With all this beauty of character, Lucretia Mott had her trials.
Somewhat early in life she and her husband had joined the so-called
Unitarian branch of Quakers, and for this they were persecuted. So
deep was the sectarian feeling, that once, when suffering from acute
neuralgia, a physician who knew her well, when called to attend her,
said, "Lucretia, I am so deeply afflicted by thy rebellious spirit,
that I do not feel that I can prescribe for thee," and he left her to
her sufferings. Such lack of toleration reads very strangely at this
day.

In 1868, Mr. Mott and his wife, the one eighty, and the other
seventy-five, went to Brooklyn, N.Y., to visit their grandchildren.
He was taken ill of pneumonia, and expressed a wish to go home, but
added, "I suppose I shall die here, and then I shall be at home; it
is just as well." Mrs. Mott watched with him through the night, and at
last, becoming weary, laid her head upon his pillow and went to sleep.
In the morning, the daughter coming in, found the one resting from
weariness, the other resting forever.

At the request of several colored men, who respected their benefactor,
Mr. Mott was borne to his grave by their hands. Thus ended, for this
world, what one who knew them well called "the most perfect wedded
life to be found on earth."

Mrs. Mott said, "James and I loved each other more than ever since we
worked together for a great cause." She carried out the old couplet:--

"And be this thy pride, what but few have done,
To hold fast the love thou hast early won."