The strong contrast between Sarah and Angelina Grimké was shown not
only in their religious feelings, but in their manner of treating the
ordinary concerns of life, and in carrying out their convictions of
duty. In her humility, and in her strong reliance on the "inner light,"
Sarah refused to trust her own judgment, 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 the Spirit to her. She sought her object,
dreading no consequences, and if disaster followed she comforted
herself with the feeling that she had acted according to her best
light. She was a faithful disciple of every cause she espoused, and
scrupulously exact in obeying even its implied provisions. In this
there was no hesitancy. No matter who was offended, or what sacrifices
to herself it involved, the law, the strict letter of the law, must be
carried out.
In the early years of her religious life, she frequently felt called
upon to rebuke those about her. She did it unhesitatingly, and as a
righteous and an inflexible judge.
In order to make these differences between the sisters more plain,
differences which harmonized singularly with their unity in other
respects, I shall be obliged, at the risk of wearying the reader, to
make some further extracts from their diaries, before entering upon
that portion of their lives in which they became so closely identified.
After Sarah's return home, in 1827, we learn more of her mother and of
the family generally, and see, though with them, how far apart she
really was from them. The second entry in her diary at that date shows
the beginning of this.
"23d. Have been favored with strength to absent myself from family
prayers. A great trial this to Angelina and myself, and something the
rest cannot understand. But I have a testimony to bear against will
worship, and oh, that I may be faithful to this and to all the
testimonies which we as a Society are called to declare.
"26th. Am this day thirty-five years old. A serious consideration that
I have passed so many years to so little profit.
"How little mother seems to know when I am sitting solemnly beside her,
of the supplications which arise for her, under the view of her having
ere long to give an account of the deeds done in the body."
A month later she writes: "The subject of returning to Philadelphia has
been revived before me. It seems like a fresh trial, and as if, did my
Master permit, here would I stay, and in the bosom of my family be
content to dwell; but if he orders it otherwise, great as will be the
struggle, may I submit in humble faith."
By the following extracts it will be seen that living under the daily
and hourly influence of Sarah, Angelina was slowly but surely imbibing
the fresh milk of Quakerism, and was preparing for another great change
on her spiritual journey.
In March, 1828, she wrote as follows to her sister, Mrs. Frost, in
Philadelphia:--
"I think I can say that it was owing in a great measure to my peculiar
state of mind that I did not write to you for so long. During that time
it seemed as though the Lord was driving me from everything on which I
had rested for happiness, in order to bring me to Christ alone. My dear
little church, in which I delighted once to dwell, seemed to have
Ichabod written upon its walls, and I felt as though it was a cross for
me to go into it. At times I thought the Saviour meant to bring me out
of it, and I could weep at the bare thought of being separated from
people I loved so dearly. Like Abraham, I had gone out from my kindred
into a strange land, and I have often thought that by faith I was
joined to that body of Christians, for I certainly knew nothing at all
about them at that time."
In the latter part of the letter she mentions the visit to her of an
Episcopal minister, from near Beaufort. He asked her if she could not
do something to remove the lukewarmness from the Episcopal Church, and
if a real evangelical minister was sent there would she not return to
it. "But," she says, "I told him I could not conscientiously belong to
any church which exalted itself above all others, and excluded
ministers of other denominations from its pulpit. The principle of
_liberty_ is what especially endears the Presbyterian church to me. Our
pulpit is open to all Christians, and, as I have often heard my dear
pastor remark, our communion table is the _Lord's table_, and all his
children are cheerfully received at it."
About the same time Sarah says in her diary: "My dear Angelina observed
to-day, 'I do not know what is the matter with me; some time ago I
could talk to the poor people, but now it seems as if my lips were
absolutely sealed. I cannot get the words out.' I mark with intense
interest her progress in the divine life, believing she is raised up to
declare the wonderful works of God to the children of men."
In the latter part of March, 1828, she makes the following entry: "On
the eve of my departure from home, all before me lies in darkness save
this one step, to go at this time in the _Langdon Cheeves_. This seems
peremptory, and at times precious promises have been annexed to
obedience,--'Go, and I will be with thee.'"
