AFTER the frustration of his hopes in Flanders, Fletcher, accompanied by other young gentlemen, embarked for England, for the purpose of acquiring the English language. At the Custom House in London they were treated with the utmost surliness. Of course their portmanteaus were examined,—never a pleasant operation, but sometimes less politely done than at others. In addition to this, their letters of recommendation were taken from them, on the alleged ground that “all letters must be sent by post.” They went to an inn, where they encountered another difficulty. Unable to speak English, they were at a loss how to exchange their foreign into English money. Fletcher, going to the door, heard a well-dressed Jew talking French. The difficulty was explained; and the Jew replied, “Give me your money, and I will get it changed.” Fletcher, without the least suspicion, handed the gentleman his purse, containing £90. Telling his friends what he had done, they exclaimed, “Your money’s gone.” His friends were wrong. Before breakfast was ended the honest Jew returned, and gave to Fletcher the full amount in English coin.
To assist him in the acquisition of the English language, Fletcher had been recommended to a Mr. Burchell, who kept a boarding-school at South Mimms, a village about four miles from Hatfield, in Hertfordshire. He was admitted into this establishment. Soon after, it was removed to Hatfield, whither he also went. Here he remained with Mr. Burchell about eighteen months, and pursued his studies with great diligence. He frequently visited some of the first families in Hatfield; and, by his easy and genteel behaviour, and his sweetness of temper, he gained the affectionate esteem of all who knew him.
On leaving Mr. Burchell’s academy, Fletcher was recommended by Mr. Dechamps, a French minister, to Thomas Hill, Esq., of Tern Hall, in Shropshire, as tutor to his two sons.[5] It was whilst in the service of this gentleman that Fletcher was converted. The following is an extract from one of his letters to his brother Henry, at Nyon:—
“The news of your promotion has given me great pleasure. I feel a sincere satisfaction in the diligence with which you devote yourself to the good of society, and that you prefer a life of labour to one of indolent and useless inactivity. We may be instruments of some good in any condition of human life, if we faithfully fulfil its duties; and the more difficult our station may prove to be, the more of satisfaction is likely to result from acquitting ourselves well in it. The ambition which springs from this principle has nothing censurable in it, provided that a view to the glory of God be its motive. I delight to think that the advancement of the Divine glory is your principal end; in which case, as your influence extends over the whole city, the good you do may be very great. You will find a thousand opportunities of glorifying God by your diligence, integrity, and disinterestedness. Endeavour to find or make occasions of this sort; seize on them eagerly, and shrink not from entering into the minutest details, when the object is to do good to the bodies or souls of your neighbours. Imitate, as far as circumstances will admit, the charity of Christ; who went about doing good, and disdained not to converse with the most wretched. I dwell on this the more particularly, because the vanity and pride which reign in our native town appear to me directly opposed to the spirit of charity. If you rise above these, you will conduct yourself as a Christian, whose sole object is to advance the glory of God; and who thinks little of the esteem of man, except as it may place him in a position to do more good in the world.
“Your recreations, of which you have given me a brief sketch, are doubtless innocent, especially if they occupy no more of your time than a due attention to health, and the wants of our nature demand. Although you have often reproached me with being too austere, I am far from thinking that religion forbids the use of innocent recreations; because, being indifferent in themselves, they become useful when they are necessary for the relaxation of the body or the mind. I am not at all shocked at the tradition which informs us that St. John sometimes amused himself with a partridge which he had tamed. Happy are they who, as far as they are able, endeavour to turn their own recreations to the advantage of others, which may certainly, if not always, yet sometimes, be done. I sometimes polish shells with Mr. Hill, out of compliance with his wishes. This used formerly to put me in a bad humour, on account of the loss of time it occasioned. But I begin to find that pious thoughts may sanctify an occupation as insignificant as even this, and that a renouncing of one’s own will from compliance with that of others is not without its utility.
“I am now going to reply to that part of your letter in which you testify your surprise at the change which has taken place in my manner of thinking, a change which appears to have struck you in the last letters which I wrote to my father. You cry out against the severity of the principles which I have laid down; and add that, without being a prophet, you boldly predict my giving way before long to enthusiasm and all manner of bodily austerities, led on by the principles I have assumed.
