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 had
begun 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 labors, 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.
Honors 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 honors; 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 for 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 grand-children passed away in rapid succession. After the
funeral of the first grand-child, 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
labor 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 vouchsafed to one who, having
labored 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 labors, 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 realize 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 Earlham 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 was 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 3d 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 fitting tribute to her
labors with them, and the sacred preëminence she had won in the course
of those labors. 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 friends
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 harbor,
with the help of her grandchildren, and 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."