itself.
When the American Anti-Slavery Society wrote to Miss Grimké, inviting her to visit New York city, and hold meetings in private parlors with Christian women, on the subject of slavery, upon reading their letter, she handed it to her sister Sarah, saying, "I feel this to be God's call. I can not decline it." A long conversation followed, the details of which I received from Sarah not long after; and, as they present vividly the marked characteristics of both sisters, I give in substance such as I can recall.
S.—But you know that you are constitutionally retiring, self-distrustful, easily embarrassed. You have a morbid shrinking from whatever would make you conspicuous.
A.—Yes, you have drawn me to the life. I confess that I have all that, and yet at times I have nothing of it. I know that I am diffident about assuming responsibilities; but when I feel that anything is mine to do, no matter what, then I have no fear.
S.—You are going among strangers, you wear strange garments, speak in a strange language, will be in circumstances wholly novel, and about a work that you never attempted, and most of those who will listen to you have prejudices against Abolitionists, and also against a woman's speaking to any audience. Now in all there embarrassing circumstances, and in your lack of self-confidence when you come to face an unsympathizing audience, does not it seem likely that you will find it impossible to speak to edification, and thus will be forced to give it up altogether?
A.—Yes, it seems presumptuous for me to undertake it; but yet I can not refuse to do it. The conviction is a part of me. I can not absolve myself from it. The responsibility is thrust upon me. I can not thrust it off.
S.—I know you will not and can not. My only desire is for you deliberately to look at all things just as they are, and give each its due weight. If, after that, your conviction is unchanged, with my whole heart I'll help you to carry it out. There is but one thing more that I think of. If you were to go upon this mission without the sanction of the "Meeting for Sufferings," it would be regarded as disorderly, a violation of the established usage of the Society, and they would probably feel compelled to disown you. [This was prior to the disownment that followed the marriage].
A.—As my mind is made up absolutely to go, I can not ask their leave to go. For their fidelity to their views of duty, I honor them. It is a grief to me to grieve them, but I have no alternative. Very unpleasant it will be to be disowned, but misery to be self-disowned.
S.—I have presented these considerations, that you might carefully traverse the whole question and count all the costs. I dare not say a word against your decision. I see that it is final, and that you can make no other. To me, it is sacred. While we have been talking, I, too, have made my decision. It is this: where you go, I will go; what you do, I will to my utmost help you in doing. We have always thought and wept and prayed together over this horrible wrong, and now we will go and work together. There will be a deal to be done in private also; that I can help you about, and thus you will have the more strength to give to the meetings.
So Miss Grimké wrote at once to the committee, accepting their invitation, thanking them for the salary offered, but declining to receive any; informing them that her sister would accompany her, and that they should both go exclusively at their own expense.
In 1864, Mr. and Mrs. Weld removed to Hyde Park, where the sisters spent the rest of their days. No one who met Angelina there would have any suspicion of the great work which she had done: she was interested in her household duties, and the little charities of the neighborhood. Once, during the war, she was persuaded to go out of her daily routine, and to attend a small meeting called for the purpose of assisting the Southern people—freedmen, and those who had formerly held them in slavery. Very simply and modestly, but very clearly and impressively, she spoke of the condition of things at the South, of her friends there, and how we could best help them—all in the most loving and tender spirit, as if she had only grateful memories of what they had been, and as if no thought of herself mingled with the thought of them. The simplicity, directness, and practical good sense of her speech then, its kindliness toward those who had done her the greatest wrong, and the entire absence of self-consciousness, made those who heard her feel that a woman might speak in public without violating any of the proprieties or prejudices of social traditions and customs. There was a refinement and dignity about her, an atmosphere of gentleness and sweetness and strength, which won their way to the heart. To those who knew her history, there was something very affecting, sublime, in her absolute self-forgetfulness. As one who knew her most intimately said, "She seems to have been born in that mood of mind which made vanity or display impossible. She was the only person I have ever known who was absolutely free from all ambition."
Space prevents a fitting record of the noble words and deeds of Sarah Moore Grimké. She published in 1838, a volume of "Letters on the Equality of the Sexes," which called out much discussion on woman's position in both State and Church. The last time Angelina spoke in public was at the Loyal League Convention in New York in 1863. She took an active part in the discussion of resolutions, speaking clearly and concisely on every point, and read a beautiful address she had prepared—"To the Soldiers of our Second Revolution." All through the years that Angelina was illustrating woman's capacity on the platform by holding her audiences spell-bound, Sarah was defending woman's right to be there with her pen.
59 Mrs. Ellet's "Women of the Revolution."
60 Angelina E. Grimké.
61 This building, the property of Jacob Peirce, was thus imperilled with his free consent.
62 The Assembly Buildings, opened to us by the kindness of the lessee, Mr. John Toy.
63 She was the positive power of so much anti-slavery work, that James Russell Lowell spoke of her as "the coiled-up mainspring of the movement."
64 In speaking of her, Lydia Maria Child said in her obituary notice in the National Anti-Slavery Standard of May 11, 1867: "All survivors of the old Abolition band will remember Thankful Southwick as one of the very earliest, the noblest, and the most faithful of that small army of moral combatants who fought so bravely and so perseveringly for the deliverance of the down-trodden. Mrs. Southwick was born and educated in the Society of Friends, and to their calmness of demeanor she added their indomitable persistence in the path of duty. One of the most exciting affairs that ever occurred in Boston was known as the 'Baltimore Slave Case.' Two girls had escaped in a Boston vessel, and when about to be carried back, were brought out on a writ of 'habeas corpus.' All Boston was in a ferment for and against the fugitives. The commercial world were determined that this Southern property should be restored to the white claimants, and the Abolitionists were determined that it should remain in the possession of the original owners until a bill of sale from the Almighty could be produced. By the vigilance and ingenious arrangements of 'Father Snowden' and Thankful Southwick, at a given signal the slaves were spirited away from the crowded court-room, and out of the city. The agent of the slaveholders standing near Mrs. Southwick, and gazing with astonishment at the empty space, where an instant before the slaves stood, she turned her large gray eyes upon him and said, 'Thy prey hath escaped thee.' Wherever working or thinking was to be done for our righteous cause, there was Thankful Southwick ever ready with wise counsel and energetic action. She and her excellent husband were among the very first to sustain Garrison in his unequal contest with the strong Goliath of slavery. At that time they were in affluent circumstances, and their money was poured forth freely for the unpopular cause which had as yet found no adherents among the rich. Their commodious house was a caravansary for fugitive slaves,
