When joy seems highest
  Then sorrow is nighest,

says the old rhyme.  An experience of this sort came to Mrs. Fry.  One of her children had just married an estimable member of the Society of Friends, and while rejoicing with the young couple, she appeared to be drawn out in thankfulness for the many mercies vouchsafed to her.  Her cup seemed brimming over with joy; and after the bridal party had departed, one of her daughters came across the lawn to remark to her mother on the beauty of the scene, finishing by a reference to the temporal prosperity which was granted them.  Mrs. Fry could do no other than acquiesce in the sentiments expressed, but added, with almost prophetic insight, “But I have remarked that when great outward prosperity is granted it is often permitted to precede great trials.”  This was in the summer of 1828; before that year ended the family was struggling in the waves of adversity, losses, and trials—­struggling, indeed, to preserve that honest name which had hitherto been the pride of Mr. Fry’s firm.

One of the houses of business with which Mr. Fry was connected at this time failed, and his income was largely diminished.  The house which he personally conducted was still able to meet all its obligations; but the blow in connection with this other firm was so staggering that they were forced to submit to the pressure of straitened means, at least for a time.  We are told, indeed, by Mrs. Fry’s daughters, that this failure “involved Mrs. Fry and her family in a train of sorrows and perplexities which tinged the remaining years of her life.”  The strict principles and the not less strict discipline of the Society of Friends rendered her course of action at that juncture very doubtful.  Occupying the prominent positions she had before the nation—­indeed before the world, for Mrs. Fry’s name was a household word—­it seemed impossible to her upright spirit to face the usual Meeting on First Day.  Her sensitive spirit winced acutely at the reproach which might perchance be cast upon the name of religion; but after a prayerful pause she and her husband went, accompanied by their children—­at least such of them as were then at home.  She occupied her usual place at the Meeting, but the big tears rolling down her face in quick succession, testified to the sorrow and anguish which then became her lot.  Yet before the session ended she rose, calmed herself, and spoke, most thrillingly, from the words, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” while the listeners manifested their sympathy by tears and words of sorrow.  In November of that sad year she wrote the following letter to one of her children, in reference to the trial:—­