# Elizabeth Fry (Pitman 1884)/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
MRS. FRY IN DOMESTIC AND RELIGIOUS LIFE.
Hitherto our little monograph has dealt mainly with Mrs. Fry’s public life and work. Possibly, however, the reader may now feel curious to know how she bore the strain of private responsibilities; how as a wife, mother, neighbour, and Christian, she performed the duties which usually fall to people in these positions. It does not appear that she was wanting in any of them.
As the wife of a city merchant, as the mistress, until reverses came, of a large household, as the mother of a numerous family of boys and girls, and as the plain Friend, and minister among Friends, she seems to have fulfilled the duties which devolved upon her, with quiet cheerful simplicity, persevering conscientiousness, and prayerful earnestness. She was much the same in sunshine and in shadow, in losses and in prosperity; her only anxiety was to do what was right. From the revelations of her journal we find that self-examination caused her frequently to put into the form of writing, the questions which harassed her soul. There can be no reasonable doubt that she was harassed as all ​overconscientious people are—with the fear and consciousness that her duties were not half done. How few of this class ever contemplate themselves or their works with anything like satisfaction! A short extract from her journal penned during the first years of her wedded life affords the key to this self-examination, a self-examination which was strictly continued as long as reason held her sway. The entry is entitled “Questions for Myself.”
“First.—Hast thou this day been honest and true in performing thy duty towards thy Creator in the first place, and, secondly, toward thy fellow-creatures; or hast thou sophisticated and flinched?
“Second.—Hast thou been vigilant in frequently pausing, in the hurry and career of the day, to see who thou art endeavouring to serve; whether thy Maker or thyself? And every time that trial or temptation assailed thee, didst thou endeavour to look steadily at the Delivering Power, even to Christ who can do all things for thee?
“Third.—Hast thou endeavoured to perform thy relative duties faithfully; been a tender, loving, yielding wife, where thy own will and pleasure were concerned, a tender yet steady mother with thy children, making thyself quickly and strictly obeyed, but careful in what thou requirest of them; a kind yet honest mistress, telling thy servants of their faults, when thou thinkest it for their or thy good, but never unnecessarily worrying thyself or them about trifles, and to everyone endeavouring to do as thou wouldst be done unto?”
A life governed by these principles, and measured by these rules, was not likely to be otherwise than strictly, severely, nervously good. We use the word ​“nervously” because here and there, up and down the pages of her journal, are scattered numerous passages full of such questions as the above. None ever peered into their hearts, or searched their lives more relentlessly than she did. Upright, self-denying, just, pure, charitable, “hoping all things, bearing all things, believing all things,” she judged herself by a stricter law than she judged others; condemning in herself what she allowed to be expedient, if not lawful, in others, and laying bare her inmost heart before her God. After she had done all that she judged it to be her duty to do, she humbly and tearfully acknowledged herself to be one of the Lord’s most “unprofitable servants.” It would be useless to endeavour to measure such a life by any rules of worldly polity or fashion. An extract written at this time, relative to the welfare and treatment of servants, may be of use in showing how she permitted her sound sense and practical daily piety to decide for her in emergencies and anxieties growing out of the “mistress and servant” question. “At this time there is no set of people I feel so much about as servants; as I do not think they have generally justice done to them. They are too much considered as another race of beings, and we are apt to forget that the holy injunction holds good with them: ‘As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ I believe in striving to do so we shall not take them out of their station in life, but endeavour to render them happy and contented in it, and be truly their friends, though not their familiars or equals, as to the things of this life. We have reason to believe that the difference in our stations is ordered by a wiser than ourselves, who directs us how to fill our different places; but we must ​endeavour never to forget that in the best sense we are all one, and, though our paths here may be different, we have all souls equally valuable, and have all the same work to do, which, if properly considered, should lead us to have great sympathy and love, and also a constant care for their welfare, both here and hereafter. We greatly misunderstand each other (I mean servants and masters in general); I fully believe, partly from our different situations in life, and partly from our different educations, and the way in which each party is apt to view the other. Masters and mistresses are greatly deficient, I think, in a general way; and so are most servants towards them; it is for both to keep in view strictly to do unto others as they would be done unto, and also to remember that we are indeed all one with God.”