“I am the less astonished, my dear brother, that you should thus speak, because it is the language of ninety-nine Christians of the present day out of every hundred, and because I myself for a long time thought like you on this point. In a certain sense, indeed, I always thought highly of religion, though at the bottom no one perhaps had less of it than I. My infancy was vicious, and my youth still more so. At eighteen I fell into what may properly be termed ‘enthusiasm;’ for though I lived in many habitual sins, yet because I was regularly present at public worship, not only on the Sunday, but during the week, I imagined myself religious. I made long prayers morning and evening, as well as frequently during the day. I devoted to the study of the prophecies, and to books of a religious character, all the time I could spare from my other studies.
“My feelings were easily excited, but my heart was rarely affected, and I was destitute of a sincere love to God, and consequently to my neighbour. All my hopes of salvation rested on my prayers, devotions, and a certain habit of saying, ‘Lord, I am a great sinner; pardon me for the sake of Jesus Christ.’ In the meantime I was ignorant of the fall and ruin in which every man is involved, the necessity of a Redeemer, and the way by which we may be rescued from the fall by receiving Christ with a living faith. I should have been quite confounded if any one had asked me the following questions: ‘Do you know that you are dead in Adam? Do you live to yourself? Do you live in Christ and for Christ? Does God rule in your heart? Do you experience that peace of God which passeth all understanding? Is the love of God shed abroad in your heart by the Holy Spirit?’ I repeat it, my dear brother, these questions would have astonished and confounded me, as they must every one who relies on the form of religion, and neglects its power and influence.
“My religion, alas! having a different foundation from that which is in Christ, was built merely on the sand; and no sooner did the winds and floods arise, than it tottered and fell to ruins. I formed an acquaintance with some Deists, at first with the design of converting them, and afterwards with the pretence of thoroughly examining their sentiments. But my heart, like that of Balaam, was not right with God. He abandoned me, and I enrolled myself in their party. A considerable change took place in my deportment. Before I had a form of religion, and now I lost it; but as to the state of my heart, it was precisely the same. I did not remain many weeks in this state; the Good Shepherd sought after me, a wandering sheep. Again I became professedly a Christian; that is, I resumed a regular attendance at church and the communion, and offered up frequent prayers in the name of Jesus Christ. There were also in my heart some sparks of true love to God, and some germs of genuine faith; but a connection with worldly characters, and an undue anxiety to promote my secular interests, prevented the growth of these Christian graces. Had I now been asked on what I founded my hopes of salvation, I should have replied, that I was not without some religion; that, so far from doing harm to any one, I wished well to all the world; that I resisted my passions; that I abstained from pleasures in which I had once indulged; and that if I was not so religious as some others, it was because such a degree of religion was unnecessary; that heaven might be obtained on easier terms; and that if I perished, the destruction of the generality of Christians was inevitable, which I could not believe was consistent with the mercy of God.
“I was in this state of mind when a dream, which I could not but consider as a warning from God, aroused me from my security.”
At great length Fletcher here relates his dream respecting the final judgment, and then continues:—
“For some days, I was so dejected and harassed in mind as to be unable to apply myself to anything. While in this state, I attempted to copy some music, when a servant entered my chamber. Having noticed my employment, he said, ‘I am surprised, Sir, that you, who know so many things, should forget what day this is, and that you should not be aware that the Lord’s day should be sanctified in a very different manner.’
“The sterling character of the man, his deep humility, his zeal for the glory of God, his love to his neighbours, and especially his patience, which enabled him to receive with joy the insults he met with from the whole family for Christ’s sake, and, above all, the secret energy which accompanied his words, deeply affected me, and convinced me more than ever of my real state. I was convinced, as it had been told me in my dream, that I was not renewed in the spirit of my mind, that I was not conformed to the image of God, and that without this the death of Christ would be of no avail for my salvation.”[6]
About this period of his history, Fletcher seems to have become acquainted with the Methodists. Wesley says:—
“I have heard two very different accounts of the manner wherein he had the first notice of the people called Methodists; but I think it reasonable to prefer to any other that which I received from his own mouth. This was as follows:—
