of London eighty years ago must have looked on amused at what they
considered the vagaries of those worthy folks. The old Quaker ladies are
described as wearing at that date a close-fitting white cap, over which
was placed a black hood, and out of doors a low-crowned broad beaver
hat. The gowns were neatly made of drab camlet, the waists cut in long
peaks, and the skirts hanging in ample folds. For many years past these
somewhat antiquated garments have been discarded for sober
"coal-scuttles," and silk dresses of black or gray, much to the
improvement of the fair wearer's appearance. These Friends were
entertained at Mr. Fry's house heartily, and almost religiously. And
doubtless many people who were of the "salt of the earth" were numbered
among Mr. Fry's guests, while his young wife moved among them the
embodiment of refined lady-like hospitality and high principle.
Doubtless, too, the quiet home-talk of these worthy folks was only one
degree less solemn and sedate than their utterances at Yearly Meeting.

Mrs. Fry followed up her chosen path in ministering to the sick and poor
among the slums of London. She visited them at their homes, and
traversed dirty courts and uninviting alleys in the quest of individuals
needing succor. Sometimes she was made the instrument of blessing; but
at other times, like all philanthropists, she was deceived and imposed
upon. One day a woman accosted her in the street, asking relief, and
holding an infant who was suffering evidently with whooping-cough. Mrs.
Fry offered to go to the woman's house with the intention of
investigating and relieving whatever real misery may have existed. To
her surprise the mendicant slunk away as if unwilling to be visited; but
Mrs. Fry was determined to track her, and at last brought her to earth.
The room--a filthy, dirty, poverty-cursed one--contained a number of
infants in every conceivable stage of illness and misery.
Horror-stricken, Mrs. Fry requested her own medical attendant to visit