then I
can help you more than I can now.'

"Many letters received asked for her latest views and feelings about
death and the life beyond,--as one expressed it, when she was
entering the dark valley.' The 'valley' she saw, but no darkness,
neither night nor shadow; all was light and peace. On the future life
she had pondered much, but ever with a trust absolute and an abounding
cheer. Fear, doubt, anxiety, suspense, she knew nothing of; none of
them had power to mar her peace or jostle her conviction. While she
could speak, she expressed the utmost gratitude that the dear Father
was loosening the cords of life so gently that she had no pain.

"When her speech failed, after a sinking in which she seemed dying,
she strove to let us know that _she knew it_ by trying to speak the
word 'death.' Divining her thought, I said, 'Is it death?' Then in a
kind of convulsive outburst came, 'Death, death!' Thinking that she
was right, that it was indeed to her death _begun_, of what _could_
die, thus _dating_ her life immortal, I said, 'No, oh no! not death,
but life immortal.' She instantly caught my meaning, and cried out,
'Life eternal! E--ter--nal life.' She soon sank into a gentle sleep
for hours. When she awoke, what seemed that fatal sinking had passed.

"One night, while watching with her, after she had been a long time
quietly sleeping, she seemed to be in pain, and began to toss
excitedly. It was soon plain that what seemed bodily pain was mental
anguish. She began to talk earnestly in mingled tones of pathos and
strong remonstrance. She was back again among the scenes of childhood,
talking upon slavery. At first, only words could be caught here and
there, but enough to show that she was living over again the old
horrors, and remonstrating with slave-holders upon the wrongs of
slavery. Then came passages of Scripture, their most telling words
given with strong emphasis, the others indistinctly; some in tones of
solemn rebuke, others in those of heart-broken pathos, but most
distinctly audible in detached fragments. There was one exception,--a
few words uttered brokenly, with a half-explosive force, from James 5:
4: 'The--hire--of--the--laborers,--kept--back--by--fraud,
--crieth:--and--the--cries--are--in--the--ears--of--the--Lord.'...

"As we stood around her, straining to catch again some fragmentary
word, she would turn her eyes upon our faces, one by one, as though
lovingly piercing our inmost; but though all speech failed, the
intense longing of that look outspoke all words....

"Then there was again a vain struggle to speak, but no words came!
Only abortive sounds painfully shattered! How precious those unborn
words! Oh, that we knew them!"

Thus quietly, peacefully, almost joyfully, the life forces of the worn
and weary toiler weakened day by day, until, on the 26th of October,
1879, the great Husbandman called her from her labors at last. She
lived the life and died the death of a saint.

Who shall dare to say when and where the echoes of her soul died away?
Not in vain such lives as hers and her beloved sister's. They take
their place with those of the heroes of the world, great among the
greatest.

One last thing I must mention, as strongly illustrative of Angelina's
modesty, and that shrinking from any praise of man which was such a
marked trait in her character. She never voluntarily alluded to any
act of hers which would be likely to draw upon her commendatory
notice, even from the members of her own family, and in her charities
she followed out as far as possible the Bible injunction: "When thou
doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth."

Her husband relates the following:--

"In November, 1839, in making provision for the _then_ to her not
improbable contingency of sudden death, Angelina prepared a
communication to her husband, filled with details concerning
themselves alone. This was enclosed in a sealed envelope, with
directions that it should be opened only after her death. When, a few
days after her decease, he broke the seal, he found, among many
details, this item: 'I also leave to thee the _liability_ of being
called upon eventually to support in part four emancipated slaves in
Charleston, S.C., whose freedom I have been instrumental in obtaining.'"

It is plain from the wording of the letter that she had never stated
the fact to him. She lived forty years after writing it and putting it
under seal; and yet, during all those years, she never gave him the
least intimation of her having freed those four slaves and contributed
to their support, as she had done. Even Sarah could not have known
anything of it. Her brother Henry, to whom the bill of sale was made
out, as they could not be legally emancipated, was probably the only
person who was aware of her generous act. He became technically their
owner, responsible for them to the State, but left them free to live
and work for themselves as they pleased.

Angelina's funeral took place on the 29th of October, and to it came
many old friends and veteran co-workers in the anti-slavery cause. The
services were in keeping with the record of the life they commemorated.
They were opened by that beautiful chant, "Thy will be done," followed
by a touching prayer from the Rev. Mr. Morrison, who then briefly
sketched the life of her who lay so still and beautiful before them. He
was followed by Elizur Wright, who, overcome by the memories with which
she was identified, memories of struggles, trials, perils, and triumphs,
that he stood for a moment unable to speak. Then, only partially
conquering his emotion, he told of what she did and what she was in
those times which tried the souls of the stoutest. "There is," said he,
"the courage of the mariner who buffets the angry waves. There is the
courage of the warrior who marches up to the cannon's mouth, coolly
pressing forward amid engines of destruction on every side. But hers
was a courage greater than theirs. She not only faced death at the
hands of stealthy assassins and howling mobs, in her loyalty to truth,
duty, and humanity, but she encountered unflinchingly the awful frowns
of the mighty consecrated leaders of society, the scoffs and sneers of
the multitude, the outstretched finger of scorn, and the whispered
mockery of pity, standing up for the lowest of the low. Nurtured in the
very bosom of slavery, by her own observation and thought, of one thing
she became certain,--that it was a false, cruel, accursed relation
between human beings. And to this conviction, from the very budding of
her womanhood, she was true; not the fear of poverty, obloquy, or death
could induce her to smother it. Neither wealth, nor fame, nor tyrant
fashion, nor all that the high position of her birth had to offer,
could bribe her to abate one syllable of her testimony against the
seductive system.... Let us hope that South Carolina will yet count
this noble, brave, excellent woman above all her past heroes. She it
was, more than all the rest of us put together, who called out what
was good and humane in the Christian church to take the part of the
slave, and deliver the proud State of her birth from the monster that
had preyed on its vitals for a century. I have no fitting words for a
life like hers. With a mind high and deep and broad enough to grasp
the relations of justice and mercy, and a heart warm enough to
sympathize with and cherish all that live, what a home she made! Words
cannot paint it. I saw it in that old stone house, surrounded with its
beautiful garden, at Belleville, on the banks of the Passaic. I saw
it in that busy, bright, and cheery palace of true education at
Eagleswood, New Jersey. I have seen it here, in this Mecca of the wise.
Well done! Oh, well done!"

