FLETCHER spent a happy month among the “elect” ladies of Methodism in the North of England; to wit, Miss Bosanquet, Hester Ann Rogers, Sarah Crosby, and their friends; and, on his return to Madeley, he had to correspond with two others in the south, Miss Perronet and Lady Mary Fitzgerald. To the former he wrote as follows:—
“My Dear Friend,—You want ‘some thoughts on the love of God;’ and I want the warmest feelings of it. Let us believe His creating, feel His preserving, admire His redeeming, and triumph in His sanctifying love. Loving is the best way to grow in love. Let us then look at the love of our heavenly Father, shining in the face of our elder Brother, and we shall be changed into love—His image and nature—from one glorious and glorifying degree of love to another. Love always delights in the object loved. ‘Delight thou in the Lord,’ then, and ‘thou shalt have thy heart’s desire;’ for we can desire nothing more than the supreme good and infinite bliss; both are in God. When, therefore, we love God truly, we delight in what He is; we share in His infinite happiness; and, by divine sympathy, His throne of glory becomes ours; for true love rejoices in all the joy of the object to which it cleaves.
“Add to this, that when we love God we have always our hearts’ desire; for we love His will, His desires become ours, and ours are always perfectly resigned to His. Now as God does whatsoever He pleases, both in heaven and earth, His lovers have always their hearts’ desire, forasmuch as they always have His will, which is theirs. Submitting our private will to His is only preferring a greater good to a less, and we are called to do it in afflictions.
“Farewell, my dear friend, and excuse these reflections, which you could make much better than your humble servant,
An excellent love-letter, from one who was now the declared lover of Mary Bosanquet.
Lady Mary Fitzgerald wished to visit Fletcher at Madeley, and to her he wrote the following:—
“My Much-honoured Lady,—Two days ago I came here, after an absence of above a month; and yesterday I received your letter, without date, which has been, I am told, waiting here some time.
“What a pity I did not rejoice sooner in the good news you send me,—that you desire to be entirely devoted to God. Indeed, complaints follow; but heaven is in that holy desire. If you cultivate it, it will produce all that conformity to a holy God, which love can bring to a human soul. As for your complaints, they are the natural expressions of that repentance which precedes the coming of the Comforter, who is to abide with us for ever. I am ready to rejoice, or to mourn with my honoured friend; and I have abundant cause to do both with respect to myself, my ministrations, the Church, and my people.
“And will you, indeed, find it in your heart to honour my house with your presence, and perfume also with your prayers the plain apartment occupied by your friend Johnson?[523] I wonder at nothing on earth, when I consider the condescension with which Emmanuel came down from heaven and filled a stable with His glory. Your time, my condescending friend, will suit me best. You will be queen in my hermitage; the Lord will rule in our hearts; and you will command, under Him, within our walls. You smile, perhaps, at the vastness of your new empire; but if you can be content and happy in God in my homely solitude, you will make greater advances towards bliss than if you obtained the Principality of Wales. But if you cannot be happy with Jesus, prayer, praise, godly conversation, and retirement, expect a disappointment. However, my honoured friend, if you come, come as the serious Catholics go on a pilgrimage, as French noblemen go to the Carthusian Convent at La Trappe, as the French king’s aunts went to the Carmelites,—come and do evangelical penance. Our good friend Johnson will tell you of an upper room where we crucify our old man, and have had many a visit from the new. If you do not bring her with you, bring her faith, which brought Him down, and then you shall not pine for the company of earthly princes. The Prince of Peace Himself will keep His court in our cottage, and your heart shall be one of His favourite thrones.”[524]
From these Christian ladies, the reader’s attention must now be directed to another.
Mary Bosanquet, oddly enough, was born in the same month, and on the same day of the month, as Fletcher; but there was this difference—she was ten years younger than he. Her birth took place in 1739, the year in which Methodism was cradled. Her father was “one of the chief merchants in London,”[525] and “lord of the manor of Leytonstone, in Essex.”[526] The place of her nativity was Forest House, a fine old mansion, three stories high, still standing in its own beautiful and spacious grounds, about a mile from Leyton, and still owned by a member of the Bosanquet family (S. R. Bosanquet, Esq.), who has recently given a plot of ground in the main street of the town on which to build the “Mary Fletcher Memorial Chapel.”
