of her dress, her skill in the use of the pencil and the needle-in all this she was the very woman; and to this she added a very superior mind and powers of eloquence, which, dormant as they would have been in the possession of most women, were in her developed in no ordinary degree as she spoke in the character of minister among Friends, with a clearness of perception, with a power and pathos, which ranked her, in the estimation of competent judges, among the first orators of the day. Southey says, "There are two impossibilities, for a stranger to find his way about Norwich, and to know the names of all the Gurneys;" so we will decline the task of completing this brilliant circle. The genial and powerful influence it exerted was strikingly exemplified in the transformation it produced in the character of Thomas Fowell Buxton, who came from school with his friend, John Gurney, to spend his holidays at Earlham. He came a self-willed, unformed boy, fond of the pleasures of the field, and not fond of study,-he departed with new aspirations awakened within him. The native power "coiled up" in his mind was drawn forth by contact with the intellectual and cultivated minds around him; and this and subsequent visits shaped his destiny, and led him to obtain that religious faith which gave symmetry and proportion to his noble character. Laden with college honours, the fruits of laborious and self-denying study, he came to claim the hand of Hannah Gurney, of which he had proved himself so worthy. The same burning ardour and intense power of concentration which made him prosperous in his business, made him, when enlisted in the stern struggle with gigantic evils, one of the first men of his time, the associate and successor of Wilberforce in the great work of Emancipation-the co-labourer with his brothers-in-law, Samuel Hoare and the two Gurneys.

This lovely group of brothers and sisters all became pious, though they walked in divergent paths—some of them joining the Established Church, while others remained in the Society of Friends. Elizabeth Fry maintained with them through life the closest intimacy, and in intercourse with them, with her brother-in-law, the Rev. Francis Cunningham, and with other evangelical Christians, her own spirit grew more catholic; she ascertained her own views with more luminous exactness, as she was called upon to defend them in conversation with others, and in after years, having visited the different branches of the family, she says:

"My desire is, as I go along, to take a leaf out of every one's book; and surely at Lowestoft, Earlham, North Repps, Lynn, and Runcton, I might do it. It is well to see the truth through different mediums: for, however the colour of the glass that we see it through may vary, the truth itself remains the

same; and beholding it of many hues, may be the means of throwing fresh light on divers parts of it. How does the knowledge of others often make us think little of ourselves! At least I find it so, and am much humbled in most of your houses."—Vol. ii., p. 168.

Of one of these visits her sister, Mrs. Cunningham, gives a glowing account. It presents a picture of social intercourse sanctified and brightened by the introduction of heavenly truth.

"On Tuesday we went off to breakfast with the Hawtreys. As usual, we met with a warm reception, and had a cheerful, pleasant, talking breakfast with them; the family service afterwards was peculiarly edifying. Surely these times do have a peculiar savour which is not to be forgotten; it adds to the precious seasons which are foretastes of heaven. Her mind appears to me in more lively exercise, and more gifted than ever; rich both in graces and gifts. She is indeed beloved of the Lord, and dwells in safety by him. Wednesday was a full day: my sister and I walked about most of the morning, visiting the schools, making calls, &c. Nothing can be more benevolent and beautiful than her spirit, overflowing with love and tenderness. Our dinner party was not very large, but cheerful and pleasant: the first part of the evening was necessarily devoted to the agreeable; after which my little society of women and several others assembled in the parlour. My beloved sister went to them, and gave them a little sketch of her Newgate histories. We afterwards all removed into the drawing-room, and had a beautiful meeting, very suited to the subject we had been upon. My husband took the Prodigal Son as the subject for reading, which my sister applied to herself and to all of us, as being led as penitents to return to our Father's house; and O! the display of mercy, and of goodness, and of longsuffering, in the exquisite character of the God of Israel! The prayer at the conclusion was, as usual, like an air from heaven. I hardly know any Scriptural treat so great as uniting with her in prayer! it is such a heavenly song-so spiritual; so elevating, enjoying glimpses as it were of the eternal world. Our large party then broke up in much love."-Vol. ii., p. 166.

In later life, when Mrs. Fry's children were grown up and married, and had chosen other religious teachings than those by which their early youth was guided, she established "Philanthropic Evenings," on which occasions were gathered together once a month her children and grand-children, for prayer, religious communing, and counsel upon benevolent objects. These were found most pleasant and profitable, and perhaps they might suggest a means of union and usefulness for large family connexions. This plan we once saw carried out in a family dwelling in one of those well-ordered English homes emparadised in beauty. The system which made the gardens and conservatories, stables and laundries, models of order, pervaded their plans of benevolence, which were not spasmodic, but incorporated into their daily life. Once a month a family council was held; parents and children gave reports of the success of their different charities; and appropriations were made for the coming month.

Elizabeth Fry's London home afforded full scope for the exercise

of hospitality. Her own large family and members of her husband's were constant guests, and at the Yearly Meeting her house was thrown open for the reception of Friends, assembled from all parts of the kingdom. Strange contrasts were there her young, beautiful sisters in the light classic draperies then fashionable, and the plain caps and black silk hoods, the ample folds and long peaked waists of the drab camlet gowns worn by the Friends. Engagements multiplied. Amid the manifold cares of life, she was ofttimes thankful merely to get through the day;" and she felt that it was a sad thing to spend one's life in visiting and being visited:" and of how many lives passed in the bustle of large cities is this the sum and substance! During these nine years of London life six children were added to her family, and she passed through many illnesses and much suffering. She found herself, instead of being, as she hoped, "a useful member of the church militant, a care-worn wife and mother." But even amid her own domestic cares, when sickness and death invaded the circle of her friends, her ready hand smoothed their pillow, her gentle voice breathed words of Christian hope into the ears of the departing, and the poor and needy were visited and relieved. At the death-bed, and by the open grave of her father, who during his last illness laid hold "with simplicity and ardour" on the hope set before him, and died in joy and peace, expressing to his assembled children his "belief that they had been to him a strength and stimulus in all good things," Elizabeth Fry uttered the grateful ascription, “Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty: just and true are all thy ways, thou King of saints,—be pleased to receive our thanksgiving!" She now obeyed the monitions of the secret voice which had long called her to the exercise of the ministry among the Friends; shrinking as a modest, retiring woman from this public vocation, but following the convictions of duty, she from this time forth devoted herself to the work.