As the mother of a large family, Mrs. Fry endeavoured to do her duty faithfully and lovingly. Twelve sons and daughters were given to her, trained by her more or less, with reference not only to their temporal welfare, but their spiritual also. In all the years of motherhood many cares attached themselves to her. Illness, the deaths of near relatives, and of one little child, the marriage of some of her children out of the Society of Friends, losses in business, and consequent reduction of household comforts and pleasures, the censure which sometimes followed her most disinterested acts, and the exaggerated praise of others, all combined to try her character and her spirit. Through it all she moved and lived, like one who was surrounded with an angelic company of witnesses; desirous only of laying up such a life-record that she could with calmness face it in “that day for which all other days were made.”
​One after another the little fledglings came to the home-nest, to be cared for, trained up, and fitted for their peculiar niches in life. But in 1815, a new sorrow came to the fireside; the angel reaper Death cut down the little Elizabeth, the seventh child, nearly five years of age, and the special darling of the band. Her illness was very short, scarcely lasting a week; but even during that illness her docile, intelligent spirit exhibited itself in new and more endearing phases. Death was only anticipated during the last few hours of life, and when the fatal issue appeared but too certain the parents sat in agonised silence, watching the darling whom they could not save. Mrs. Fry begged earnestly of the Great Disposer of life and death that he would spare the child, if consonant with His holy will; but when the end came, and the child had passed “through the pearly gates into the city” she uttered an audible thanksgiving that she was at last where neither sin, sorrow, nor death could have any dominion. No words can do justice to this event like her own, written in her journal at that time. The pages recall all a mother’s love and yearning tenderness, together with a Christian’s strong confidence:—
“It has pleased Almighty and Infinite Wisdom to take from us our most dear and tenderly-beloved child little Betsey, between four and five years old. In receiving her, as well as giving her back again, we have I believe, been enabled to bless the Sacred Name. She was a very precious child, of much wisdom for her years, and, I can hardly help believing, much grace; liable to the frailty of childhood, at times she would differ with the little ones and rather loved her own way, but she was very easy to lead though not one to be ​driven. She had most tender affections, a good understanding for her years, and a remarkably staid and solid mind. Her love was very strong, and her little attentions great to those she loved, and remarkable in her kindness to servants, poor people, and all animals; she had much feeling for them; but what was more, the bent of her mind was remarkably toward serious things. It was a subject she loved to dwell upon: she would often talk of ‘Almighty God,’ and almost everything that had connection with Him. On Third Day, after some suffering of body from great sickness, she appeared wonderfully relieved . . . and began by telling me how many hymns and stories she knew, with her countenance greatly animated, a flush on her cheeks, her eyes very bright, and a smile of inexpressible content, almost joy. I think she first said, with a powerful voice,—
How glorious is our Heavenly King,
Who reigns above the sky;
and then expressed how beautiful it was, and how the little children that die stand before Him; but she did not remember all the words of the hymn, nor could I help her. She then mentioned other hymns, and many sweet things . . . her heart appeared inexpressibly to overflow with love. Afterwards she told me one or two droll stories, and made clear and bright comments as she went along; then stopped a little while, and said in the fulness of her heart, and the joy of a little innocent child . . . ‘Mamma, I love everybody better than myself, and I love thee better than anybody, and I love Almighty much better than thee, and I hope thee loves Almighty much better than me.’ . . . I appeared to satisfy her that it was so. This was on Third Day ​morning, and she was a corpse on Fifth Day evening; but in her death there was abundant cause for thanksgiving; prayer appeared indeed to be answered, as very little if any suffering seemed to attend her, and no struggle at last, but her breathing grew more and more slow and gentle, till she ceased to breathe at all. During the day, being from time to time strengthened in prayer, in heart, and in word, I found myself only led to ask for her that she might be for ever with her God, whether she remained much longer in time or not; but, that if it pleased Infinite Wisdom her sufferings might be mitigated, and as far as it was needful for her to suffer that she might be sustained. This was marvellously answered beyond anything we could expect from the nature of the complaint. . . . I desire never to forget this favour, but, if it please Infinite Wisdom, to be preserved from repining or unduly giving way to lamentation for losing so sweet a child. . . . I have been permitted to feel inexpressible pangs at her loss, though at first it was so much like partaking with her in joy and glory, that I could not mourn if I would, only rejoice almost with joy unspeakable and full of glory. But a very deep baptism was afterwards permitted me, like the enemy coming in as a flood; but even here a way for escape has been made, my supplication answered . . . and the bitter cup sweetened; but at others my loss has touched me in a manner almost inexpressible, to awake