By means of a Methodist servant, Mary Bosanquet found peace with God, through faith in Jesus Christ, when she was only eight years old. At the age of thirteen, she became acquainted with Mrs. Lefevre, whose admirable “Letters on Religious Subjects” used to be one of the favourite books of the early Methodists; and concerning which Wesley himself testified: “The ‘Letters’ are patterns of truly polite epistolary correspondence; expressing the noblest sentiments in the most elegant manner, in the purest, yea, and finest language.”[527] At the house of Mrs. Lefevre, Miss Bosanquet was introduced to a number of godly people, many of them Methodists. When fourteen years of age, she was confirmed in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and began to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.
Soon after this, her father and mother thought her “righteous over much,” and great uneasiness, on both sides, followed. The parents were members of the Church of England; but, like many other professedly Christian people, they loved gaiety and worldly pleasure. Their daughter grieved them, because she attired herself plainly, and objected to go to balls and theatres. In the midst of this unpleasantness, she became acquainted with Sarah Ryan and Sarah Crosby, and, at their humble dwelling, in Christopher Alley, Moorfields, was accustomed to meet companies of the Old Foundery Methodists. Meanwhile, the unhappiness at home increased.
At the age of twenty-one, Miss Bosanquet came into possession of “a small fortune;” and, for her own comfort and that of her family, she left the parental home, and rented two unfurnished rooms in the house of Mrs. Gold, in Hoxton Square. She “hired a sober girl;” her mother gave her two beds; and she was driven to her lodgings in her father’s coach. She reached her new home about eight o’clock at night. She had no candle. The people of the house she had never seen. She borrowed a table; and the window seat served her as a chair. Her supper consisted of bread, “rank salt butter, and water;” but she says, she “could truly say, ‘I eat my meat with gladness and singleness of heart.’ The bedstead was not, as yet, put up, and, therefore, she laid upon the floor; “and the windows” of the bedless bedroom “having no shutters, and it being a bright moonlight night,” she remarks, “the sweet solemnity thereof well agreed with the tranquillity of my spirit.”spirit.”
Her “maid was dull and ignorant, though good;” and she herself “knew little more of the world than” did her maid, “having been used to so different a way of life.” Just at this juncture, ill-health obliged Sarah Ryan to leave Wesley’s meeting-house in Bristol, and to return to London, where she lodged with her sister. Here her illness became serious; and Miss Bosanquet served, as her nurse, “night and day.” “After a time,” writes Miss Bosanquet, “the Lord was pleased to restore her to health; and, having one heart, one mind, and one purse, we agreed that one habitation also would be most profitable;” and, accordingly, the two now resided together at Hoxton.
On March 24, 1763, Miss Bosanquet and Sarah Ryan removed from Hoxton to Leytonstone, and occupied a house belonging to the former. Miss Bosanquet told her father that she intended to have Methodist preaching in her house; her father made no objection, but remarked, “If a mob should pull your house about your ears, I cannot hinder them.” She and Sarah Ryan began to hold meetings, on Thursday nights, at which they “read a chapter, and sometimes spoke from it.” They also gathered a Methodist class, of twenty-five members; and, in due time, Wesley sent his Itinerant, John Murlin, to preach to them. Thus began Methodism at Leytonstone. “Sometimes on Sundays, when the nights were dark, a mob would collect at the gate” of Miss Bosanquet’s domestic cathedral, “and throw dirt at the people as they went out; after which, they used to come into the yard, and, putting their faces to a window, which was without shutters, would roar and howl like wild beasts.”
At the first, Miss Bosanquet’s family at Leytonstone consisted of herself, her maid, Sarah Ryan, and “Sally Lawrence,[528] a child about four years old, whom” she had “taken from the side of her mother’s coffin.” In a little while, five other orphans were admitted; and it became necessary to employ Ann Tripp[529] to serve as their governess. Miss Bosanquet writes: “Some serious women also were added to our household, and each had their duties and employments assigned them. In the whole, we received thirty-five children, and thirty-four grown persons, but not all at one time.” Thus did Miss Bosanquet turn her dwelling into a chapel, an orphanage, and a poor-house. All in the house, herself included, wore the same kind of dress, made of “a dark purple cotton;” and all dined at the same table, which was “five yards long,” and stood in the hall. Here also they all assembled “for morning and evening devotion, and on several other occasions.”
Miss Bosanquet soon found that her family was larger than her income could maintain; but even this did not discourage her, as she was at perfect liberty to spend her capital.
Most of the children when admitted to her house “were naked, full of vermin, and some of them were afflicted with disagreeable distempers. The first thing was to clean and clothe them, and attend to their health; which usually was followed with much success.”