In 1809, Mr. Fry removed his family to Plashet, an estate in Essex, on which his father had resided, still retaining, however, the house in St. Mildred's Court for their winter home. A pleasant change it must have been for Mrs. Fry, from the smoke and din of London to the pure air and the calm of a country life. Mr. Fry made extensive improvements in the estate, and Mrs. Fry and her children, "Dennis Regan, the Irish gardener, and the Norfolk nurse," were busily occupied with baskets and trowels in transplanting primroses and violets from the fields and hedges, and making beds of wild-flowers. It would have been easy for the wife and mother to become absorbed in these new and delightful occupations, rejoicing in the beauties of nature, observing the transforming power FOURTH SERIES, VOL. III.-15

of wealth and taste in producing velvet lawns, luxuriant gardens, wooded walks and shrubbery, and in watching the gradual unfolding of her children-those human flowers. And thus have multitudes of the high-born, well-bred, and highly educated, dwellers in luxurious homes, glided through life, doing nothing more for our lost and ruined race than making occasional visits, and bestowing alms upon the poor families in their neighbourhood. But Elizabeth Fry could not satisfy herself with so narrow a sphere of useful activity; while she diligently performed social and neighbourhood duties, she felt the power of her vocation to a broader field. She established a girl's school for the parish, persuading an old man and his sister, who dwelt in a picturesque, dilapidated house, with gable end and projecting porch, opposite the gate of Plashet House, to give up a modern room attached to the old building for a school-room; and here a school of about seventy girls was organized, which, though removed to a more central position, is still in existence. One closet in Mrs. Fry's house was filled with garments, and another with medicines for the poor; and in hard winters she had gallons of soup boiled in an out-house, supplying hundreds of poor people with a nourishing meal. She frequently visited two long rows of hovels inhabited by some poor Irish, about half a mile from Plashet, threading her way through children and pigs, up winding stairways and by narrow passages, to the rooms she sought. On one occasion, in a season of extreme cold, she "drove to Irish row with the carriage literally piled up with flannel petticoats," which her children assisted her in distributing; she induced some of them to adopt more orderly habits, and to send their children to school; and by the permission of their priest, she circulated the Bible among them. Small-pox was rarely known in the villages over which her influence extended, as, at intervals, she investigated the state of the parish, with a view to vaccinating the children, frequently performing this operation herself. The gipsies, those Pariahs in England, removed by their vices and habits from contact and association with the people, were not out of the pale of Mrs. Fry's sympathies. They were accustomed, in their annual migrations, to encamp in a green lane near Plashet. A gipsy mother applied for relief for a sick child, and Mrs. Fry at once took advantage of this open door to do them good. She visited their camp, carrying with her food and clothing; bestowed on them medical advice; remonstrated with them on their evil ways; and set before them the path of life. Bibles were distributed, and year after year these exertions for their good were continued.

But a wider field was opening for the exercise of Mrs. Fry's benevolence. In 1813, at the request of her brother-in-law, Samuel

Hoare, and three other members of the Society of Friends, she visited Newgate, accompanied by Anna Buxton, sister of Sir T. Fowell Buxton. Newgate was then a scene of horror: hundreds of prisoners, men and women, huddled together without any classification; the tried and untried in rags, filth and idleness-corrupting and corrupted. It was like a den of wild beasts, considered unsafe for a woman to enter. She at once employed her children in preparing green baize garments for the most destitute of these wretched women. Four years, however, passed away before she entered upon those systematic efforts for the relief of the prisoners, which resulted in so much good. These were to Mrs. Fry years of deep affliction; the death of her brother, John Gurney, and of her paternal friend, J. Gurney Bevan; loss of property and severe cough, which confined her many weeks to her room, and frequent illnesses in her family; and above all, the death of a lovely little girl of five years old, who bore her mother's name, and was more like her in character, appearance, and manner than any of her children--these were the afflictions sent by her heavenly Father to refine and purify this chosen instrument for the accomplishment of his benevolent purposes.

The transformations effected by Mrs. Fry in Newgate, have become a matter of history. Her gentle voice, her holy teachings, her wise regulations, evoked order out of this wild chaos. Into this scene of horror, "of begging, swearing, gaming, fighting, singing, and dancing," she introduced quietness and industry, The women were neatly dressed; employment was furnished them; they were divided into classes of twelve, including a monitor; and a matron was appointed to superintend them, and to keep an exact account of their work and their conduct. A school was established for the children of the prisoners, and the women assembled twice a day to listen to the reading of the Scriptures. All these changes were brought about by the voluntary and hearty co-operation of the women. Eleven ladies assisted Mrs. Fry in these labours, forming The Ladies' Newgate Association. Their watchful care over the prisoners ceased not with their removal from Newgate for transportation. Instead of breaking windows and furniture before their departure, and going off in open wagons "shouting amidst assembled crowds," Mrs. Fry succeeded in having them removed in hackney coaches with turnkeys in attendance, while she, with other ladies, in her own carriage, accompanied them to Deptford. The convicts on board the ship were arranged in classes with their monitor, patch-work and knitting were provided for them, religious books were placed within their reach, and a school established for their unfortunate children. The parting services on board these ships were peculiarly impres