in beautiful order, neat and adorned with flowers," presented to him her eight daughters and daughters-in-law, and afterwards her twenty-five grandchildren. Then followed the luncheon, "which was handsome and fit for a king, yet not extravagant-everything most complete and nice." The sight of these clustering olive-plants would have astonished many persons on the continent, who were wont to fancy that Mrs. Fry, always deeply immersed in the great enterprises of benevolence, must be free from domestic cares.

A pleasant episode in her life is her visit to the islands of Jersey and Guernsey, whither she went in 1833, to escape the press of engagements at home. The agreeable friendships Mrs. Fry formed in Jersey; the almost unequalled softness and richness of the scenery of this lovely island; the days spent in the open air on the bold, rocky cliffs of the northern coast, where the family group enjoyed the fine marine views, while Mrs. Fry visited the cottages of the Jersey peasants, conversing with them as well as their Norman patois would allow, and distributing among them her French text-books, afforded her refreshment and repose. She was a keen observer of new phases of life and character-the parsimonious and industrious Jersey peasant; his cottage, with "the fire of vráck or sea-weed burning on the hearth, and the suspended kettle," containing the soup compounded of lard, cabbages, and potatoes, the frugal fare of the family; his greatest treasure, his cow, with her "curved, tapering horn, firm skin, and deer-like form," "tethered in a picturesque enclosure;" and the hydrangias and carnations which made gay and fragrant the cottage garden-all were seen and noted by her quick eye. On Sunday mornings she met with a little band of co-religionists, in the cottage of Jean Renaud, an old patriarch residing on the sea-shore, and in the afternoon, in the town of St. Helius, aided by her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Fry, and her friend Rebecca Sturges, she ministered to large and attentive congregations, assembled in a room engaged for the purpose. In the mean time her benevolence was not diverted from its ordinary channels: several valuable district societies were established for the relief of the poor; the work-house, hospital, and prison were visited, and salutary reforms suggested, to aid in carrying out which, Mrs. Fry found it necessary to pay two subsequent visits to these islands.

We cannot follow Mrs. Fry in her numerous journeys through Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and different parts of England, where she made “religious visits" to the Friends, and pursued unweariedly her own philanthropic objects. Paris she visited in 1838, 1839, and 1843; inspected its institutions for the unfortunate and the guilty; and conversed freely on religion and its kindred topics in large

companies of the fashionable, noble, and intellectual, whom the prestige of her name had gathered together. She was enabled, she says, "to show to them the broad, clear, and simple way of salvation, through our Lord and Saviour, for all; and even in dinner visits-some of them splendid occasions-the way was opened for the truth, especially one day, as to how far balls and theatres were Christian and right, and the importance of circulating good booksabove all the New Testament. In 1839 she travelled through the south of France, turning aside from the beaten track of travel, to visit Congenies, and hold communication with an ancient community of Quakers who dwelt there.

Those who like glimpses of royalty will follow with interest the dignified Quakeress into the crimson and gold drawing-room of the Tuileries, where she and the interesting Duchess of Orleans, then in her early widowhood, sate with Bibles in their hands, conversing on affliction and its supports and consolations. Again she was seated at dinner, and on another occasion, at a handsome luncheon, "with the King and Queen of Denmark, in their beautiful country palace," conversing freely with her royal friends on the state of their prisons, and of the persecuted Baptists, and pleading with them for prison reform and religious toleration. At Minden, we see her in the morning, walking on the bad pavements of the street with a poor old Friend, who wore a knitted cap close to her head," and taking tea in the evening at the palace, with the Prince and Princesses of a German court. But the most interesting of these royal interviews was that at the castle of the Countess of Reden, in the beautiful mountains of Silesia. There she and her brother, Joseph Gurney, addressed an assembly, composed of the king, queen, and royal family of Prussia, and the poor Tyrolese-the exiles of the Zillerthal, for whom the king's kindness had provided pretty little Swiss cottages among these mountains of the Reisenberg. In this journey through Holland, Germany, Prussia, and Denmark, Mrs. Fry was accompanied by her brother Joseph and her two nieces: in a previous tour through Holland and Denmark, the well-known philanthropist, William Allen, and his niece, and her brother, Samuel Gurney, and his two daughters, were her companions.

The last of these continental visits Mrs. Fry made in the Spring of 1843, when she visited Paris. After this, in the beautiful language of Dr. Arnold, her "outward work seems visibly contracting, and softening away into the gentler employment of old age." In July of that year she was prostrated with a distressing illness. For weeks and months Mrs. Fry's family were gathered around her, as she passed through agony almost intolerable-all the waves and bil

lows then rolled over her; but she felt "the Rock always underneath her;" she saw "the gates of mercy open, and the rays of light shining from them." But this sickness was not unto death-much sorrow and bereavement was this servant of God to pass through before she slept in peace. Her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Fry, to whom she was tenderly attached, passed before her into "the silent land." A beloved little grandson, Gurney Reynolds, soon followed. Suffering in body, enfeebled in mind, the spirit within rose above the wreck, and asserted its immortality. In July, drawn by her son William, in her wheeled chair, she attended the Friends' meeting at Plaiston, where she spoke in a clear voice and solemn strain, alluding to those who were gone, and praising God for the Christian's hope. But the strong man, in the fulness of health and strength, was to pass away before the mother burdened with infirmities. "God is good," were the last words of William Storrs Fry, as, a few weeks after, stricken down with scarlet fever, he breathed his last. One lovely daughter died twelve days before, and another a week after her father, of the same disease. Sorrow upon sorrow." 'The names of a beloved niece, daughter of Mrs. Hoare, and of her brother-in-law Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, were added to "the rapidly increasing catalogue of the loved and the lost." Seven years before, she said most touchingly, "It is deeply interesting entering the new year with my only three remaining sisters. We much value and enjoy being together, but we feel like a few remaining autumnal fruits at the close of no common summer of family love and unity.” The chill of life's winter had now come, but she earnestly desired to revisit Earlham, amid whose woods and walks the joyous child sported—where the maiden mused and wove airy fancies—where the matron had full many a time brightened the chain of family affection—and whither now the aged pilgrim turned for the last time her faltering steps.

