ctively 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 occasio