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 been added to her philosophy, and we have as yet not nearly carried out her suggestions.

Generation after generation will come and go, nations will rise, grow old, and die, kings and rulers will be forgotten, but so long as love kisses the white lips of pain will men remember and revere the name of Elizabeth Fry, Friend of Humanity.

MARY LAMB

Her education in youth was not much attended to, and she happily missed all the train of female garniture which passeth by the name of accomplishments.  She was tumbled early, by accident or providence, into a spacious closet of good old English reading, without much selection or prohibition, and browsed at will upon that fair and wholesome pasturage.  Had I twenty girls they should be brought up exactly in this fashion.  I know not whether their chance in wedlock might not be diminished by it, but I can answer for it that it maketh (if worse comes to worst) most incomparable old maids. —­Essays of Elia

[Illustration:  Mary Lamb]

I sing the love of brother and sister.  For he who tells the tale of Charles and Mary Lamb’s life must tell of a love that was an uplift to this brother and sister in childhood, that sustained them in the desolation of disaster, and was a saving solace even when every hope seemed gone and reason veiled her face.