“The eldest of the children arose between four and five; the younger not much later. At half-an-hour after six,” says Miss Bosanquet, “we had family prayer; at seven, we breakfasted together on herb tea, or milk porridge. The small children then went into the garden till eight. At eight, the bell rang for school, which continued till twelve. Then, after a few minutes spent in prayer, the children came down to us, when we either walked out with them, or, if the weather did not permit, we found them some employment in the house, endeavouring, at the same time, to give them both instruction and recreation. At one, we dined; about two, the bell rang again for school; and, at five, they returned to us, and were employed as before till supper time. Then, after family prayer, they were washed, and were put to bed at eight. Four or five of the bigger girls were each week kept out of the school, by turns, and employed in house-work, cooking, etc., that they might be accustomed to every sort of business; and there was work enough in so large a family. Several of the children were very young, though I do not remember we had any under two years, except one of about a month old, which was laid, very neatly dressed, one night late at our door; but it lived only a fortnight, being full of humours, probably derived from its parents.
“We had, I think, never more than ten grown persons in the family at one time, who were not invalids; nor do I remember above five or six altogether in health. The children also, for the first few years, suffered under various disorders; for we did not refuse either old or young, on account of their being sick or helpless.”
Miss Bosanquet, as might be expected, was soon involved in pecuniary embarrassments. Just about this period, a young lady of fortune, Miss Lewen, came to board and lodge with her, and also brought two children of whom she had taken charge. After residing about half a year in this unique retreat at Leytonstone,—chapel, orphanage, school, poor-house, and infirmary all combined in one,—Miss Lewen wished to make a new will, and to bequeath her hostess “a large sum of money.” Miss Bosanquet objected, because Miss Lewen had already “left the bulk of her estate (which was large) to charitable uses.” In 1766, Miss Lewen became suddenly very ill; and, one night, while some of the inmates of the house were watching at her side, she cried, “Give me pen and paper; I cannot die easy, unless I write something of my mind concerning Sister Bosanquet having £2,000.”£2,000.” Pen and paper were supplied, and the writing was written; but, of course, it was illegal and worthless. Miss Lewen died; but Miss Bosanquet, instead of receiving the £2,000, which Miss Lewen wished her to have, received not a farthing, and was considerably out of pocket on her dead friend’s account.
About the beginning of 1765, Miss Bosanquet’s father died; and nine months afterwards her mother. By his will, her father bequeathed her £4,500, to be invested by her trustees for her benefit; and, when she married with their approval and consent, this amount of money was to be transferred to herself, and to be absolutely at her own disposal.[530]
From a letter, written by S. Bosanquet, Esq., and dated “Forest House, October 15, 1781,” it appears that Miss Bosanquet had altogether a fortune of not less than £10,500,—a large sum, when it is remembered that money then was about three or four times the value of money now. Mr. Bosanquet’s letter was addressed to his sister, and in it he says:—
| £ | ||
| “You had Leytonstone estate, valued at | 3,000 | |
| You had from my grandmother | 2,500 | |
| You had the savings of Leyton estate till you came of age | 500 | |
| You had by my father’s will | 4,500 | |
| £10,500” | [531] |
With the exception of her father’s bequest, the whole of this money was at her own disposal, and, at the time of her marriage, was entirely spent, not on herself, but solely on behalf of others. Added to this, she was also, to a serious amount, in debt; but more of this anon.