and find my much-loved little girl so totally fled from my view, so many pleasant pictures marred. As far as I am concerned, I view it as a separation from a sweet source of comfort and enjoyment, but surely not a real evil. Abundant comforts are left me if it please my kind and Heavenly Father to provide me ​power to enjoy them, and continually in heart to return Him thanks for His unutterable loving kindness to my tenderly-beloved little one, who had so sweet and easy a life and so tranquil a death. . . . My much-loved husband and I have drunk this cup together in close sympathy and unity of feeling. It has at times been very bitter to us both; but as an outward alleviation, we have, I believe, been in measure each other’s joy and helpers. The sweet children have also tenderly sympathised; brothers, sisters, servants, and friends, have been very near and dear in showing their kindness not only to the darling child, but to me, and to us all. . . . We find, outwardly and inwardly, ‘the Lord did provide.’ ”
The little lost Betsey, who “just came to show how sweet a flower for Paradise could bloom,” was thenceforth a sacred memory; for from that day they had a connecting link between their household and the skies. Very frequently, even in the midst of her multifarious engagements, her thoughts wandered off to the little grave in Barking burying-ground, where rested the remains of the dear child, and, perchance, a tenderer tone crept into her voice as she dealt with the outcast children of prisons and reformatories. Soon after this event the elder boys and girls went to school among their relatives, and only the youngest were left at Plashet House with her. As a new baby came within six months after little Betsey's death, the motherly hands were still full. She found, however, time to write letters of wise and mother-like counsels.
“My much-loved girls:—Your letters received last evening gave us much pleasure. I anxiously hope that you will now do your utmost in whatever respects your education, not only on your own account, but ​for our sake. I look forward to your return with so much comfort, as useful and valuable helpers to me, which you will be all the more if you get forward yourselves. I see quite a field of useful service and enjoyment for you, should we be favoured to meet under comfortable circumstances in the spring. I mean that you should have a certain department to fill in the house, amongst the children and the poor, as well as your own studies and enjoyments; I think there was not often a brighter opening for two girls. Plashet is, after all, such a home, it now looks sweetly; and your little room is almost a temptation to me to take it for a sitting-room for myself, it is so pretty and so snug; it is newly furnished, and looks very pleasant indeed. The poor, and the school, will, I think, be glad to have you home, for help is wanted in these things. Indeed, if your hearts are but turned the right way, you may, I believe, be made instruments of much good, and I shall be glad to have the day come that I may introduce you into prisons and hospitals. . . . This appears to me to be your present business—to give all diligence to your present duties: and I cannot help believing, if this be the case, that the day will come when you will be brought into much usefulness.”
As the years rolled on, her boys went to school also; but they were followed by a loving mother’s counsels. From her correspondence with them we cull a few extracts to prove how constant and tender was her care over them, and how far-reaching her anxieties. Two or three specimens will suffice.
Upon the departure of each of her boys for boarding-school she wrote out and gave him a copy of the following rules. They are valuable, as showing how ​carefully she watched over their mental and moral welfare.
“1st. Be regular, strict in attending to religious duties; and do not allow other boys around thee to prevent thy having some portion of time for reading at least a text of Scripture, meditation and prayer; and if it appear to be a duty, flinch not from bowing the knee before them, as a mark of thy allegiance to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Attend diligently when the holy Scriptures are read, or to any other religious instruction, and endeavour in Meeting to seek after a serious waiting state of mind, and to watch unto prayer. Let First Day be well employed in reading proper books, &c., but also enjoy the rest of innocent recreation, afforded in admiring the beauties of nature; for I believe this is right in the ordering of a kind Providence that there should be some rest and recreation in it. Show a proper, bold, and manly spirit in maintaining among thy play-fellows a religious character, and strict attention to all religious duties. Remember these texts to strengthen thee in it. ‘For whosoever shall be ashamed of Me, and My words, of him shall the Son of Man be ashamed, when He shall come in His own glory, in His Father’s, and of the holy angels.’ ‘But I say unto you, whosoever shall confess Me before men, him shall the Son of Man also confess before the angels of God; but he that denieth Me before man shall be denied before the angels of God.’ Now, the sooner the dread laugh of the world loses its power, the better for you. . . . But strongly as I advise thee thus faithfully maintaining thy principles and doing thy duty, I would have thee very careful of either judging or reproving others; for it takes a long time to get the beam out of our own eye, before ​we can see clearly to take the mote out of our brother’s eye. There is, for one young in years, much greater safety in preaching to others by example, than in word, or doing what is done in an upright, manly spirit, ‘unto the Lord, and not unto man.’ . . .
