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