About three years after the death of Miss Bosanquet’s father, Richard Taylor, a good and well-meaning man, “left his wife and young family” in Yorkshire, “and came to London in hope of settling with his creditors.” Sarah Crosby, who was now resident in Miss Bosanquet’s house, and John Murlin, one of the itinerant preachers stationed in the London Circuit, recommended Taylor, the improvident debtor, to Miss Bosanquet’s notice, and, for some time, he also became a member of her motley household. This unfortunate event created a world of trouble. By her father’s bequest, Miss Bosanquet’s income was increased; but her income was not equal to her expenses. Added to this, Sarah Ryan’s health entirely failed; and, partly on her account, and also for other reasons, Miss Bosanquet entertained the thought of removing her family to Yorkshire. Accordingly, on June 7, 1768, she and her two friends, Sarah Ryan and Sarah Crosby, set out, in a chaise, on this long and tiresome journey, Richard Taylor accompanying them on horseback. For seven weeks, they lived in the house of Taylor’s father-in-law, when they procured a house for themselves at Gildersome, a village in the parish of Batley, and about four miles and a half from Leeds. At the same time (on August 17, 1768), Sarah Ryan died; and this event augmented Miss Bosanquet’s anxieties, and affected her health. She writes:—
“My health began to fail. For three years, I had had much fatigue in nursing my dear friend. I grew large, and had dropsical symptoms. My soul, also, was in a low and cold state. My path was strewed with many perplexities. My family consisted of thirty persons, some of whom were rather unruly. I saw the need of taking the reins into my own hands, and supplying the place of my friend Ryan. But this determination was very difficult to execute; and I daily and hourly felt my insufficiency. While she was alive, I considered her as a mother, and desired her to allot me my employments, as she did in the case of the young women. These were, 1. An attention to the spiritual affairs of the family. 2. Taking care for their sustenance. 3. Instructing the children. 4. Meeting each member of the family, one by one, at fixed times. 5. Superintending, by turns, the more public meetings of the Society. 6. Attending my friend in her frequent illnesses; with the direction and management of the sick. But the care of the kitchen, buying stores, managing the needlework, and many other things belonging to housekeeping, I was quite unaccustomed to. While I lived in my father’s house, I saw very little of domestic affairs, because we lived rather high.
“Beside, the manner of life in Yorkshire was entirely different from what I had been used to about London. Here wheat was to be bought to be made into flour; bread to be made; cows to be managed; and men-servants to be directed. And when I had provided as well as I could, some persons in my family would despisingly say, my victuals were not worth eating, and that I knew not how to order anything. The house was large, and there was land to it; but, one day, Richard Taylor, whom I had employed in ordering the out-door affairs, brought me word of a farm very cheap, on which were malt-kilns, a small house, and many out-buildings. The farm was large, and he thought if, besides the farm-house, we were to build one big enough for our family, it would be cheaper than to rent a house. I went to Leeds to consult the most judicious of my friends; in particular Mr. R——, a man well acquainted with business, and the most intimate friend I had in Yorkshire. He replied, ‘Had you waited a dozen years, you might not have met with such an opportunity. Richard Taylor knows well how to manage, if you do not; and I have no doubt the farm will clear you £150 a year, which will be good interest for your money.
“I prayed for light, bought the estate, formed the plan for the house, and set about it. But I found building no cheaper in Yorkshire than in the south, or but little so. It cost a good deal more than was at first proposed. The farm took much money to stock it, and to bring it into order; and, as I had not sufficient for all the expenses, I was obliged to take up money on interest, which I hoped to pay off at the rate of £50 a year. The malt-kilns seemed to answer well, and cleared the first year £50, above all expenses.
“I found my mind much united to Brother and Sister Taylor. I strove to remove their burdens, and went in person to their creditors. After meeting with some opposition, I got their affairs settled, at the expense of between two and three hundred pounds.
“My perplexities increased. The farm had sunk a very large sum to bring it into order, and the kilns took much money to work them, a great deal of which lay scattered up and down in debts, owing to me from lesser maltsters. I also saw that Richard Taylor went too far; that he was inclined to venture much; that he kept too many men; and that he gave a great deal too much credit.
“I lessened my family all I could, by putting out some of the bigger children to trades, or servants’ places; but much expense attended it. Richard Taylor also had several children, while with me, so that the family still consisted of twenty-five persons; the majority of whom were grown persons. Losses continually occurred. I consulted Mr. ——, and other friends about my situation; but most of them were for some further exertion in trade. That I knew would not do. Some said, ‘Turn away all the members of your family: you have enough to live on alone with a servant or two;’ but I could not see how that could be done, for several of them were old, sickly, or helpless. Mr. —— said, ‘There is but one way for you; put the farm into the hands of Richard Taylor, entirely separate from yourself; let him have the stock just as it is, and work the kilns as he can raise the money. Let him pay you £60 a year, and take his family to the end of the house. I agreed to this, and Richard Taylor paid his rent regularly: but, as he was to have the farm free of debt, I found a good deal to pay which he had not brought to account; so that, before all was settled, I had again to take up money on interest, which was no small affliction to me. Could I have sold the place, I would have chosen it rather.
“We went on tolerably for three years. Mr. —— thought the farm increased in heart; the stock also improved, and all was cheerful, except in my own mind, which foreboded deep waters. This was soon realized. In the beginning of the fourth year, Taylor was £600 in debt. I thought, I am not obliged to pay his debt; let him break, and bear his own burden; but I soon saw that I must either give up the stock, which would be sold for half itsits value, or I must pay the money. Besides, I was now informed, that, when he ceased to act as my agent, I ought to have advertised it, that no one might trust him through confidence in me.”
