took her to the metropolis and left her in charge of a trustworthy attendant, in order that she might make full trial of "the world" which she would have to renounce so fully if she embraced plain Quakerism. Among the good resolutions made in view of this journey to London, we find that she determined not to be vain or silly, to be independent of the opinion of others, not to make dress a study, and to read the Bible at all available opportunities. It was perhaps wise in her father to permit this reasoning, philosophical daughter of his to see the gayeties of London life before coming to a final decision respecting taking up the cross of plain Quakerism; but had her mind been less finely balanced, her judgment less trained, and her principles less formed, the result might have been disastrous.

She went, and mingled somewhat freely with the popular life of the great city. She was taken to Drury Lane, the Covent Garden theatres, and to other places of amusement, but she could not "like plays." She saw some good actors; witnessed "Hamlet," "Bluebeard," and other dramas, but confesses that she "cannot like or enjoy them"; they seemed "so artificial." Then she somewhat oddly says that when her hair was dressed "she felt like a monkey," and finally concluded that "London was not the place for heartful pleasure." With her natural, sound common sense, her discernment, her intelligence and purity of mind, these amusements seemed far below the level of those fitted to satisfy a rational being—so far that she almost looked down on them with contempt. The truth was, that having tasted a little of the purer joy of religion, all other substitutes were stale and flat, and this although she scarcely knew enough of the matter to be able correctly to analyze her own feelings.

Among the persons Elizabeth encountered in the metropolis, are found mentioned Amelia Opie, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Inchbold, "Peter Pindar," and last, but by no means least, the Prince of Wales. Not that she really talked with royalty, but she saw the Prince at the opera; and she tells us that she admired him very much. Indeed, she did not mind owning that she loved grand company, and she certainly enjoyed clever company, for she much relished and appreciated the society of both Mrs. Opie and Mrs. Inchbald. This predilection for high circles and illustrious people was afterwards to bear noble fruit, seeing that she preached often to crowned heads, and princes. But just then she had little idea of the wonderful future which awaited her. She was only trying the experiment as to whether the world, or Christ, were the better master. Deliberately she examined and proved the truth, and with equal deliberation she came to the decision—a decision most remarkable in a girl so young, and so dangerously situated.

Her own review of this period of her life, written thirty years later, sums up the matter more forcibly and calmly than any utterance of a biographer can do. She wrote:—

Here ended this important and interesting visit to London, where I learned much, and had much to digest. I saw and entered many scenes of gaiety, many of our first public places, attended balls and other places of amusement. I saw many interesting characters in the world, some of considerable eminence in that day. I was also cast among the great variety of persons of different descriptions. I had the high advantage of attending several most interesting meetings of William Savery, and having at times his company and that of a few other friends. It was like the casting die of my life, however. I believe it was in the ordering of Providence for me, and that the lessons then learnt are to this day valuable to me. I consider one of the important results was the conviction of those things being wrong, from seeing them and feeling their effects. I wholly gave up, on my own ground, attending all public places of amusement. I saw they tended to promote evil; therefore, even if I could attend them without being hurt myself, I felt in entering them I lent my aid to promote that which I was sure, from what I saw, hurt others, led them from the paths of rectitude, and brought them into much sin. I felt the vanity and folly of what are called the pleasures of this life, of which the tendency is not to satisfy, but eventually to enervate and injure the mind. Those only are real pleasures which are of an innocent nature, and are used as recreations, subjected to the Cross of Christ. I was in my judgment much confirmed in the infinite importance of religion as the only real stay, guide, help, comfort in this life, and the only means of having a hope of partaking of a better. My understanding was increasingly opened to receive its truths, although the glad tidings of the Gospel were very little, if at all, understood by me. I was like the blind man, although I could hardly be said to have attained the state of seeing men as trees. I obtained in this expedition a valuable knowledge of human nature from the variety I met with; this, I think, was useful to me, though some were very dangerous associates for so young a person, and the way in which I was protected among them is in my remembrance very striking, and leads me to acknowledge that at this most critical period of my life the tender mercy of my God was marvelously displayed towards me, and that His all-powerful—though to me then almost unseen and unknown—hand held me up and protected me.

Self-abnegation and austerity were now to take the place of pleasant frivolities and fashionable amusements. Her conviction was that her mind required the ties and bonds of Quakerism to fit it for immortality. Not that she, in any way, trusted in her own righteousness; for she gives it as her opinion that, while principles of one's own making are useless in the elevation and refinement of character, true religion, on the contrary, does exalt and purify the character. Still the struggle was not over. Long and bitter as it had been, it became still more bitter; and the nightly recurrence of a dream at this period will serve to show how agitated was her mental and spiritual nature. Just emancipated from sceptical principles, accustomed to independent research, and deciding to study the New Testament rather than good books, when on the border-land of indecision and gloomy doubt, yet not wholly convinced or comforted, her sleeping hours reflected the bitter, restless doubt of her waking thoughts. A curious dream followed her almost nightly, and filled her with terror. She imagined herself to be in danger of being washed away by the sea, and as the waves approached her, she experienced all the horror of being drowned. But after she came to the deciding point, or, as she expressed it, "felt that she had really and truly got real faith," she was lifted up in her dream above the waves. Secure upon a rock, above their reach, she watched the water as it tossed and roared, but powerless to hurt her. The dream no more recurred; the struggle was ended, and thankful calm became her portion. She accepted this dream as a lesson that she should not be drowned in the ocean of this world, but should mount above its influence, and remain a faithful and steady servant of God.

Elizabeth's mind turned towards the strict practices of the Friends, as being those most likely to be helpful to her newly-adopted life. A visit paid to some members of the Society at Colebrook Dale, intensified and confirmed those feelings. She says in her journal that it was a dreadful cross to say "thee," and "thou," instead of speaking like other people, and also to adopt the close cap and plain kerchief of the Quakeress; but, in her opinion, it had to be done, or she could not fully renounce the world and serve God. Neither could she hope for thorough appreciation of these things in her beloved home-circle. To be a "plain Quaker," she must in many things be far in advance of father, sisters, and brothers; while in others she must tacitly condemn them. But she was equal to the demand; she counted the cost, and accepted the difficulties. At this time she was