“When Mr. Hill went up to London to attend the Parliament, he took his family and Mr. Fletcher with him. While they stopped at St. Albans, he walked out into the town, and did not return till they were set out for London. A horse being left for him, he rode after, and overtook them in the evening. Mr. Hill asking him why he stayed behind, he said, ‘As I was walking, I met with a poor old woman, who talked so sweetly of Jesus Christ that I knew not how the time passed away.’ ‘I shall wonder,’ said Mrs. Hill, ‘if our tutor does not turn Methodist by-and-by.’ ‘Methodist, Madame!’ said he, ‘pray, what is that?’ She replied, ‘Why, the Methodists are a people that do nothing but pray; they are praying all day and all night.’ ‘Are they?’ said he; ‘then, by the help of God, I will find them out.’ He did find them out not long after, and was admitted into the society; and from this time, whenever he was in town, he met in Mr. Richard Edwards’s class. This he found so profitable to his soul that he lost no opportunity of meeting; and he retained a peculiar regard for Mr. Edwards till the day of his death.”[7]
It was not, however, in Mr. Edwards’s class that Fletcher found peace with God. A few months after his decease, a 12 mo. pamphlet of sixty-four pages was published by his widow, entitled “A Letter to Mons. H. L. de la Fléchère, Assessor Ballival of Nyon, in the Canton of Berne, Switzerland, on the Death of his Brother, the Reverend John William de la Fléchère, Twenty-five Years Vicar of Madeley, Shropshire.” In that letter it is stated, that, “from the time he heard the Methodists, he became more and more conscious that some inward change was necessary to make him happy. He now began to ‘strive with the utmost diligence according to his light, hoping by much doing to render himself acceptable to God.’ But, one day, hearing a sermon preached by a clergyman, whose name was Green, he was convinced he did not understand the nature of saving faith. ‘Is it possible,’ said he, ‘that I who have always been accounted so religious, who have made divinity my study, and received the premium of piety (so called) from the university for my writings on divine subjects,—is it possible that I am yet so ignorant as not to know what faith is?’ But the more he examined, the more he was convinced of the momentous truth. He now became sensible of inbred sin, and sought, by the most rigorous austerities, to conquer an evil nature; but the more he strove, the more he saw and felt that all his soul was sin.”
Mrs. Fletcher continues the narrative of his conversion by giving the following extract from his diary:—
“1755. January 12.—I received the sacrament, though my heart was as hard as a flint. The following day, I felt the tyranny of sin more than ever, and an uncommon coldness in my religious duties. I felt the burden of my corruptions heavier than ever. The more I prayed for conquest over sin, the more I was conquered. The thoughts which engrossed my mind were generally these: I am undone. I have wandered from God. I have trampled under foot the frequent convictions God has been pleased to work upon my heart. Instead of going straight to Christ, I have lost my time in fighting against sin with the dim light of reason, and the use of the means of grace. I fear my notions of Christ are only speculative, and do not reach the heart. I never had faith, and without faith it is impossible to please God. Then every thought, word, and work of mine have only been sin and wickedness before God, though ever so specious before men. All my righteousness is as filthy rags. I am a very devil, though of an inferior sort, and if I am not renewed before I go hence, hell will be my portion to all eternity.
“When I saw that all my endeavours availed nothing towards my conquering sin, I almost resolved to sin on, and to go at last to hell. But, I remember, there was a sort of sweetness even in the midst of this abominable thought. If I go to hell, said I, I will still love God there; and since I cannot be an instance of His mercy in heaven, I will be an instance of His justice among the devils; and if I put forth His glory one way or the other, I am content.
“But I soon recovered the ground I had lost. Christ died for all, thought I; then He died for me; and, as I sincerely desire to be His, He will surely take me to Himself. He will surely let me know before I die that He died for me. But then, I thought, this may only be in my dying hour, and that is a long time to wait. But I answered thus: My Saviour was above thirty-three years working out my salvation; let me wait for Him as long, and then I may talk of impatience. Does God owe me anything? Is He bound to time and place? Do I deserve anything at His hands but damnation?
“So I went on, sinning and repenting, and sinning again; but still calling on God’s mercy through Christ. I was now beat out of all my strongholds of pride. I felt my helplessness, and lay at the foot of the throne of grace. I cried, though coldly, yet I believe sincerely, ‘Lord, save me! Give me justifying faith in Thy blood! Cleanse me from my sins!’ I seldom went to private prayer, but I thought, ‘Perhaps this is the happy hour when I shall prevail with God;’ but still I was disappointed.
“On Sunday, January 19, 1755, I heard an excellent sermon on, ‘Being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ I heard it attentively, but my heart was not moved. I was only more convinced that I was an unbeliever—that I was not justified by faith—and that I should never till then have peace with God. The hymn after the sermon suited the subject that had been treated of, but I could not join in singing it. I sat mourning, whilst others rejoiced in the Lord their Saviour.
“The following day, I begged of God to show me all the wickedness of my heart, and to fit me for His mercy. I besought Him to increase my convictions, for I was afraid I did not mourn enough for my sins. But I found relief in Mr. Wesley’s Journal, where I learned that we should not build on what we feel; but that we should go to Christ with all our sins and all our hardness of heart.
