At the time when Miss Atwood found this sweet and precious hope, the church in Haverhill was in a low and languishing condition, disturbed by internal divisions, and to a great extent destitute of the influences of the Holy Spirit. In consequence of this state of the church she did not unite herself with it, and at that time made no open profession of religion. This neglect of a plain and obvious duty brought darkness upon her mind, and shrouded her soul in gloom. God withdrew his presence from his wayward and disobedient child, and left her in sadness: she had refused to confess her Master openly and publicly in the midst of trials and discouragements; and, grieved and wounded by her conduct, he turned from her, and hid his face. Then was she in the condition of the man who took into his own house seven spirits more wicked than himself. There was no rest for her soul, no relief for her anguished spirit. She realized how bitter a thing it is to depart from the counsel of her Maker, and found momentary comfort only in the forgetfulness of what she had enjoyed. At this period conscience was awake, and to drown its voice she plunged into sin, sought pleasure in all the departments of worldly intercourse, and thought as little as possible of God and sacred things. In this attempt to drive away serious inquiries she succeeded, and became as thoughtless as before her conversion. Again was the Bible laid aside, and the sickly novel and the wild romance substituted in its place. The closet was neglected, and she loved not to retire and commune with God. The flame of piety in her soul went out, and her heart was dark and sad; she fearfully realized the truth of the divine declaration, "The way of the transgressor is hard." In her diary she tells of sleepless nights and anxious days; of the Savior wounded by her whom he died to save; of the Spirit grieved, and almost quenched, yet lingering around her, now reproving, now commanding, now pleading; at one time holding up the terrors of a broken law, and then whispering in tones as sweet and gentle as Calvary; of conscience holding up a mirror in which she might discern the likeness of herself and contemplate her real moral character. Thoughts of God and holiness, of Christ and Calvary, made her gloomy and unhappy; and she entered the winding path of sin, that the celestial light might not burst upon her. Like other sinners, she sought happiness by forgetting what she was doing, and by an entire withdrawal from all scenes which could awaken in her soul emotions of contrition and repentance.