Mr. Wright was followed by Robert F. Walcutt, Lucy Stone, and Wendell
Phillips.

"The women of to-day," said Lucy Stone, "owe more than they will ever
know to the high courage, the rare insight, and fidelity to principle
of this woman, by whose suffering easy paths have been made for them.
Her example was a bugle-call to all other women. Who can tell how many
have been quickened in a great life purpose by the heroism and
self-forgetting devotion of her whose voice we shall never hear again,
but who, 'being dead, yet speaketh.'"

The remarks of Wendell Phillips were peculiarly affecting, and were
spoken with a tenderness which, for once at least, disproved the
assertion that his eloquence was wanting in pathos.

"Friends," he said, "this life carries us back to the first chapter of
that great movement with which her name is associated,--to 1835, '36,
'37, '38, when our cities roared with riot, when William Lloyd
Garrison was dragged through the streets, when Dresser was mobbed in
Nashville, and Macintosh burned in St. Louis. At that time, the hatred
toward abolitionists was so bitter and merciless that the friends of
Lovejoy left his grave long time unmarked; and at last ventured to
put, with his name, on his tombstone, only this piteous entreaty: _Jam
Parce Sepulto_, 'Spare him now in his grave.'

"As Friend Wright has said, we were but a handful, and our words beat
against the stony public as powerless as if against the north wind. We
got no sympathy from most northern men: their consciences were seared
as with a hot iron. At this time a young woman came from the proudest
State in the slave-holding section. She came to lay on the altar of
this despised cause, this seemingly hopeless crusade, both family and
friends, the best social position, a high place in the church, genius,
and many gifts. No man at this day can know the gratitude we felt for
this help from such an unexpected source. After this[9] came James G.
Birney from the South, and many able and influential men and women
joined us. At last John Brown laid his life, the crowning sacrifice,
on the altar of the cause. But no man who remembers 1837 and its
lowering clouds will deny that there was hardly any contribution to
the anti-slavery movement greater or more impressive than the crusade
of these Grimké sisters through the New England States.

"When I think of Angelina, there comes to me the picture of the
spotless dove in the tempest, as she battles with the storm, seeking
for some place to rest her foot. She reminds me of innocence
personified in Spenser's poem. In her girlhood, alone, heart-led, she
comforts the slave in his quarters, mentally struggling with the
problems his position wakes her to. Alone, not confused, but seeking
something to lean on, she grasps the Church, which proves a broken
reed. No whit disheartened, she turns from one sect to another, trying
each by the infallible touchstone of that clear, child-like
conscience. The two old, lonely Quakers rest her foot awhile. But the
eager soul must work, not rest in testimony. Coming North at last, she
makes her own religion one of sacrifice and toil. Breaking away from,
rising above, all forms, the dove floats at last in the blue sky where
no clouds reach.... This is no place for tears. Graciously, in loving
kindness and tenderly, God broke the shackles and freed her soul. It
was not the dust which surrounded her that we loved. It was not the
form which encompassed her that we revere; but it was the soul. We
linger a very little while, her old comrades. The hour comes, it is
even now at the door, that God will open our eyes to see her as she
is: the white-souled child of twelve years old ministering to want and
sorrow; the ripe life, full of great influences; the serene old age,
example and inspiration whose light will not soon go out. Farewell for
a very little while. God keep us fit to join thee in that broader
service on which thou hast entered."

  [9] A mistake. James G. Birney was one of the most widely known and
  influential leaders in the abolition cause at the time Angelina came
  into it.

At the close of Mr. Phillips' remarks a hymn was read and sung,
followed by a fervent prayer from Mr. Morrison, when the services
closed with the reading and singing of "Nearer, my God to Thee." Then,
after the last look had been taken, the coffin-lid was softly closed
over the placidly sleeping presence beneath, and the precious form was
borne to Mount Hope, and tenderly lowered to its final resting-place.
There the sisters, inseparable in life, lie side by side next the
"Evergreen Path," in that "dreamless realm of silence."

A friend, describing the funeral, says:--

"The funeral services throughout wore no air of gloom. That sombre
crape shrouded no one with its dismal tokens. The light of a glorious
autumn day streamed in through uncurtained windows. It was not a house
of mourning,--no sad word said, no look of sorrow worn. The tears that
freely fell were not of grief, but tears of yearning love, of
sympathy, of solemn joy and gratitude to God for such a life in its
rounded completeness, such an example and testimony, such fidelity to
conscience, such recoil from all self-seeking, such unswerving
devotion to duty, come what might of peril or loss, even unto death."

Florence Nightingale, writing of a woman whose life, like the lives of
Sarah and Angelina Grimké, had been devoted to the service of the
poor, the weak, the oppressed, says at the close:--

"This is not an _in memoriam_, it is a war-cry such as she would have
bid me write,--a cry for others to fill her place, to fill up the
ranks, and fight the good fight against sin and vice and misery and
wretchedness as she did,--the call to arms such as she was ever ready
to obey."





End of Project Gutenberg's The Grimké Sisters, by Catherine H. Birney