, 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 th