Elizabeth Fry | Page 7

intensified
and confirmed those feelings. She says in her journal that it was a
dreadful cross to say "thee," and "thou," instead of speaking like other
people, and also to adopt the close cap and plain kerchief of the
Quakeress; but, in her opinion, it had to be done, or she could not fully
renounce the world and serve God. Neither could she hope for thorough
appreciation of these things in her beloved home-circle. To be a "plain
Quaker," she must in many things be far in advance of father, sisters,
and brothers; while in others she must tacitly condemn them. But she
was equal to the demand; she counted the cost, and accepted the
difficulties. At this time she was about nineteen years of age.
As a beginning, she left off many pleasures such as might have
reasonably been considered innocent. For instance, she abandoned her
"scarlet riding-habit," she laid aside all personal ornament, and
occupied her leisure time in teaching poor children. She commenced a
small school for the benefit of the poor children of the city, and in a
short time had as many as seventy scholars under her care. How she
managed to control and keep quiet so many unruly specimens of
humanity, was a standing problem to all who knew her; but it seems not
unlikely that those qualities of organization and method which
afterwards distinguished her were being trained and developed. Added
to these, must be taken into account the power which a strong will
always has over weaker minds--an important factor in the matter. Still
more must be taken into account the strong, earnest longing of an
enthusiastic young soul to benefit those who were living around her.
Earnest souls make history. History has great things to tell of men and
women of faith; and Elizabeth Gurney's life-work colored the history of
that age. A brief sentence from her journal at this time explains the
attitude of her mind towards the outcast, poor, and neglected: "I don't
remember ever being at any time with one who was not extremely
disgusting, but I felt a sort of love for them, and I do hope I would
sacrifice my life for the good of mankind." Very evidently, William
Savery's prophesy was coming to pass in the determination of the
young Quakeress to do good in her generation.
CHAPTER III.

ST. MILDRED'S COURT.
After a visit in the north of England with her father and sisters,
Elizabeth received proposals of marriage from Mr. Joseph Fry of
London. His family, also Quakers, were wealthy and of good position;
but for some time Elizabeth seemed to hesitate about entering on
married life. Far from looking on marriage as the goal of her ambition,
as is the fashion with many young women, she was divided in her mind
as to the relative advantages of single and married life, as they might
affect philanthropic and religious work. After consultation with her
friends, however, the offer was accepted, and on August 19th, 1800,
when she was little more than twenty years of age, she was married to
Mr. Fry, in the Friends' Meeting House, at Norwich. Very quickly after
bidding her school-children farewell, Mrs. Fry proceeded to St.
Mildred's Court, London, her husband's place of business, where she
commenced to take up the first duties of wedded life, and where several
of her children were born.
The family into which she married was a Quaker family of the strictest
order. So far from being singular by her orthodoxy of manners and
appearance, she was, in the midst of the Frys, "the gay, instead of the
plain and scrupulous one of the family." For a little time she
experienced some difficulty in reconciling her accustomed habits with
the straight tenets of her husband's household and connections, but in
the end succeeded. It seems singular that one so extremely
conscientious as Elizabeth Fry, should have been considered to fall
behindhand in that self-denying plainness of act and speech which
characterized others; but so it was. And so determined was she to serve
God according to her light, that no mortification of the flesh was
counted too severe provided it would further the great end she had in
view. Her extreme conscientiousness became manifest in lesser things;
such, for instance, as anxiety to keep the strict truth, and that only, in
all kinds of conversation.
Thus, she wrote in her journal:--
I was told by ---- he thought my manners had too much of the courtier
in them, which I know to be the case, for my disposition leads me to

hurt no one that I can avoid, and I do sometimes but just keep to the
truth with people, from a natural yielding to them in such things as
please them. I think doing so