# Elizabeth Fry (Pitman 1884)/Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV.
CLOSING DAYS OF LIFE.
Indefatigable workers wear out, while drones rust out. As the years are counted, of so many days, months, and weeks, many workers of this class die prematurely; but a wiser philosophy teaches that "He liveth long who liveth well." Into her years of life, long, eventful, and busy, Elizabeth Fry had crowded the work of many ordinary women; it was little wonder, therefore, that at a time when most people would have settled down to enjoy the relaxations and comforts of a "green old age" she began to set her house in order, to die. Her energies had been fairly worn out in the service of humanity, and from the time that she made the resolution to serve God, when moved by William Savery's pleadings, right onward through forty-eight years of sunshine and shadow, vicissitudes and labours, she had never swerved from her simple earnest purpose. The propelling motive to that long course of Christian usefulness may be found in a few words uttered by her shortly before her death: "Since my heart was touched at seventeen years old, I believe I have never awakened from sleep, in sickness or in health, by day or by night, ​without my first waking thought being, 'how best I might serve my Lord.'" That unchanged desire ultimately became the master-passion of her life.
Honours clustered thickly about her declining days. She was the welcomed guest of royalty, and nobility; on the Continent, as well as in far-away English colonies, her name was pronounced only with respectful love. Her eldest son was appointed to the magistracy of the county; her relatives and associates were foremost in every enterprise intended to benefit mankind; while both in Parliament and out of it, her recommendations were respectfully adopted. Had her years been counted on the patriarchal scale, instead of by their own shortened number, she could have reaped no higher honours; for titles were in her ears but empty sounds, and wealth only meant increased responsibility. Not many nobler souls walked this earth, either in Quaker garb or out of it.
In 1842, her state of health appeared to be so infirm and shattered that her brother-in-law, Mr. Hoare, offered her the loan of his house at Cromer. She accepted the offer for a couple of months, and found a little benefit from the bracing air. She mentioned in her diary at this time, that she had "an undue fear of an imbecile or childish state"—a not unlikely feeling to be cherished by an energetic woman accustomed all her life long to the work of helping others. At the end of October she returned home, thankfully rejoicing however in an improved state of health.
But a new series of trials awaited her. Death seemed to visit the happy family circle so often that one wonders almost where the tale will stop. Four or five grandchildren passed away in rapid succession. After the funeral of the first grandchild, she ​assembled the family party in the evening, and with a little of the old fire and yearning affection, gave them exhortation and consolation. Then she prayed for all the members of the three generations present. After this funeral service she paid a final visit to France; and then returned home, to descend still further into the valley of suffering.
Her sister-in-law—also named Elizabeth Fry—died during this time of weakness and pain. There had been a close bond of sympathy between these two women; they had travelled many times together as ministers in the Society of Friends, and had been united by the closest bonds of womanly and Christian affection. The faithful sister-in-law preceded the philanthropist to "the better land," by about fifteen months.
In the summer of 1844, she attended her beloved meeting at Plaistow once more. She had been so long in declining health, that meeting with the associates of former years for worship had been of necessity an enjoyment altogether out of the question. But Sunday after Sunday, as the "Church-going bell" resounded on the still morning air, her spirit yearned to worship God after the manner of her sect. Still, for weeks the attempt was an abortive one. The difficult process of dressing was never accomplished until long after 11 o'clock, the hour when the meeting assembled. The desire was only intensified, however, by these repeated disappointments, and finally it was resolved that the attempt should be made on Sunday, August 4th, at all risks. It succeeded. Drawn by two of her children, in a wheeled-chair, she was taken up to the Meeting, a few minutes after the hour for commencing worship. Her husband, children, and servants followed behind, ​fearing whether or no the ordeal would be too heavy for the wasted frame. But after remaining for some time in the wonted quiet of the sanctuary, an access of strength seemed to be granted her, and in somewhat similar spirit to that of the old patriarchs, when about to bid farewell to the scene of labour and life, she lifted up her voice once more with weighty, solemn words of counsel. The prominent topic of her discourse was "the death of the righteous." She expressed the deepest thankfulness, alluding to her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Fry, for mercies voushsafed to one who, having laboured amongst them, had been called from time to eternity. She quoted that text, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they cease from their labours, and their works do follow them." She dwelt on the purposes of affliction, on the utter weakness and infirmity of the flesh, and then tenderly exhorted the young. She urged the need of devotedness of heart and steadfastness of purpose; she raised a tribute of praise for the eternal hope offered to the Christian, and concluded with these words from Isaiah: "Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty; they shall behold the land that is very far off." Prayer was afterwards offered by her in a similar strain, and then the meeting ended. Shortly after this, a removal to Walmer was effected, in the vain hope that the footsteps of Death might be retarded.