“On January 21, I began to write a confession of my sins, misery, and helplessness, together with a resolution to seek Christ even unto death; but, my business calling me away, I had no heart to go on with it. In the evening, I read the Scriptures, and found a sort of pleasure in seeing a picture of my wickedness so exactly drawn in the third chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, and that of my condition in the seventh; and now I felt some hope that God would finish in me the work He had begun.
“On Thursday, January 23, my fast-day, Satan beset me hard. I sinned grievously, and almost gave up all hope; I mourned deeply, but with a heart as hard as ever. I was on the brink of despair, and yet continued to fall into sin. In the evening, I went to my friend, Mr. B——, and told him something of my state. He strove to administer comfort, but it did not suit my light. When we parted, he gave me some advice which suited me better. ‘God,’ said he, ‘loves you, and if He denies you anything, it is for your good. You deserve nothing at His hands; wait then patiently for Him, and never give up your hope.’ I went home resolved to follow this advice, though I should stay till death.
“I had proposed to meet the Lord the following Sunday at His table, and therefore looked out a sacramental hymn. I learned it by heart, and prayed it over many times, and then went to bed, commending myself to God with rather more hope and peace than I had felt for some time. But Satan waked while I slept. I thought I committed that night in my sleep grievous and abominable sins. I awoke amazed and confounded, and rising with a detestation of the corruption of my senses and imagination, I fell upon my knees, and prayed with more faith and less wanderings than usual, and afterwards set about my business with an uncommon cheerfulness. It was not long before I was tempted to fall into my besetting sin, but I found myself a new creature. My soul was not even ruffled. Having withstood two or three temptations, and feeling peace in my soul through the whole of them, I began to think it was the Lord’s doing. Afterwards it was suggested to me that it was great presumption for such a sinner to hope for such a mercy. I prayed I might not be permitted to fall into a delusion; but the more I prayed, the more I saw it was real; for though sin stirred all the day long, I always overcame it in the name of the Lord.
“In the evening I read some of the experiences of God’s children, and found my case agreed with theirs, and suited the sermon I had heard on Justifying Faith. I called on the Lord for perseverance and an increase of faith, for still I felt some fear lest this should be all delusion. Having continued my supplication till near one in the morning, I then opened my Bible, and fell on these words, ‘Cast thy burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He will not suffer the righteous to be moved.’ Filled with joy, I fell again on my knees to beg of God that I might always cast my burden upon Him. I took up my Bible again, and fell on these words, ‘I will be with thee; I will not fail thee, neither forsake thee; fear not, neither be dismayed.’ My hope was now greatly increased, and I thought I saw myself conqueror over sin, hell, and all manner of affliction.
“With this beautiful promise I shut my Bible, and as I shut it I cast my eye on the words, ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, I will do it.’ So having asked perseverance and grace to serve God till death, I went cheerfully to take my rest.”
Such is Fletcher’s own account of his conversion. His widow added the following:—
“I subjoin what I have heard him speak concerning this time. He still pleaded with the Lord to take a fuller possession of his heart, and to give a fuller manifestation of His love, till one day, when in earnest prayer, and lying prostrate on his face, he saw, with the eye of faith, our Saviour on the cross, and at the same time these words were spoken with power to his heart:—
“Now all his bonds were broken. His freed soul began to breathe a purer air. Sin was beneath his feet. He could triumph in the Lord. From this time, he walked in the ways of God, and, thinking he had not leisure enough in the day, he made it a constant rule to sit up two whole nights in the week for reading, prayer, and meditation. At the same time, he lived on nothing but vegetables, and on bread with milk and water. One end of his doing this was to avoid dining in company. Besides sitting up two entire nights every week, his custom was never to sleep so long as he could keep awake, and he always took a candle and book with him to bed. One night, being overcome with sleep before he had put out his candle, he dreamed that his curtain, pillow, and cap were on fire, but went out without doing him any harm. And truly so it was, for in the morning his curtain was found burnt, also a corner of his pillow, and a part of his cap, but not a hair of his head was singed.