The pilgrimage was accomplished, and visits paid to her sister Mrs. Buxton, and to her brother Daniel Fry, at Rometon. She then returned to Upton Lane, which was brightened by a large family, partly in honour of the marriage of her youngest son to a member of the Society of Friends, a connexion which was particularly agreeable to her "a ray of light on a dark picture." The week after she went to Ramsgate, and there, while her flesh and heart were failing, she preached solemnly and earnestly, Sunday after Sunday, occupied herself in writing, arranged and sorted Bibles, Testaments, and tracts, which she distributed among the foreign sailors in the harbour.

One Saturday morning in October, she awoke with a violent pain

in her head, and continued enfeebled and suffering throughout the day and night. "Pray for me," she said to her maid on Sunday morning; "it is a strift, but I am safe." About nine o'clock she slowly and distinctly said, "O my dear Lord, help and keep thy servant." These were her last words, and before sunrise the next morning, her spirit passed into eternity. She died in 1845, in the sixty-sixth year of her age.

Mrs. Fry's career was a unique one. The circumstances by which she was surrounded made her way plain through many obstacles. Her position as a Quaker minister gave her a selfreliance, a calm bearing, a habit of speaking in large assemblies, which stood her in good stead when kings and queens were her auditors, and when exposed to the gaze and curiosity of mixed multitudes. Her Quaker costume at once proclaimed her as not belonging to the world's people, or subject to the world's law, and it prepared the way for the utterance of plain truths and peculiar views. Topics which would have seemed to require an introduction "to ears polite," came naturally from the lips of the fair Quakeress ; and her garb, which commanded respect amid rude fishermen and sailors, no less became her at the regal board. During the greater part of her life, she had a home open to every claim of hospitality, and ample means for her abundant charities. When these became more extensive, and her own resources more limited, the purses of brothers and cousins were placed at her disposal. Brothers and sisters too co-operated with her in every good work, and though "alone" she entered on her religious life, yet "two" numerous and faithful bands subsequently attended her in her career of conflict and victory. These were her outward helps; but none the less earnestly did she lean on her "Holy Helper;" none the less humbly did she prostrate herself in deep abasement of spirit before Him whose hand she ever acknowledged in every event of her life. That this divine aid, co-operating in a lowlier sphere with singleness of purpose, may accomplish much, we learn from the life and labours of Sarah Martin, the humble dress-maker of Yarmouth, who seemed, on a smaller scale, to emulate the labours of Mrs. Fry, and occupied a not dissimilar though narrower field, and quietly walked her appointed path, which shines like a golden thread in the dark tissue of the doings of our race.

One lesson of special interest may be derived from the history of Elizabeth Fry. With a mind and heart occupied with great enterprises, she did not overlook small daily opportunities of doing good. In travelling, the well-stored tract-bag was ever at hand, that she might scatter seed by the wayside. In the Highland inn

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she gathered a congregation of bare-footed chambermaids and bluebonneted hostlers, to read unto them the words of truth. In the hotel at Abbeville, wrapped up in a cloak, with screens to keep off the air, and a wood fire at her feet, she read to the landlady, her daughters, and the servants of the hotel, among whom she distributed books: a deep impression was made; and on her visit to the same place the next year, she was surrounded by applicants for books, and beguiled into the kitchen, where her words, fitly spoken, were listened to with attention, and all, even to the portly chief cook, sought the privilege of shaking hands with her. She paused in one of these French tours, to visit the bedside of a sick Englishman, at Samur, and in crossing the lake of Brienz, learning from the boy who managed the boat, of the dangerous illness of his mother, she at once resolved to visit the sufferer, and breathe words of consolation to this afflicted Christian, whom she found with the Bible by her side. At North Repps she visited the school, and met the hardy fishermen at the school-rooms. While journeying amid the Pyrenees, she took advantage of the hour of rest to the wearied carriers, as they seated themselves about half-way up the steep ascent, on a level of groen sward, in the shadow of a rock, to lead their minds from the beautiful scene before them, to the greater goodness displayed in providing a Saviour for them, accompanying her kindly exhortations with the gift of little French text-books. It is a fact of some significance, that in her last days, her family thought it a most alarming symptom of her failing strength, that in driving out, the demand made by her little grandson for a tract to give to a little shepherd boy, was not promptly responded to. "The right hand” had then forgot "its cunning." But two days before her death, she looked over some sheets of Scripture selections, which she had prepared for a Text-book, on the same plan with one she had previously published. Of these volumes, which contained carefully arranged texts for every day in the year, she gave away thousands, accompanying them with varied and pointed admonitions and counsels. "Traits of travel," like those over which we have glanced, are honourable to our common humanity; such "pencillings by the way" are worthy of an angel's hand, and are recorded in more than a traveller's note-book.

Elizabeth Fry, though brought into so public an arena, was essentially womanly. Her home life bears inspection-her character does not suffer from a near view. Order and system pervaded her arrangements and expenditures; consideration marked her treatment of servants. She had a peculiar love for little children, a great delight in their beautiful faces and forms, the "gentlest touch,"