From one of her letters, written at this date, we quote the following passage: "I walk in a low valley, still I believe I may say that the everlasting arms are underneath me, and the Lord is very near. I pass through deep waters, but I trust, as my Lord is near to me, they will not overflow me. I need all your prayers in my low estate. I think the death of my ​sister, and dear little Gurney, has been almost too much for me."
But Mrs. Fry was to pass through still deeper waters of affliction and trial while in her suffering state. A visitation of scarlet fever attacked the family of her son William, and, in spite of all medical attentions, he and two of his daughters fell beneath the destroyer's hand. A scene of desolation ensued; the servants, as they sickened, were taken to Guy's Hospital, and the Manor House was deserted, for those members of the household who had escaped the infection, had to flee for their lives. For a time, the dear ones who ministered to Mrs. Fry were too terror-stricken and crushed by the trial to venture on telling their mother all; more than that, they feared for her life also. But the "Christian's faith proved stronger than the mother's anguish. She wept abundantly, almost unceasingly; but she dwelt constantly on the unseen world, seeking for passages in the Bible which speak of the happy state of the righteous. She was enabled to rejoice in the rest upon which her beloved ones had entered, and in a wonderful manner to realise the blessedness of their lot." Her other children gathered around her at Walmer, anxious to comfort her, and be themselves comforted by her in this succession of bereavements. She had been such a tower of strength to all her family, in the years which had gone, that they almost instinctively clustered around her now with the old trustful yearning devotion; but she was, although firm in spirit, so frail in body as to be like the trembling ivy requiring the most constant and tender support. Writing in her journal about this time, Mrs. Fry thus expressed her feelings: "Sorrow upon sorrow! The trial is almost inexpressible. Oh! dear ​Lord, keep thy unworthy servant in this time of severe trial; keep me sound in faith and clear in mind, and be very near to us all." Shortly after this entry a beloved niece died; and, as if the hungry maw of Death were not yet satisfied, Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, her brother-in-law, friend, and coadjutor in so many benevolent schemes, also became a victim. It is certain that these numerous losses weaned her much from life; it is also certain that her splendid reasoning powers gave way for a time, and the infirmity of premature old age crept over her mind. In this way she was mercifully kept from being utterly crushed. Yet, while her mental strength remained, she thought lovingly of those ladies who had been associated with her in her philanthropic works, and penned a few lines of parting counsel to them. The following is the text of the last written communication addressed by her to the Committee of the Ladies' British Society:—
"My much-loved friends, amidst many sorrows that have been permitted for me to pass through, and much bodily suffering, I still feel a deep and lively interest in the cause of poor prisoners; and earnest is my prayer that the God of all grace may be very near to help you to be steadfast in the important Christian work of seeking to win the poor wanderers to return, repent, and live; that they may know Christ to be their Saviour, Redeemer, and hope of Glory. May the Holy Spirit direct your steps, strengthen your hearts, and enable you and me to glorify our Holy Head, in doing and suffering even unto the end; and when the end comes, through a Saviour's love and merits, may we be received into glory and everlasting rest and peace."
