public assembly. The wakening of old prejudice to its
combat with new convictions was a fearful storm. But she bore it, when
it broke at last, with the intrepidity with which she surmounted every
obstacle. By the instinctive keenness of her conscience, she only
needed to see truth to recognize it, as the flower turns to the sun.
God had touched that soul so that it needed no special circumstance,
no word of warning or instruction from those about her; for she was
ever self-poised.

When I think of her, 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
Spencer'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, childlike conscience. The two old
lonely Quakers in their innocence 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.

And thus exiled from her native city, she goes forth with her sister
to seek the spot where she can most effectually strike at the
institution. Were I to single out the moral and intellectual trait
which most won me, it was her serene indifference to the judgment of
those about her. Self-poised, she seemed morally sufficient to
herself. Her instincts were all so clear and right she could trust
their lesson. But a clear, wide, patient submission to all suggestion
and influence preceded opinion, and her public addresses were
remarkable for the fullness and clearness of the arguments they urged.
She herself felt truths, but patiently argued them to others.

The testimony she gave touching slavery was, as she termed it, "the
wail of a broken-hearted child." It was known to a few that the
pictures she drew were of her own fireside. That loving heart! how
stern a sense of duty must have wrung it before she was willing to
open that record! But with sublime fidelity, with entire
self-sacrifice, she gave all she could to the great argument that was
to wake