I do not like to pour out my sorrows too heavily upon thee, nor do I like to keep thee in the dark as to our real state.  This is, I consider, one of the deepest trials to which we are liable; its perplexities are so great and numerous, its mortifications and humiliations so abounding, and its sorrows so deep.  None can tell, but those who have passed through it, the anguish of heart at times felt; but, thanks be to God, this extreme state of distress has not been very frequent, nor its continuance very long.  I frequently find my mind in degree sheathed against the deep sorrows, and am enabled not to look so much at them; but there are also times when secondary things arise, such as parting with servants, schools, the poor around us, and our dear home.  These things overwhelm me; indeed, I think naturally I have a very acute sense of the sorrow.  Then the bright side of the picture arises.  I have found such help and strength in prayer to God, and highly mysterious as this dispensation may be in some points of view, yet I think I have frequently, if not generally, been able to say, “Not as I will, but as Thou wilt,” and bow under it.  All our children and children-in-law, my brothers and sisters, our many friends and servants, have been a strong consolation to me.

It was not possible, however, for Mrs. Fry to suffer without experiencing an unwonted measure of sympathy from all classes of the community.  Many hearts followed her most lovingly in these hours of humiliation and sorrow; and when it was known that she must leave Plashet House, the tide of deep sympathy overflowed more than one heart.  As a preliminary step the family moved, first to St. Mildred’s Court, then to the home of their eldest son.  The business which had been carried on there by Mr. Fry and his father was now conducted by his sons; and by this the young men were enabled to provide for the comfort of their parents.  Their bidding good-bye to Plashet, however, entailed very much that was sad to others.  The schools hitherto supported by the Frys were handed over to the care of the vicar of the parish; many old pensioners and servants had to be given over to the kindness of others, or in some cases, possibly, to the not very tender mercies of “the parish;” while she herself, who had always laid it down as an indispensable rule to be just before being generous, was compelled to conform her manner of life to somewhat narrow means.

Shakespeare says:  “Sorrow comes not in single spies but in battalions,” and experience proves the adage to be true.  William Fry, the eldest son of the family, was thrown upon a bed of illness, as the result of an over-strained and exhausted brain; soon after, sickness spread through the whole family, until the house, and even Plashet,—­which, being empty, afforded them a temporary shelter,—­became a hospital on a small scale.  Yet at this time the kindly letters of sympathy and condolence received from all quarters must have comforted and cheered her anguished spirit.  From a number of such communications we give two, one from William Wilberforce, the other from Mrs. Opie.  Wilberforce wrote:—­