Thus, through wretched Richard Taylor, Miss Bosanquet found herself in a most serious entanglement. At the first, she felt she was not bound to pay Taylor’s debt; but Taylor’s wife, big with child, came to her wringing her hands, and entreating her to save her husband from being sent to prison. The result was, Miss Bosanquet paid the debt, by accepting the offer of a loan of £600 from Mr. ——, who became a partner with her in the farm and malt-kilns, and took the management of the whole. This, however, did not end her anxieties. She writes:—
“In my deep troubles, a thought occurred to my mind. ‘Perhaps Mr. Fletcher is to be my deliverer;’ but I started from the idea, lest it should be a stratagem of Satan. We had not seen or heard from each other for more than fifteen years. Besides, I was now (in August, 1777), told that Mr. Fletcher was dying. As I was, one day, in prayer, offering him up to the Lord, these words occurred to me,—‘The prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.’ I thought if the Lord should raise him up, and should bring him back from Switzerland to England, and he should propose to marry me, could I doubt its being of God? I felt an unaccountable liberty to ask,—1. That Mr. Fletcher might be raised up. 2. That he might be brought back to England. 3. That he might write to me on the subject before he saw me, though we had been so many years asunder, without so much as a message passing on any subject. 4. That he might tell me, in his letter, that (marrying me) had been the subject of his thoughts and prayers for years. It also occurred to me, that, should this take place in the end of 1781, it would be a still greater confirmation, as Providence seemed to point me to that season as a time of hope.”
Miss Bosanquet’s troubles were continued. Her new partnership was disastrous, and Mr. ——’s management a failure. He had told her she would receive £100 a-year towards paying off the debts she owed to himself and others; but the farm, instead of yielding a profit, was worked at a loss. The interest she had to pay so reduced her income, that it became impossible to keep more than half her family with what remained. She writes:—
“As to the kilns, I had neither money nor courage to work them. I strove, I worked hard, I prayed; and, at length, I proposed to the members of my family to disperse, and learn some little business; and I would allow to each of them what I could. It was a most painful thing; but I saw there was no way but first to sell the place, and then disperse.
“Just at this time, a gentleman proposed to buy the place, stock, lease, and everything. He was a man both of fortune and of honour, and really wished to help me out of my difficulties; and the price he offered would bring me through all, and leave me a good income. The bargain was in part made; but, alas! he took a fever, and, in a few days, died. I now saw but one way—to advertise Cross Hall, and sell it for what I could; and, paying the purchase money away as far as it would go, strive yearly to lessen the remaining part of the debt by my income, reserving only £50 per year to live on, and to help my friends. But I recollected that I might not live long enough thus to pay the debt by my income. I then proposed to myself to keep only £20 per year; nay, I thought, how can I have a right even to twenty? Justice is before mercy. One day, as I was standing at a window, musing on this subject, I saw a poor man driving asses laden with sand, by which he gained his bread. As I looked on him, I thought, I am perfectly willing to take up the business of that man. If I can preserve unsold one of the freehold cottages, the asses might graze on the common, and I could follow them with something to sell. There were but few trades which my conscience would suffer me to follow; and my abilities were equal to still fewer; but to anything in the world would I turn, that was not sinful, rather than remain in debt.”
“The 7th of June, 1781, was the day that began my fourteenth year in Yorkshire. I saw difficulties, as mountains, rise all around me; but the very next day, June the 8th, I received a letter from Mr. Fletcher, in which he told me, that he had, for twenty-five years, found a regard for me, which was still as sincere as ever; and, though it might appear odd that he should write on such a subject, when but just returned from abroad, and more so without seeing me first, he could only say, that his mind was so strongly drawn to do it, he believed it to be the order of Providence.”[532]
Thus began Fletcher’s courtship, which ended five months afterwards in his marrying Mary Bosanquet.
The foregoing is a strange story. Of set purpose, nothing has been said of Miss Bosanquet’s earnest piety, gospel labours, and spiritual successes, both in the south of England and in Yorkshire. The object has been to show to what straits a young lady of fortune was brought, by injudicious generosity, by foolish advisers, and, perhaps, it may be added, by crafty mendicants. Eighteen years before this, in a letter to Charles Wesley, Fletcher confessed that he regarded Miss Bosanquet with admiration;[533] and that Miss Bosanquet regarded Fletcher with equal admiration the foregoing extracts amply prove; as does also a letter, which she addressed to Wesley, nearly six years before her marriage, and from which the following is taken:—
“Rev. Sir,—I thank you for your kind favour of January 27. It yielded us much satisfaction; for never before could we get any account to be depended on.