“2nd. I shall not speak of moral conduct, which, if religious principles be kept to, we may believe will be good; but I shall give certain hints that may point out the temptations to which schools are particularly liable. I have observed a want of strict integrity in school-boys, as it respects their school-masters and teachers—a disposition to cheat them, to do that behind their backs which they would not do before their faces, and so having two faces. Now, this is a subject of the utmost importance—to maintain truth and integrity upon all points. Be not double-minded in any degree, but faithfully maintain, not only the upright principle on religious ground, but also the brightest honour, according to the maxims of the world. I mourn to say I have seen the want of this bright honour, not only in school-boys, but in some of our highly-professing Society; and my belief is that it cannot be too strictly maintained, or too early begun. I like to see it in small things, and in great; for it marks the upright man. I may say that I abhor anything like being under-handed or double-dealing; but let us go on the right and noble principle of doing to others as we would have others do to us; therefore, in all transactions, small and great, maintain strictly the correct, upright, and most honourable practice. I have heard of boys robbing their neighbours’ fruit, &c.; I may truly say that I believe there are very few in the present day would do such things, but no ​circumstances can make this other than a shameful deviation from all honest and right principles. My belief is, that such habits begun in youth, end mostly in great incorrectness in future life, if not in gross sin; and that no excuse can be pleaded for such actions, for sin is equally sin, whether committed by the school-boy or those of mature years, which is too apt to be forgotten, and that punishment will follow.”
In a letter to her eldest son she begs him to try to be a learned man, not to neglect the modern languages, but so to improve his time at school that he may become in manhood a power for good; and then, by various thoughtful kindnesses manifests her unwearying care for his welfare.
She gratefully acknowledges, in another communication to a sister, the assistance which that sister rendered in educating some of the elder girls, for a time, so enabling Mrs. Fry herself to be set free for the multitude of other duties awaiting her.
As years rolled by, an acute cause of sorrow to her was the marriage of one, then another of her numerous family out of the Society. They mostly married into families connected with the Church of England; but as the Society of Friends disunite from membership all who marry out of it, and as parents are blamed for permitting such unions, her sorrow was somewhat heavy. She even anticipated being cut off from the privilege of ministry in the Society; but to the credit of that Society, it does not appear that it silenced her in return for the forsaking, by her children, of “the old paths.” Whether Quakerism was too old-fashioned and strict for the young people, or the attractions of families other than Friends more powerful, we cannot say. However, it seems ​that the young folks grew up to be useful and God-fearing in the main, so that the Church universal lost nothing by their transference into other communions.
When joy seems highest
Then sorrow is nighest,
says the old rhyme. An experience of this sort came to Mrs. Fry. One of her children had just married an estimable member of the Society of Friends, and while rejoicing with the young couple, she appeared to be drawn out in thankfulness for the many mercies vouchsafed to her. Her cup seemed brimming over with joy; and after the bridal party had departed, one of her daughters came across the lawn to remark to her mother on the beauty of the scene, finishing by a reference to the temporal prosperity which was granted them. Mrs. Fry could do no other than acquiesce in the sentiments expressed, but added, with almost prophetic insight, “But I have remarked that when great outward prosperity is granted it is often permitted to precede great trials.” This was in the summer of 1828; before that year ended the family was struggling in the waves of adversity, losses, and trials—struggling, indeed, to preserve that honest name which had hitherto been the pride of Mr. Fry’s firm.
