Robert F. Walcutt testifies in the same manner.  “Angelina,” he says, “possessed a rare gift of eloquence, a calm power of persuasion, a magnetic influence over those who listened to her, which carried conviction to hearts that nothing before had reached.  I shall never forget the wonderful manifestation of this power during six successive evenings, in what was then called the Odeon.  It was the old Boston Theatre, which had been converted into a music hall; the four galleries rising above the auditorium all crowded with a silent audience carried away with the calm, simple eloquence which narrated what she and her sister had seen from their earliest days.  And yet this Odeon scene, the audience so quiet and intensely absorbed, occurred at the most enflamed period of the anti-slavery contest.  The effective agent in this phenomenon was Angelina’s serene, commanding eloquence, a wonderful gift, which enchained attention, disarmed prejudice, and carried her hearers with her.”

Another, who often heard her, speaks of the gentle, firm, and impressive voice which could ring out in clarion tones when speaking in the name of the Lord to let the oppressed go free.

Many travelled long distances to hear her.  Mechanics left their shops, and laborers came in out of the field, and sat almost motionless throughout her meetings, showing impatience only when the lecture was over and they could hear no more.  Sarah’s speaking, though fully as earnest, was not nearly so effective as Angelina’s.  She was never very fluent, and cared little for the flowers of rhetoric.  She could state a truth in clear and forcible terms, but the language was unvarnished, sometimes harsh, while the manner of speaking was often embarrassed.  She understood and felt her deficiencies, and preferred to serve the cause through her pen rather than through her voice.  Writing to Sarah Douglass, in September, 1837, she says:—­

“That the work in which we are engaged is in a peculiar manner dear Angelina’s, I have no doubt.  God called and qualified her for it by deep travail of spirit.  I do not think my mind ever passed through the preparation hers did, and I regard my being with her more as an evidence of our dear Saviour’s care for us, than a design that I should perform a conspicuous part in this labor of love.  Hence, although at first I was permitted to assist her, as her strength increased and her ability to do the work assigned her was perfected, I was more and more withdrawn from the service.  Nor do I think anyone ought to regret it.  My precious sister has a gift in lecturing, in reasoning and elucidating, so far superior to mine, that I know the cause is better pleaded if left entirely in her hands.  My spirit has not bowed to this dispensation without prayer for resignation to being thus laid aside, but since I have been enabled to take the above view, I have been contented to be silent, believing that so is the will of God.”

Sarah’s religious anxieties seem all to have vanished before the absorbing interest of her new work.  She had no longer time to think of herself, or to stand and question the Lord on every going-out and coming-in.  She relied upon Him as much as ever, but she understood Him better, and had more faith in His loving-kindness.  In a letter to T. D. Weld, she says:—­