In the spring of 1845, she paid a last visit to Earl​ham Hall. She had, with the tenacity of desire peculiar to invalids, longed intensely to behold again the scenes amid which her youth was spent, and to welcome once more those familiar faces yet left in the old home. While there, she was several times drawn to the meeting at Norwich, and even spoke, on different occasions, with her wonted fire and persuasiveness. It seemed as if her powerful memory were revived, seeing that the stores of Scripture which she had made hers, were now drawn upon with singular aptness and felicity. After paying one or two farewell visits to North Repps, and Runcton, she returned once more to Upton Lane. Once settled there, she received many marks of sympathy from the excellent of all denominations, as well as from the noble and rich. The Duchess of Sutherland and her daughters, the Chevalier de Bunsen, and others who had heard of or known her, called upon her with every token of respectful affection; while, on her part, she spoke and acted as if in the very light of Eternity. So anxious, indeed, was she still to do what she conceived to be her Master's work, that she made prodigious efforts to attend meetings connected with the Society of Friends, and with her own special prison-work. Thus, she was present at two of the Yearly Meetings for Friends in London, in May, and on June 3rd, attended the Annual Meeting at the British Ladies' Society. This meeting was removed from the usual place at Westminster, to the Friends' meeting-house at Plaistow, in deference to Mrs. Fry's infirm health and visibly-declining strength. In a report issued by this Society, some four or five weeks after Mrs. Fry's death, the Committee paid a lilting tribute to her labours with them, and the sacred pre-eminence she had won in the course of those ​labours. In the memorial they referred to this meeting in the following terms:—
Contrary to usual custom, the place of meeting fixed on was not in London, but at Plaistow, in Essex, and the large number of fiends who gathered around her on that occasion, proved how gladly they came to her when she could no longer, with ease, be conveyed to them. The enfeebled state of her bodily frame seemed to have left the powers of her mind unshackled, and she took, though in a sitting posture, almost her usual part in repeatedly addressing the meeting. She urged, with increased pathos and affection, the objects of philanthropy and Christian benevolence with which her life had been identified. After the meeting, and at her own desire, several members of the Committee, and other friends, assembled at her house. They were welcomed by her with the greatest benignity and kindness, and in her intercourse with them, strong were the indications of the heavenly teaching through which her subdued and sanctified spirit had been called to pass. Her affectionate salutation in parting, unconsciously closed, in regard to most of them, the intercourse which they delighted to hold with her, but which can be no more renewed on this side of the eternal world.
At this time, Mrs. Fry found intense satisfaction in learning that the London prisons—Newgate, Bridewell, Millbank, Giltspur Street Compter, Whitecross Street, Tothill Fields, and Coldbath Fields—were all in more or less excellent order, and regularly visited by the ladies who had been her coadjutors, and were to be her successors.
A few weeks later she was taken to Ramsgate, in the hope that the sea-air would restore her strength for a little time; and while there her old interest in the Coastguard Libraries returned, fresh and lively as ever. It was, indeed, a proof of the ruling passion being strong in almost dying circumstances. She attended meeting whenever possible, obtained a grant of Bibles and Testaments from the Bible Society, arranged, sorted, and distributed them among the sailors in the ​harbour, with the help of her grandchildren, manifested, by her daily deportment, how fully she had learned the hard lesson of submission and patience in suffering.
A few days before the end, pressure of the brain became apparent; severe pain, succeeded by torpor and loss of power, and, after a short time, utter unconsciousness, proved that the sands of life had nearly run down. A few hours of spasmodic suffering followed, very trying to those who watched by; but suddenly, about four on the morning of October 13th, 1845, the silver cord was loosed, the pitcher broken at the fountain, and the spirit returned to God who gave it.
In a quiet grave at Barking, by the side of the little child whom she had loved and lost, years before, rest Elizabeth Fry’s mortal remains. "God buries his workers, but carries on His work." The peculiar work which made her name and life so famous, has grown and ripened right up to the present hour. In this, "her name liveth for evermore."