One of the houses of business with which Mr. Fry was connected at this time failed, and his income was largely diminished. The house which he personally conducted was still able to meet all its obligations; but the blow in connection with this other firm was so staggering that they were forced to submit to the pressure of straitened means, at least for a time. We are told, indeed, by Mrs. Fry’s daughters, that this failure “involved Mrs. Fry and her family in a train of sorrows and perplexities which tinged the ​remaining years of her life.” The strict principles and the not less strict discipline of the Society of Friends, rendered her course of action at that juncture very doubtful. Occupying the prominent positions she had before the nation—indeed before the world, for Mrs. Fry’s name was a household word—it seemed impossible to her upright spirit to face the usual Meeting on First Day. Her sensitive spirit winced acutely at the reproach which might perchance be cast upon the name of religion; but after a prayerful pause she and her husband went, accompanied by their children—at least such of them as were then at home. She occupied her usual place at the Meeting, but the big tears rolling down her face in quick succession, testified to the sorrow and anguish which then became her lot. Yet before the session ended she rose, calmed herself, and spoke, most thrillingly, from the words, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” while the listeners manifested their sympathy by tears and words of sorrow. In November of that sad year she wrote the following letter to one of her children, in reference to the trial:—
“I do not like to pour out my sorrows too heavily upon thee, nor do I like to keep thee in the dark as to our real state. This is, I consider, one of the deepest trials to which we are liable; its perplexities are so great and numerous, its mortifications and humiliations so abounding, and its sorrows so deep. None can tell, but those who have passed through it, the anguish of heart at times felt; but, thanks be to God, this extreme state of distress has not been very frequent, nor its continuance very long. I frequently find my mind in degree sheathed against the deep sorrows, and am enabled not to ​look so much at them; but there are also times when secondary things arise, such as parting with servants, schools, the poor around us, and our dear home. These things overwhelm me; indeed, I think naturally I have a very acute sense of the sorrow. Then the bright side of the picture arises. I have found such help and strength in prayer to God, and highly mysterious as this dispensation may be in some points of view, yet I think I have frequently, if not generally, been able to say, ‘Not as I will, but as Thou wilt,’ and bow under it. All our children and children-in-law, my brothers and sisters, our many friends and servants, have been a strong consolation to me.”
It was not possible, however, for Mrs. Fry to suffer without experiencing an unwonted measure of sympathy from all classes of the community. Many hearts followed her most lovingly in these hours of humiliation and sorrow; and when it was known that she must leave Plashet House, the tide of deep sympathy overflowed more than one heart. As a preliminary step the family moved, first to St. Mildred’s Court, then to the home of their eldest son. The business which had been carried on there by Mr. Fry and his father, was now conducted by his sons; and by this the young men were enabled to provide for the comfort of their parents. Their bidding good-bye to Plashet, however, entailed very much that was sad to others. The schools hitherto supported by the Frys were handed over to the care of the vicar of the parish; many old pensioners and servants had to be given over to the kindness of others, or in some cases, possibly, to the not very tender mercies of “the parish”: while she herself, who had always laid it down as an ​indispensable rule to be just before being generous, was compelled to conform her manner of life to somewhat narrow means.
Shakespeare says: “Sorrow comes not in single spies but in battalions,” and experience proves the adage to be true. William Fry, the eldest son of the family, was thrown upon a bed of illness, as the result of an over-strained and exhausted brain; soon after, sickness spread through the whole family, until the house, and even Plashet,—which, being empty, afforded them a temporary shelter,—became a hospital on a small scale. Yet at this time the kindly letters of sympathy and condolence received from all quarters must have comforted and cheered her anguished spirit. From a number of such communications we give two, one from William Wilberforce, the other from Mrs. Opie. Wilberforce wrote:—
You, I doubt not, will be enabled to feel, as well as to know, that even this event will be one of those which, in your instance, are working for good. You have been enabled to exhibit a bright specimen of Christian excellence in doing the will of God, and, I doubt not, you will manifest a similar specimen in the harder and more difficult exercise of suffering it. I have often thought that we are sometimes apt to forget that key, for unlocking what we deem to be very mysterious dispensations of Providence, in the misfortunes and afflictions of eminent servants of God, that is afforded by a passage in St. Paul's Epistle to his beloved Phillipians: “Unto you it is given, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake.” It is the strong only that will be selected for exhibiting these graces which require peculiar strength. May you, my dear friend (indeed, I doubt not you will), be enabled to bear the whole will of God with cheerful confidence in His unerring wisdom and unfailing goodness. May every loss of this world's wealth be more than compensated by a larger measure of the unsearchable riches of Christ. . . . Meanwhile you are richly provided with relatives and friends whom you love so well as to relish receiving kindnesses from them, as well as the far easier office of doing them. . . .