“I am exceedingly thankful Mr. Fletcher is with Mrs. Greenwood. She will tenderly care for him: and, having a spiritual mind, will be sensible of the honour God does her, in giving her such an opportunity.
“How wise are all the ways of God, in keeping His faithful servant in that retired spot” (Stoke Newington), “while those precious works are completed, by which he will yet speak to us, though in glory: and now to enable him to bring them out, while his exemplary life and conversation add a lustre to the truths he has so powerfully defended.
“We could have liked to have seen him once more; but the will of the Lord be done! Should it happen that this sickness is not unto death, we shall rejoice in having an opportunity of assisting him in anything which lies in our power. Should this favour be denied us, we must be content; and beseech God to reward those who may supply our lack of service.
“The blessed account you give of the state of his mind filled my soul with sacred joy, as also those of my friends. While I was reading it, it was a solemn season of faith and love, and we could not help saying, ‘Ah, Lord! Let not this shining light be so soon extinguished!’
“A few weeks agoago, I once more read the ‘Equal Check’ and felt an unction in it above all I had ever found before. The ‘Essay on Truth,’ with the Appendix, is as marrow and fatness to my soul. O may all the height and depth of every Gospel promise be written on his heart!”[534]
Did Fletcher ever see this loving, admiring letter? Perhaps he did. At all events, Wesley’s most intimate and confidential friendship with both Fletcher and Miss Bosanquet was such as to justify utterances, which, under other circumstances, would have been almost impertinent. In his sermon on the death of Fletcher, Wesley remarked, “Miss Bosanquet was the only person in England whom I judged to be worthy of Mr. Fletcher;” and again, in a letter to Hester Ann Rogers, written a month after the marriage took place, he observed, “I should not have been willing that Miss Bosanquet should have been joined to any other person than Mr. Fletcher.”[535] To some, such language may seem unusual, but, in reality, it was natural; for Wesley had long been regarded as their father in Christ, both by Fletcher and his wife; and, no doubt, both of them had consulted him with respect to the step they proposed to take.
After all, Fletcher’s matrimonial offer was a curious incident. He was now fifty-two years of age. For the last four years and a-half, he had been absent from his parish, and so seriously ill, that, again and again, his friends expected him to die. Some of his views, also, of ministers marrying at all were rather peculiar, though rational and sound. In his “Portrait of St. Paul,” composed in Switzerland, and revised and finished after his return to Madeley, Fletcher wrote:—
“When a man is perpetually called to travel from place to place, prudence requires that he should not encumber himself with those domestic cares, which must occasion many unavoidable delays in the prosecution of his business: or, if he derives his maintenance from the generosity of the poor, charity should constrain him to burden them as little as possible. St. Paul could not prevail upon himself to expose a woman and children to those innumerable dangers, which he was constantly obliged to encounter. The first peril, from which he made his escape, was that which compelled him to descend from the wall of Damascus in a basket: now if a family had shared with him in the same danger, what an addition would they have made to his affliction and his care! Is it not evident, that, in such circumstances, every man, who is not obliged to marry from reasons either physical or moral, is called to imitate the example of this disinterested Apostle, from the same motives of prudence and charity. This indefatigable preacher, always on a mission, judged it advisable to continue in a single state to the end of his days: but, had he been fixed in a particular church; had he there felt how much it concerns a minister neither to tempt others, nor to be tempted himself; and had he known how much assistance a modest, provident, and pious woman is capable of affording a pastor, by inspecting the women of his flock, he would then probably have advised every resident pastor to enter into the marriage state, provided they should fix upon regenerate persons, capable of edifying the Church.”
Probably, while writing this, Fletcher was thinking of Wesley and his itinerant preachers, and also of the difference between them and himself, as the Vicar of Madeley. Be that as it may, from the doctrine he has laid down, he deduces the following principles:—
“1. In times of great trouble and grievous persecutions, the followers of Christ should abstain from marriage, unless obliged thereto by particular and powerful reasons. 2. The faithful, who mean to embrace the nuptial state, should be careful, on no account, to connect themselves with any persons, except such as are remarkable for their seriousness and piety. 3. Missionaries ought not to marry, unless there is an absolute necessity. 4. A bishop, or resident pastor, is usually called to the marriage state. 5. A minister of the Gospel, who is able to live in a state of celibacy for the kingdom of heaven’s sake, that he may have no other care except that of preaching the Gospel and attending upon the members of Christ’s mystical body,—such a one is undoubtedly called to continue in a single state.”
