harbour, with the help of her grandchildren, manifested, by her daily deportment, how fully she had learned the hard lesson of submission and patience in suffering.
A few days before the end, pressure of the brain became apparent; severe pain, succeeded by torpor and loss of power, and, after a short time, utter unconsciousness, proved that the sands of life had nearly run down. A few hours of spasmodic suffering followed, very trying to those who watched by; but suddenly, about four on the morning of October 13th, 1845, the silver cord was loosed, the pitcher broken at the fountain, and the spirit returned to God who gave it.
In a quiet grave at Barking, by the side of the little child whom she had loved and lost, years before, rest Elizabeth Fry’s mortal remains. "God buries his workers, but carries on His work." The peculiar work which made her name and life so famous, has grown and ripened right up to the present hour. In this, "her name liveth for evermore."
