in all the gaieties of life in Norwich. Prince William Frederick,
afterwards Duke of Gloucester, was then quartered with his regiment
there, and there was an incessant round of pleasures--balls, concerts,
and oratorios. Elizabeth Gurney entered into all the gaiety, but she was
ill at ease. She says, "I see the folly of the world. My mind is very
flat after this storm of pleasure." "I do believe if I had a little true
religion, I should have a greater support than I have now."

She had also before this time given expression to the better
dispositions of her natural heart, saying, "I must do what I can to
alleviate the sorrows of others; exert what power I have to increase
happiness; try to govern my passions by reason; and adhere strictly to
what I think right."

This condition of her mind, with alternate indulgence in vanity and
resolutions after better things, lasted till she was twenty-two years of
age, when she came to the settled conviction that "it is almost
impossible to keep strictly to principle without religion. I don't feel
any real religion; I should think those feelings impossible to obtain,
for even if I thought all the Bible was true, I do not think I could
make myself feel it: I think I never saw any person who appeared so
totally destitute of it."

It was something to arrive at the conviction that she lacked the one
thing needful; and that she felt that more than natural effort, even the
power of the Holy Spirit, was necessary to awaken her to new life, and
to change her heart. The arrival at Norwich of an American friend,
William Savery, "a man who seemed to overflow with true religion, and to
be humble, and yet a man of great abilities," confirmed her in her
dissatisfaction with her own state, and strengthened her desires after a