In reply to this, it would seem that Mrs. Fry, while ​thankful for the sympathy manifested on all hands, doubted the advisability of resuming her benevolent labours among prisons and hospitals. Mr. Wilberforce proved himself again a wise and far-seeing counsellor. He wrote:—
I cannot delay assuring you that I do not see how it is possible for any reasonable being to doubt the propriety . . . or, rather, let me say the absolute duty—of your renewing your prison visitations. A gracious Providence has blessed you with success in your endeavours to impress a set of miserables, whose character and circumstances might almost have extinguished hope; and you will return to them, if with diminished pecuniary powers, yet, we may trust, through the mercy and goodness of our Heavenly Father, with powers of a far higher order unimpaired, and with the augmented respect and regard of every sound judgment . . . for having borne with becoming disposition a far harder trial certainly than any stroke which proceeds immediately from the hand of God. May you continue, my dear Madam, to be the honoured instrument of great and rare benefits to almost the most pitiable of your fellow-creatures.
The Record newspaper had suggested that additional contributions should be sent to the chief of the societies which had been inaugurated by Mrs. Fry, and so largely supported by her. The Marquis of Cholmondeley wrote to Mrs. Opie, inquiring of that lady fuller particulars of the disaster, in so far as it affected or was likely to affect Mrs. Fry’s benevolent work. He had been a staunch friend of her labours, having seconded them many times when the life of a wretched felon was at stake; and now, continuing the interest which he had hitherto exhibited, he was fearful lest this business calamity would put a stop to many of those labours. Mrs. Opie, whose friendship dated from the old Norwich days, lost no time in writing as follows to her suffering friend:—
Though I have not hitherto felt free in mind to write to thee, my ​very dear friend, under thy present most severe trial, thou hast been continually, I may say, in my thoughts, brought feelingly and solemnly before me, both day and night. I must also tell thee that, two nights ago, I had a pleasing, cheering dream of thee:—I saw thee looking thy best, dressed with peculiar care and neatness, and smiling so brightly that I could not help stroking thy cheek, and saying, “Dear friend! It is quite delightful to me to see thee looking thus again, so like the Betsey Fry of former days:” and then I woke. But this sweet image of thee lives with me still. . . . Since your trials were known, I have rarely, if ever, opened a page of Scripture without finding some promise applicable to thee and thine. I do not believe that I was looking for them, but they presented themselves unsought, and gave me comfort and confidence. Do not suppose, dear friend, that I am not fully aware of the peculiar bitterness and suffering which attends this trial in thy situation to thy own individual feelings; but, then, how precious and how cheering to thee must be the evidence it has called forth, of the love and respect of those who are near and dear to thee, and of the public at large. Adversity is indeed the time to try the hearts of our friends; and it must be now, or will be in future, a cordial to thee to remember that thou hast proved how truly and generally thou art beloved and reverenced.