“Some time after this, he was favoured with a further manifestation of the love of God, so powerful, that, he said, it appeared to him as if his body and soul would be separated. Now all his desires centred in one, that of devoting himself to the service of his precious Master, which he thought he could best do by entering into holy orders.”[8]
To complete the accounts of Fletcher’s conversion, in 1755, an extract from another letter must be added. In that year, writing to his brother, he insisted on the vanity of earthly pursuits, and then gave the following description of the change that had taken place in himself:—
“I speak from experience. I have been successively deluded by all those desires, and sometimes I have been the sport of them all at once. This will appear incredible, except to those who have discovered that the heart of unregenerate man is nothing more than a chaos of obscurity and a mass of contradictions. If you have any acquaintance with yourself, you will readily subscribe to this description of the human heart. Every unconverted man must necessarily be either a voluptuary, a worldly-minded person, or a pharisaical philosopher: or, perhaps, like myself, he may be all of these at the same time; and, what is still more extraordinary, he may be so not only without believing, but even without once suspecting it; indeed, nothing is more common among men than an entire blindness to their own real characters. How often have I placed my happiness in mere chimeras! How often have I grounded my vain hope upon imaginary foundations! I have been constantly employed in framing designs for my own felicity; but my disappointments have been as frequent and various as my projects.
“If, hitherto, my dear brother, you have beguiled yourself with prospects of the same visionary nature, never expect to be more successful in your future pursuits. One labour will only succeed another, making way for continual discontent and chagrin. Open your heart, and there you will discover the source of that painful inquietude to which, by your own confession, you have been long a prey. Examine its secret recesses, and you will discover there sufficient proof of the following truths: ‘The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked;’ ‘All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;’ ‘The thoughts of man’s heart are only evil, and that continually;’ ‘The natural man understandeth not the things of the Spirit of God.’ On the discovery of these and other important truths, you will be convinced that man is an apostate being, composed of a sensual, rebellious body, and a soul immersed in pride, self-love, and ignorance; nay more, you will perceive it a physical impossibility that man should ever become truly happy till he is cast, as it were, into a new mould, and created a second time.
“For my own part, when I first began to know myself, I saw, I felt that man is an undefinable animal, partly of a bestial and partly of an infernal nature. The discovery shocked my self-love, and filled me with the utmost horror. I endeavoured for some time to throw a palliating disguise over the wretchedness of my condition, but the impression it had already made upon my heart was too deep to be erased. It was to no purpose that I reminded myself of the morality of my conduct; it was in vain that I recollected the many encomiums that had been passed upon my early piety and virtue; and it was to little avail that I sought to cast a mist before my eyes by reasonings like these: ‘If conversion implies a total change, who has been converted in these days? Why dost thou imagine thyself worse than thou really art? Thou art a believer in God and in Christ; thou art a Christian; thou hast injured no person; thou art neither a drunkard nor an adulterer; thou hast discharged thy duties not only in a general way, but with more than ordinary exactness; thou art a strict attendant at church; thou art accustomed to pray more regularly than others, and frequently with a good degree of fervour; make thyself perfectly easy; moreover, Jesus Christ has suffered for thy sins, and His merit will supply everything lacking on thy part.’
“It was by reasonings of this nature that I endeavoured to concealconceal from myself the deplorable state of my heart; and I am ashamed, my dear brother, that I suffered myself so long to be deluded by the artifices of Satan. God Himself has invited me; a cloud of apostles, prophets, and martyrs have exhorted me; and my own conscience, animated by those sparks of grace which are latent in every heart, has urged me to enter in at the strait gate; but, notwithstanding all this, a subtle temper, a deluding world, and a deceived heart have constantly turned the balance, for above these twenty years, in favour of the broad way. I have passed the most lovely part of my life in the service of these tyrannical masters, and am ready to declare in the face of the universe that all my reward has consisted in disquietude and remorse. Happy had I listened to the earliest invitations of grace, and broken the iron yoke from off my neck.”[9]
These extracts are long, but they are important. They contain all the known facts connected with Fletcher’s conversion.
