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