Mrs. Fry’s health failed very much during the dreary months which followed. Nor was this all, for trials, mental and spiritual, seemed to crowd around her. It was indeed, though on a scale fitted to her capacity, “the hour and power of darkness.” She says in her journal, that her soul was bowed down within her, and her eyes were red with weeping. Yet she rallied again. After spending some months with their eldest son, William, at Mildred’s Court, Mr. and Mrs. Fry removed to a small but convenient villa in Upton Lane, nearly adjoining the house and grounds of her brother, Samuel Gurney. This house was not only to be a place of refuge in the dark and cloudy days of calamity, but to become, in its turn, famous for the visits of princes and nobles, who thus sought to do honour to her who dwelt in it. Writing in her ​journal, on June 10th, 1829, Mrs. Fry said: “We are now nearly settled in this, our new abode; and I may say, although the house and garden are small, yet it is pleasant and convenient and I am fully satisfied, and, I hope, thankful for such a home. I have at times been favoured to feel great peace, and I may say joy in the Lord—a sort of seal to the important step taken; though at others the extreme disorder into which our things have been brought by all these changes, the pain of leaving Plashet—the difficulty of making new arrangements, has harassed and tried me. But I trust it will please a kind Providence to bless my endeavour to have and to keep my house in order. Place is a matter of small importance, if that peace which the world cannot give be our portion. . . . Although a large garden is not now my allotment, I feel pleasure in having even a small one; and my acute relish for the beautiful in nature and art is on a clear day almost constantly gratified by a view of Greenwich Hospital and Park, and other parts of Kent; the shipping on the river, as well as the cattle feeding in the meadows. So that in small things as well as great, spiritural and temporal, I have yet reason to . . . bless and magnify the name of my Lord.”
Two of her nieces accompanied her, in 1834, upon a mission to the Friends’ Meetings in Dorset and Hants; and recalling this journey some time later, one of them said, speaking of her aunt’s peculiar mission of ministering to the tried and afflicted: “There was no weakness or trouble of mind or body, which might not safely be unveiled to her. Whatever various or opposite views, feelings, or wishes might be confided to her, all came out again tinged with her own loving, hopeful spirit. Bitterness of every kind died when entrusted to her; ​it never re-appeared. The most favourable construction possible was always put upon every transaction. No doubt her feeling lay this way; but did it not give her and her example a wonderful influence? Was it not the very secret of her power with the wretched and degraded prisoners? She could always see hope for everyone; she invariably found or made some point of light. The most abandoned must have felt she did not despair for them, either for this world or for another; and this it was which made her irresistible.”
In taking a view of this good woman’s religious life and character, it will be helpful to see her as she appeared to herself—to enter into her own feelings at different periods of her life, and to listen to her heart-felt expressions of humility and perplexity. Thus, in relation to the ups and downs of life with her, we find in her journal this passage:—
“The difference between last winter and this winter has been striking! How did the righteous compass me about, from the Sovereign, the Princes, and the Princesses, down to the poorest, lowest, and most destitute; how did poor sinners of almost every description seek after me, and cleave to me? What was not said of me? What was not thought of me, may I not say, in public and in private, in innumerable publications? This winter I have had the bed of languishing; deep, very deep, prostration of soul and body; instead of being a helper to others, ready to lean upon all, glad even to be diverted by a child’s book. In addition to this, I find the tongue of slander has been ready to attack me. The work that was made so much of before, some try to lessen now. My faith is that He will not give me over to the will of my enemies, nor let me be utterly cast down.”
​In relation to her conscientious fear of the admixture of sin with her service of God and of humanity, she wrote:—
“I apprehend that all would not understand me, but many who are much engaged in what we call works of righteousness, will understand the reason that in the Jewish dispensation there was an offering made for the iniquity of their holy things.”
In regard to marriage she writes: “We have had the subject of marriage much before us this year; it has brought us to some test of our feelings and principles respecting it. That it is highly desirable to have young persons settle in marriage, I cannot doubt, and that it is one of the most likely means of their preservation, religiously, morally, temporally. Moreover, it is highly desirable to settle with one of the same religious views, habits, and education, as themselves, more particularly for those who have been brought up as Friends, because their mode of education is peculiar. But if any young persons, upon arriving at an age of discretion, do not feel themselves really attached to our peculiar views and habits, then, I think, their parents have no right to use undue influence with them as to the connections they may incline to form, provided they be with persons of religious lives and conversation. I am of opinion that parents are apt to exercise too much authority upon the subject of marriage, and that there would be really more happy unions if young persons were left more to their own feelings and discretion. Marriage is too much treated like a business concern, and love, that essential ingredient, too little respected in it. I disapprove of the rule of our Society which disowns persons for allowing a child to marry one who is not a ​Friend; it is a most undue and unchristian restraint, as far as I can judge of it.”
