She kept
constantly in her mind the thought that all men are sinners before God:
there are no rich, no poor; no high, no low; no bond, no free. Conditions
are transient, and boldly did she say to the King of France that he should
build prisons with the idea of reformation, not revenge, and with the
thought ever before him that he himself or his children might occupy these
cells--so vain are human ambitions. To Sir Robert Peel and his Cabinet she
read the story concerning the gallows built by Haman. "Thee must not shut
out the sky from the prisoner; thee must build no dark cells--thy children
may occupy them," she said.

John Howard and others had sent a glimmering ray of truth through the fog
of ignorance concerning insanity. The belief was growing that insane
people were really not possessed of devils after all. Yet still, the cell
system, strait jacket and handcuffs were in great demand. In no asylum
were prisoners allowed to eat at tables. Food was given to each in tin
basins, without spoons, knives or forks. Glass dishes and china plates
were considered especially dangerous; they told of one man who in an
insane fit had cut his throat with a plate, and of another who had
swallowed a spoon.

Visiting an asylum at Worcester, Mrs. Fry saw the inmates receive their
tin dishes, and, crouched on the floor, eating like wild beasts. She asked
the chief warden for permission to try an experiment. He dubiously granted
it. With the help of several of the inmates she arranged a long table,
covered it with spotless linen brought by herself, placed bouquets of wild
flowers on the table, and set it as she did at her own home. Then she
invited twenty of the patients to dinner. They came, and a clergyman, who
was an inmate, was asked to say grace. All sat down, and the dinner passed
off as quietly and pleasantly as could be wished.

And these were the reforms she strove for, and put into practical
execution everywhere. She asked that the word asylum be dropped, and home
or hospital used instead. In visiting asylums, by her presence she said to
the troubled spirits, Peace, be still! For half a century she toiled with
an increasing energy and a never-flagging animation. She passed out full
of honors, beloved as woman was never yet loved--loved by the unfortunate,
the deformed, the weak, the vicious. She worked for a present good, here
and now, believing that we can reach the future only through the present.
In penology nothing has