Angelina had been very happy during the year spent in the Presbyterian
Church, all its requirements suiting her temperament exactly. Her
energy and activity found full exercise in various works of charity, in
visiting the prison, where she delighted to exhort the prisoners, in
reading, and especially in expounding the scriptures to the sick and
aged; in zealously forwarding missionary work, and in warm interest in
all the social exercises of the society. She was petted by the pastor,
and admired by the congregation. It was very pleasant to her to feel
that she not only conformed to all her duties, but was regarded as a
shining light, destined to do much to build up the church. She still
retained most of her old friendships in the Episcopal church, which had
not given up all hope of luring her back to its fold. Altogether, life
had gone smoothly with her, and she was well satisfied. The change
which she now contemplated was a revolution. It was to break up all the
old habits and associations, disturb life-long friendships, and,
stripping her of the attractions of society and church intercourse,
leave her standing alone, a spectacle to the eyes of those who gazed, a
wonder and a grief to her friends. But all this Sarah had warned her
of, and all this she felt able to endure. Self-sacrifice,
self-immolation, in fact, was what Sarah taught; and, although Angelina
never learned the lesson fully, she made a conscientious effort to
understand and practise it. She began very shortly after Sarah's
arrival at home. In January her diary records the following offering
made to the Moloch of Quakerism:--
"To-day I have torn up my novels. My mind has long been troubled about
them. I did not dare either to sell them or lend them out, and yet I
had not resolution to destroy them until this morning, when, in much
mercy, strength was granted."
Sarah in her diary thus refers to this act: "This morning my dear
Angelina proposed destroying Scott's novels, which she had purchased
before she was serious. Perhaps I strengthened her a little, and
accordingly they were cut up. She also gave me some elegant articles to
stuff a cushion, believing that, as we were commanded to lead holy and
unblamable lives, so we must not sanction sin in others by giving them
what we had put away ourselves."
Angelina also says, "A great deal of my finery, too, I have put beyond
the reach of anyone."
An explanation of this is given in a copy of a paper which was put into
the cushion alluded to by Sarah. The copy is in her handwriting.
"Believing that if ever the contents of this cushion, in the lapse of
years, come to be inspected (when, mayhap, its present covering should
be destroyed by time and service), they will excite some curiosity in
those who will behold the strange assemblage of handsome lace veils,
flounces, and trimmings, and caps, this may inform them that in the
winter of 1827-8, Sarah M. Grimké, being on a visit to her friends in
Charleston, undertook the economical task of making a rag carpet, and
with the shreds thereof concluded to stuff this cushion. Having made
known her intention, she solicited contributions from all the family,
which they furnished liberally, and several of them having relinquished
the vanities of the world to seek a better inheritance, they threw into
the treasury much which they had once used to decorate the poor
tabernacle of clay. Now it happened that on the 10th day of the first
month that, sitting at her work and industriously cutting her scraps,
her well-beloved sister Angelina proposed adding to the collection for
the cushion two handsome lace veils, a lace flounce, and other laces,
etc., which were accepted, and are accordingly in this medley. This has
been done under feelings of duty, believing that, as we are called with
a high and holy calling, and forbidden to adorn these bodies, but to
wear the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, as we have ourselves laid
aside these superfluities of naughtiness, so we should not in any
measure contribute to the destroying of others, knowing that we shall
be called to give an account of the deeds done in the body."
This was at least consistent, and in this light cannot be condemned.
From that time Angelina kept up this kind of sacrifices, which were
gladly made, and for which she seems to have found ample compensation
in her satisfied sense of duty.
One day she records: "I have just untrimmed my hat, and have put
nothing but a band of ribbon around it, and taken the lace out of the
inside. I do want, if I _am_ a Christian, to look like one. I think
that professors of religion ought so to dress that wherever they are
seen all around may feel they are _condemning_ the world and all its
trifling vanities."
A little later, she writes: "My attention has lately been called to the
duty of Christians dressing _quite_ plain. When I was first brought to
the feet of Jesus, I learned this lesson in part, but I soon forgot
much of it. Now I find my views stricter and clearer than they ever
were. The first thing I gave up was a cashmere mantle which cost twenty
dollars. I had not felt easy with it for some months, and finally
determined never to wear it again, though I had no money at the time to
replace it with anything else. However, I gave it up in faith, and the
Lord provided for me. This part of Scripture came very forcibly to my
mind, and very sweetly, too, 'And Dagon was fallen upon his face to the
ground before the ark of the Lord.' It was then clearly revealed to me
that if the true ark Christ Jesus was really introduced into the temple
of the heart, that every idol would fall before it."
Elsewhere she mentions that she had begun with this mantle by cutting
off the border; but this compromise did not satisfy conscience.
But the work thus begun did not ripen until some time after Sarah's
departure, though the preparation for it went daily and silently on.
Sarah in the meanwhile was once more quietly settled at Catherine
Morris' house in Philadelphia.
But we must leave this much-tried pilgrim for a little while, and
record the progress of her young disciple on the path which, through
much tribulation, led her at last to her sister's side, and to that
work which was even now preparing for them both.