As the time passed, and her family got scattered up and down in the world, the idea occurred to her that, although members of different sects and churches, they could unite in fireside worship and study of the Bible, as Christians. Many of them were within suitable distances for occasional or frequent meetings, according to their circumstances; while some of the grand-children were of an age to understand, and possibly profit by, the exercises. In response to the motherly communication which follows, these family gatherings were arranged, and succeeded beyond the original expectations of her who suggested them. They continued, under the title of “philanthropic evenings,” to cement the family-circle, after Mrs. Fry had passed away. The tone of the letter inviting their cooperation is that of a philanthropist, a mother, and a Christian. It shows plainly that with all her engagements, worries, and trials, she had not absorbed or lost the spirit of the docile Mary in that of the careful Martha.
“My Dearest Children,
“Many of you know that for some time I have felt and expressed the want of our social intercourse at times, leading to religious union and communion among us. It has pleased the Almighty to permit that by far the larger number of you no longer walk with me in my religious course. Except very occasionally, we do not meet together for the solemn purpose of worship, and upon some other points we do not see eye to eye; and whilst I feel deeply sensible that, notwithstanding this diversity among us, we are ​truly united in our Holy Head, there are times when, in my declining years, I seriously feel the loss of not having more of the spiritual help and encouragement of those I have brought up, and truly sought to nurture in the Lord. This has led me to many serious considerations how the case may, under present circumstances, be in any way met.
“My conclusion is that, believing as we do in the Lord as our Saviour, one Holy Spirit as our Sanctifier, and one God and Father of us all, our points of union are surely strong; and if we are members of one living Church, and expect to be such for ever, we may profitably unite in some religious engagements here below.
“The world, and the things of it, occupy us much, and they are rapidly passing away; it will be well if we occasionally set apart a time for unitedly attending to the things of Eternity. I therefore propose that we try the following plan: if it answer, continue it; if not, by no means feel bound to it. That our party, in the first instance, should consist of no others than our children, and such grandchildren as may be old enough to attend. That our objects in meeting be for the strengthening of our faith, for our advancement in a religious and holy life, and for the promoting of Christian love and fellowship.
“I propose that we read the Scriptures unitedly, in an easy, familiar manner, each being perfectly at liberty to make any remark, or ask any question. That it should be a time for religious instruction, by seeking to understand the mind of the Lord, for doctrine and practice, in searching the Scriptures, and bringing ourselves and our deeds to the light. . . . That either before or after the Scriptures are read we should ​consider how far we are engaged for the good of our fellow-men, and what, as far as we can judge, most conduces to this object. All the members of this little community are advised to communicate anything they may have found useful or interesting in religious books, and to bring forward anything that is doing for the good of mankind in the world generally.
“I hope that thus meeting together may stimulate the family to more devotion of heart to the service of their God; at home and abroad to mind their different callings, however varied; and to be active in helping others. It is proposed that this meeting should take place once a month at each house in rotation. I now have drawn some little outline of what I desire, and if any of you like to unite with me in making the experiment, it would be very gratifying to me; still I hope all will feel at liberty to do as they think best themselves. Your dearly attached mother,
“Elizabeth Fry.”
None but a parent whose spiritual life was pure, true, and deep, could feel such a constant solicitude about the spiritual progress and education of her family. Nor was this solicitude confined to the members of her own circle. All who in any way assisted in her special department of philanthropy were counselled, wisely and kindly, to act rather than preach the gospel of Christ. In communications of this sort we find the newly-appointed matrons to the convict-ships advised to show their faith more by conduct than profession; to avoid “religious cant”; to be prudent and circumspect; to have discretion, wisdom, and meekness. So she passed through life; the faithful friend, the patient, wise mother, the meek, tender wife, the succourer of ​all in distress. Everyone felt free to go to her with their troubles; a reverse of circumstances, a sick child, a bad servant, or turn of sickness, all called forth her ready aid, and her wise, far-seeing judgment. And even in the last months of her life, when, worn out with service and pain, she was slowly going down to the gates of death, her children and grand-children were cut off suddenly by scarlet fever, she bowed resignedly to the Hand which had sent "sorrow upon sorrow." And when she who had been as a tower of strength to all around her, was reduced to the weakness of childhood by intense suffering, the survivors clung yet more closely to her, as if they could not let her go. So, as physical strength declined, she actually grew stronger and brighter in mental and moral power. The deep and painful tribulations which characterised her later years, but refined and purified the gold of her nature.