Fry, Elizabeth Gurney, 1780-1845; Prison reformers -- Biography
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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