In writing to his brother, Fletcher remarked,—“At eighteen years of age, I devoted as much time as I could spare to read the prophecies of the Holy Bible;” and it is a curious fact that, in the year of his conversion, he wrote a long letter to Wesley, in which he gave a synopsis of the writings of “a great divine abroad,” who had “spent fifty years in making himself perfectly master of the Oriental languages, and in comparing and explaining the various predictions scattered in the Old and New Testaments.” Fletcher was well acquainted with this gentleman, and had many times conversed with him on the subjects of his lifelong study. Substantially, the young man had adopted the aged man’s views; and now, in a condensed form (filling, however, nineteen octavo printed pages), he presented them to Wesley. At the time, terrific wars were being waged, and, a month before the date of Fletcher’s letter, the great earthquake at Lisbon had occurred. At such seasons, devout men almost instinctively begin to study prophecies, and hence no wonder that Fletcher now felt more than ordinarily interested in what, “for some years, had often been the subject of his meditations.” He believed that “the grand catastrophe of God’s drama drew near apace,” and gave his reasons for such belief by referring first to Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, “which is a rough sketch of the world’s four universal revolutions;” secondly, to Daniel’s vision of the four beasts; and thirdly, to Daniel’s vision of the ram and he-goat, and the two thousand and three hundred days, at the end of which the “sanctuary” was to “be cleansed.” Fletcher, by elaborate calculations, shows that this cleansing was to take place between the years 1750 and 1770, and the following extract will indicate what, in his opinion, the cleansing meant:—
“God is now working such a work as has not been seen since the Apostles’ days. He has sent some chosen servants of His, both in these kingdoms and abroad, who, by the manifest assistance of the Holy Spirit, have removed the filthy doctrine of justification by works, and the outward Christless performance of moral duties, which pollute the sanctuary and make it an abomination to the Lord. The Holy Ghost is given, and the love of God is shed abroad in the hearts of believers as in the days of old. I own that the cleansing is but begun; but this revolution[10] may, in all probability, be the forerunner of a greater. God has called; a few have obeyed His call. The generality still shut their eyes and ears against the tender invitations of their Lord, and continue to pollute the sanctuary and to look on the blood of the Lamb as an unholy thing. Shall not God carry on His work? Shall the creature still resist the Creator? and the arm of flesh be stronger than the living God? Not so. He will not always strive with obdurate hearts. What the gentle breathings of His Spirit cannot perform, He will do by war, sword and fire, plague and famine, tribulation and anguish. He is going to gird on His sword, and His right hand shall teach Him terrible things. Nations refuse the sceptre of His mercy; what remains, then, but to rule them with an iron sceptre, and break them in pieces like a potter’s vessel?”
Fletcher concludes by arguing in favour of the doctrine, that, long before the general judgment Christ will appear on earth a second time to work out His great redeeming purposes.
“Give me leave, Rev. Sir,” says he, “to propose to you a thing that many will look upon as a great paradox, but has yet sufficient ground in Scripture to raise the expectation of every Christian who sincerely looks for the coming of our Lord; I mean the great probability that, in the midst of this grand revolution, our Lord Jesus will suddenly come down from heaven, and go Himself conquering and to conquer; for what but the greatest prejudice can induce Christians to think that the coming of our Lord, spoken of in so plain terms by three evangelists, is His last coming before the universal judgment and the end of the world?”[11]
There cannot be a doubt that, at this period of his life, Fletcher was what is commonly called a Millenarian. Whether his views were right or wrong, the reader must determine for himself.
When resident at Tern Hall, Fletcher attended the parish church at Atcham, a small village about five miles from Shrewsbury. Here the Rev. Mr. Cartwright was the officiating minister,[12] and was accustomed to catechise in public the children of his parishioners. On one occasion, he invited the adults who needed instruction to appear in the ranks of the catechumens, and told them that to do so would be no disgrace to them. All, however, except Fletcher, either thought that to stand among the young people would disgrace them, or that further instruction in their case was not needed. The accomplished young scholar from Switzerland, the tutor of the two sons of their county member, had a lower opinion of his excellences than the village peasants had of theirs; for, leaving his seat with an air of unaffected modesty, he took his place among the children, and became a catechumen of the village pastor.[13]
At Atcham, Fletcher became acquainted with Mr. Vaughan, an excise officer, who gave to Wesley the following account of his deeply-revered friend:—
“It was our ordinary custom, when the church service was over, to retire into the most lonely fields or meadows, where we frequently either kneeled down, or prostrated ourselves on the ground. At those happy seasons, I was a witness of such pleadings and wrestlings with God, such exercises of faith and love, as I have not known in any one ever since. The consolations, which we then received from God, induced us to appoint two or three nights in a week, when we duly met, after his pupils were asleep. We met also constantly on Sunday, between four and five in the morning. Sometimes I stepped into his study on other days. I rarely saw any book before him, besides the Bible and the Christian Pattern.”
“Our interviews for singing and conversation were seldom concluded without prayer, in which we were frequently joined by her who is now my wife (then a servant in the family), and by a poor widow in the village, who had known the power of God unto salvation, and who died some years ago, praising God with her latest breath. These were the only persons in the village whom he chose for his familiar friends; but he sometimes walked to Shrewsbury, to see Mrs. Glynne or Mr. Appleton. He also visited the poor in the neighbourhood who were sick; and, when no other person could be procured, performed even the meanest offices for them.”