Many will disapprove of some of Fletcher’s deductions; but it is easier to disapprove than to refute.
On the 8th of June, 1781, Miss Bosanquet received Fletcher’s offer of marriage. They had long admired each other, but, when they first became acquainted, Fletcher regarded Miss Bosanquet’s fortune as an insuperable barrier to their union; and Miss Bosanquet was too much occupied with her philanthropic schemes to think of being married. Now, Fletcher, to a great extent, was an invalid, and, as much as any man alive, needed a pious and loving nurse. Miss Bosanquet, also, was in a quagmire of financial embarrassments, and greatly needed a tender, judicious friend.
Fletcher’s letter, despatched early in the month of June, led to a correspondence which lasted till August 1, when Fletcher arrived in Yorkshire to attend Wesley’s Conference at Leeds. Miss Bosanquet writes:—
“Mr. Fletcher came to Cross Hall, and abode there a month; preaching in different places with much power. Having opened our whole hearts to each other, both on temporals and spirituals, we believed it to be the order of God that we should become one, when He should make our way plain.”[536]
Properly enough, Fletcher wished, before marrying Miss Bosanquet, to consult her family, and to obtain their approval. To this she consented; and, three weeks after his return to Madeley, Fletcher wrote the following, hitherto unpublished, letters. Some will condemn the printing of this private correspondence; but as it contains nothing but what is honourable to all the parties concerned, and as it exhibits the Vicar of Madeley in a new position, most readers will be thankful for it.
The first letter was addressed to Miss Bosanquet, and shows the ardour of her wooer:—
“My Dearest Friend,—I have received thy dear letter, with the one enclosed from thy brother. I shall send it back to thee by Mr. Brisco,[537] who will call here on his way to Birstal.
“O Polly! generous, faithful Polly! dost thou indeed permit me to write to thy friends, and to ask the invaluable gift of thy hand? That hand, that is half mine, shall be wholly mine. I have, to-day, written two letters,—one to thy uncle, the other to thy elder brother. Correct them, and, when thou hast, forward them with much prayer and love. Back them with some of thy sweet arguments. Thou knowest how to come at thy friends. I don’t: I have only followed my instinct for thee in this new business.
“Polly! I read thy letter, and wondered at the expression in it,—‘If you think me worth writing for.’ Ah! my holy, my loving, my lovely, my precious friend, I think thee worth writing for with my vital blood: I am only sorry that I had not thee beside me to write with thy wisdom. However, I write by the first post: direct the letters properly; and excuse my sending them by thee, as I don’t remember the names and streets.
“‘Difficulties!’ If thou hast any, I shall gladly share them with thee, and think myself well repaid with the pleasure of praying and praising with thee, and for thee. Therefore, do not talk of struggling through alone. I charge thee, by thy faithfulness, let me be alone as little time as thou canst.
“‘Three thousand pounds’ with thee! My dear, if thou art mine, and canst live in our cottage here, praising and blessing God, I shall rejoice more than Mephibosheth, when, through joy, he said, ‘Let Ziba take all, forasmuch as my lord the king is come back in peace’ (2 Sam. xix. 30). Let not thy wisdom, Polly, make thee suspect and surmise evil. Let thy charity make thee hope all things for thy friends.
“I thank thee for that believing sentence,—‘But, all shall be right.’ The worst thy friends can do is to keep thy money, which I look upon as dung and dross in comparison of thee. Ah Polly! with the treasure of thy friendship, and the unsearchable riches of Christ, how rich thinkest thou I am? Count—cast up—but thou wilt never make out the amazing sum.
“So thou wilt keep ‘two years’ from me to bring me some money! Oh, Polly! that is a saying more worthy of Change Alley than of the paradise of love. Let me comfort thee a little. If thou lovest me half as much as I do thee, thou wilt think thyself rich. Thou art worth to me a million; and cannot I be worth thy £5,000?
“I embrace thee in spirit, and more than mix my soul with thine. Farewell!
The two letters referred to in this sweethearting epistle, and addressed to Miss Bosanquet’s uncle, Claudius Bosanquet, Esq., and to her brother, S. Bosanquet, Esq., were the following:—
“To Claudius Bosanquet, Esq.