Besides the godly friends mentioned in this interesting statement, Fletcher had another acquaintance at Atcham, whom he visited to be instructed in singing. This gentleman supplied Wesley with what follows:—
“I remember but little of that man of God, Mr. Fletcher, it being above nine-and-twenty years since I last saw him; but this I well remember, his conversation with me was always sweet and savoury. He was too wise to suffer any of his precious moments to be trifled away. When company dined at Mr. Hill’s, he frequently retired into the garden, and contentedly dined on a piece of bread and a few bunches of currants. Indeed, in his whole manner of living he was a pattern of abstemiousness. Meantime, how great was his sweetness of temper and heavenly-mindedness! I never saw it equalled in any one. How often, when I parted with him at Tern Hall, have his eyes and hands been lifted up to heaven, to implore a blessing upon me, with fervour and devoutness unequalled by any I ever witnessed. I firmly believe he has not left in this land, or perhaps in any other, one luminary like himself.”[14]
These glimpses of Fletcher, at this early period of his life, are too valuable and important to be omitted.
It is impossible to determine the exact date when he joined the Methodist Society in London, but there can be no doubt that it was as early as the year 1756, and probably a year or two earlier. Hence the following extract from a letter addressed to Mr. Richard Edwards, the leader of the London class in which Fletcher had been enrolled a member:—
“Dearest Brother,—This is to let you know that I am very well in body and pretty well in soul; but I have very few friends here, and God has been pleased to take away the chief of those few by a most comfortable death. My aged father also is gone the way of all flesh. For some years, I have written to him with as much freedom as I could have done to a son, though not with so much effect as I wished. But, last spring, God visited him with a severe illness, which brought him to a sense of himself; and, after a deep repentance, he died about a month ago, in the full assurance of faith.”[15]
Fletcher, at Geneva, had refused to enter the Christian ministry; now he entertained the most serious thoughts of devoting himself to it; but before doing so he wrote to Wesley, with whom he had become acquainted.
“Rev. Sir,—As I look on you as my spiritual guide, and cannot doubt of your patience to hear, and your experience to answer, a serious question proposed by any of your people, I freely lay my case before you.
“Since the first time I began to feel the love of God shed abroad in my heart, which was, I think, when seven years of age, I resolved to give myself up to Him and the service of His Church, if ever I was fit for it; but the corruption which is in the world, and that which was in my heart, soon weakened, if not erased, those first characters that grace had wrote upon it. However, I went through my studies with a design of going into Orders; but afterwards, upon serious reflection, feeling I was unequal for so great a burden, and disgusted by the necessity I should be under to subscribe to the doctrine of predestination, I yielded to the desire of my friends, who would have me go into the army. But just before I was quite engaged in a military employment, I met with such disappointments as occasioned my coming to England. Here I was called outwardly three times to go into Orders; but, upon praying to God that if those calls were not from Him they might come to nothing, something always blasted the designs of my friends; and in this I have often admired the goodness of God, who prevented me rushing into that important employment, as the horse does into the battle. I never was more thankful for this favour than since I heard the Gospel preached in its purity. Before, I had been afraid; but then I trembled to meddle with holy things, and resolved to work out my salvation privately, without engaging in a way of life which required so much more grace and gifts than I possessed. Yet, from time to time, I felt warm and strong desires to cast myself and all my inability upon the Lord, if I should be called again, knowing that He could help me, and show His strength in my weakness; and these desires were increased by some little success that attended my exhortations and letters to my friends.
“I think it necessary to let you know, Sir, that my patron often desired me to take Orders, and said he would soon help me to a living; to which I coldly answered, I was not fit, and that besides I did not know how to get a title. The thing was in that state when, about six weeks ago, a gentleman I hardly knew offered me a living, which, in all probability, will be vacant very soon; and a clergyman, that I never spoke to, gave me, of his own accord, the title of curate to one of his livings. Now, Sir, the question which I beg you to decide is, whether I must and can make use of that title to get into Orders? For with respect to the living, were it vacant, I have no mind to it, because I think I could preach with more fruit in my own country and in my own tongue.