“Sir,—Permit a stranger to claim some moments of the time you consecrate to your neighbours’ happiness and the welfare of your own family.
“I was born in the Pays de Vaud at Nyon, a town about fifteen miles north of Geneva, on the borders of the lake. My father, in his youth, was an officer in the French service, which he left to marry. He was afterwards a colonel in the militia of his country, and a judge or assessor to the lord-lieutenant of the town where he lived. I am the youngest of his eight children. Having some desires to be a clergyman, I was, for seven years, sent to Geneva to pursue my studies. But after I had stayed there seven years, a fear of being unfit for the Christian ministry, and the enticing offers of my father’s brother, who was a lieutenant-colonel in the Dutch service, made me for a time prefer the sword to the gown. I left the academy” [at Geneva] “and went to Flanders to join my eldest brother, who was an officer in the Dutch service; but, before I could enter the army, the peace was made, and my uncle, on whom my hopes depended, left the service.
“Seeing my way to military preferment blocked up by these two events, I came to England, to get more perfect in the English tongue, which I had begun to learn at Geneva. Some months after I was come over, Mr. Des Champs, a French minister, to whom I had been recommended, procured me the place of tutor to the son of Mr. Hill, member of Parliament for Shrewsbury. In his family I lived some years, and applied myself to the study of divinity; and, at his request, and by his interest, I got into Orders; a calling which now suited my more serious turn of mind.
“It was soon after my ordination that I saw Miss Mary Bosanquet, your pious niece. I had resolved not to marry, but the sweetness of her temper, and her devotedness to God, made me think that if ever I broke through my resolution, it would be to cast my lot with one like her.
“Not long after, at Mr. Hill’s request, his nephew, Mr. Kinaston, member for Montgomery, presented me to the living of Madeley, a little market-town in the county of Salop, worth about £100 per annum; and here I have chiefly lived, sequestered from the world, as your amiable niece has done at Leyton and at Cross Hall.
“After having corresponded some years with her on various subjects, last spring, on my return from a journey to the continent, I ventured to mention to her my first thoughts about a closer union with her,—thoughts which I had kept to myself for nearly twenty-five years. After maturely discussing the point, your pious niece has given me room to hope she will give me her hand, if you, Sir, whom she honours as a father, give your consent to our union. I earnestly ask it, Sir; and beg you will share the pleasure of uniting two persons who, from a remarkable agreement of taste, sentiments, and pursuits, as well as from a particular sympathy, seem formed for each other by the God of nature and of grace.
“I wish, Sir, I had a fortune equal to Miss Bosanquet’s deserts; but I hope I have one suitable to her piety, and to the moderate wishes of that godliness which, together with contentment, is a great gain. I have only about £1,500 worth of property in my native country, and about £400 or £500 more in my parish, besides the income of my living, and a house much better than those with which most country clergymen are obliged to put up.
“Whatever be your pious niece’s fortune, I assure you, Sir, I seek her person, not her property; and to convince you of it, I request that before she gives me her hand, her whole fortune may be secured to her by a proper settlement.
“With respect to my character, and the truth of what I have here advanced, I beg leave to refer you, Sir, to four creditable persons. With regard to my conduct, and what I affirm of myself as Vicar of Madeley, you may get proper informations from Thomas Hill, Esq., now in Salop, the old gentleman in whose house or neighbourhood I have lived very near thirty years; and from his son, Noel Hill, Esq., member for Shropshire, the gentleman to whom I was tutor. With respect to what I have mentioned of myself as a native of Switzerland, you may, Sir, procure proper informations from two clergymen now in that country, Mr. De Bons and Mr. Tavan, whom I saw last Christmas at Lausanne, and whom you have probably seen in London, when they served French churches there.
“I would, Sir, have waited upon you in person, in London, if some journeys which my curate must take did not oblige me to stay here to serve my own church.
“I shall have the honour to write upon the same subject to Miss Bosanquet’s brothers, and shall take the liberty of referring them to this letter, for some account of him who aspires to the hand of their pious sister; and who, with respect to temporal happiness, desires nothing so ardently as to have your leave to add the name of nephew to that of, Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,
“P.S.—Soon after I came to England, my English friends, complaining of the length of my Swiss name, began to contract it by dropping the French syllables of it. So they called me Fletcher; and by that name I have been known among the English ever since. If you favour me with an answer, Sir, it will find me if it is directed thus:—
The letter addressed to Miss Bosanquet’s brother was as follows:—