“I am in suspense; on one side, my heart tells me I must try, and it tells me so whenever I feel any degree of the love of God and man; but, on the other, when I examine whether I am fit for it, I so plainly see my want of gifts, and especially of that soul of all the labours of a minister of the Gospel—love, continual, universal, flaming love, that my confidence disappears; I accuse myself of pride to dare to entertain the desire of supporting the ark of the Lord, and conclude that an extraordinary punishment will sooner or later overtake my rashness. As I am in both these frames successively, I must own, Sir, I do not see plainly which of the two ways before me I can take with safety, and I shall be glad to be ruled by you, because I trust God will direct you in giving me the advice you think will best conduce to His glory, the only thing I would have in view in this affair. I know how precious is your time; I desire no long answer;—persist or forbear will satisfy and influence, Sir, your unworthy servant,
Wesley’s answer to this important letter has not been preserved. Perhaps no letter was written. Wesley was now in London. Parliament met eight days after Fletcher wrote to him. Public affairs were in a critical condition, and, no doubt, Mr. Hill would feel it a duty to be present at the opening of the session. When he came to London to fulfil his parliamentary duties, it was his custom to bring his sons and their tutor with him. That Fletcher was now in London is evident from the following letter, addressed to Wesley within three weeks after the date of his former one. Of course, he would have an interview with Wesley as early as possible, and in all likelihood Wesley, at this interview, not only advised him to be ordained, but likewise dissuaded him from his purpose to return to Switzerland. There is no reference in the letter to Fletcher’s proposed ordination, for, doubtless, that was a matter already settled. Fletcher had been attending sacramental services in Wesley’s London chapels; and it had occurred to him that these services might be much improved, and Wesley himself considerably relieved. To say the least, the letter is full of interest, and contains a hint which, in large societies, might be profitably adopted.
“Sir,—When I have received the sacrament in your chapels, though I admired the order and decency with which that awful part of the divine worship was performed, I thought there was something wanting, which might make it still more profitable and solemn.
“As the number of communicants is generally very great, the time spent in receiving is long enough for many, I am afraid, to feel their devotion languish, and their desires grow cold, for want of outward fuel. In order to prevent this, you interrupt, from time to time, the service of the table, to put up a short prayer, or to sing a verse or two of a hymn; and I do not doubt but many have found the benefit of that method. But, as you can spare very little time, you are obliged to be satisfied with scattering those few drops, instead of a continual rain. Would not that want be easily supplied, Sir, if you were to appoint the preachers who may be present to do what you cannot possibly do yourself, to pray and sing without interruption, as at a watchnight?
“This would have several good effects: 1. Experience, as well as the nature of the thing itself, shows every sincere seeker that, as it is the fittest time to ask, and the most ordinary to receive grace, every moment ought to be improved to the best advantage. 2. Continual praying and singing would prevent the wanderings of many, who are not convinced of sin deeply enough, or influenced by grace strongly enough, to mourn and pray without interruption, if they are left to themselves. 3. It would increase the earnestness of believers; for though every one wrestles probably in his own heart both for himself and the congregation, yet their prayers would certainly have more power if united, and the general fire would increase the warmth of their affections. 4. In praying frequently for universal love, as the remembrance of Christ’s bleeding love naturally directs us to do, you would add for many the benefit and comfort of a lovefeast to the advantages that attend the Holy Eucharist. 5. If the prayers were especially calculated for those that receive, is it not probable, Sir, that they would be extremely encouraged to act faith, to touch the hem of Christ’s garment, to cast their burden upon Him, and to lay hold of eternal life, if they heard their weak petitions supported by the fervent prayers of their brethren, at the same time that they feed, or are going to feed, on the blessed signs of Christ’s body and blood?
“It may be objected:—1. That some may prefer to pour out their souls before God according to their different frames, whether it be deadness, desertion, joy, overflowings of humility, repentance, love, etc. And so they might; but I do not see how general prayer and singing would rob them of that liberty, if they thought it more acceptable to God and beneficial to themselves; and their praying in private would not hinder the bulk of the congregation from uniting with joy in the public service. 2. That this method might bring in a confusion greater than the advantages it seems to be attended with. But could not prudence obviate this? I am sure it could; for I have seen that, or something like it, performed in a congregation of a thousand communicants without the least confusion, and to the great edification and comfort of many.
“But you are the best judge, Sir; and if I take the liberty of giving you this hint, to make of it what use you think fit, it is because you said lately in the Society that you heard willingly the observations of your people, and were ready to follow or improve them if they were just and reasonable.
Within three months after this, Fletcher was ordained. On Sunday, March 6, 1757, he received deacon’s orders from the Bishop of Hereford; and priest’s orders on the Sunday following from the Bishop of Bangor, in the Chapel Royal at St. James’s.[18]
On the day he was ordained priest, he hastened to Snowsfields Chapel, to assist Wesley in one of those heavy sacramental services referred to in the foregoing letter. Wesley writes:—