“1785, June 2. About once a quarter, I hear from Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. I grudge his sitting still; but who can help it? I love ease as well as he does; but I dare not take it while I believe there is another world.”[613]
Fletcher’s examination, on this occasion, took place by special arrangement: if he had lived, perhaps, it would afterwards have been a matter of course; for, about the middle of the Conference, he rose, and, addressing Wesley, said:—
“I fear my successor will not be interested in the work of God, and my flock may suffer. I have done what I could. I have built a chapel in Madeley Wood, and I hope, Sir, you will continue to supply it, and that Madeley may still be part of a Methodist Circuit. If you please, I should be glad to be put down in the ‘Minutes’ as a supernumerary.”
Wesley was not easily moved, but even he could hardly bear this, and the preachers burst into tears.[614]
The other incident, to be mentioned, was of a different kind, and is a good illustration of the remarkable allegorical talent which Fletcher possessed, and often exercised, not only in his published works, but in his correspondence, and in conversation among his friends.
On March 31, 1784, Wesley visited Burslem, where Mr. Enoch Wood resided, a Methodist, and an artist of great ability. Mr. Wood prevailed on Wesley to permit him to model a bust from his person; and a considerable number of copies were executed. The likeness was so striking, that, when Wesley looked at the bust, he said to Mr. Wood, “If you touch it again, you will mar it.” Every wrinkle, dimple, and vein of the face and forehead were marked with perfect accuracy. Four months afterwards, Mr. Wood went to the Conference at Leeds, and soon became one of the most popular men there. Samuel Bardsley hoisted the artist on his shoulder; at the moment, Fletcher was passing through the grave-yard, and was told, by the applauding preachers, the name of the hero, so ludicrously exhibited. Fletcher paused a moment, and then said, “Are you the young man who made that beautiful likeness of Mr. Wesley?” Being answered in the affirmative, and having been made acquainted with the whole process of making the bust, he stood on a grave, and, putting his hand on the artist’s shoulder, he began to spiritualize what he had heard, by using it to illustrate the work of God, in the new creation of the human soul, by the power of the Holy Ghost. He spoke of the rough and unpromising materials,—the corrupt nature derived from fallen Adam; he showed how this, by the energy of the Holy Spirit, is softened and melted down into godly sorrow; how it becomes plastic in the hands of the Divine Artist; how it is cast into a new mould: and how it is formed after the likeness of Christ. His extemporaneous address lasted twenty minutes, and was never forgotten by those who heard it.[615]
It may be added that, some years afterwards, Dr. Adam Clarke obtained from Mr. Wood the loan of the original mould, and had a bust cast in solid brass, which is now in the possession of Mr. G. J. Stevenson. This was lent to the sculptor who chiselled the marble effigy of Wesley, now placed in the entrance-hall of the Wesleyan Theological Institution, Richmond. The face and head of the effigy were obtained from it.[616]
On his return to Madeley, Fletcher wrote to his friend, Mr. Ireland, as follows:—
“My Dear Friend,—I keep in my sentry-box till Providence removes me. My situation is quite suited to my little strength. I may do as much or as little as I please, according to my weakness; and I have an advantage, which I can have nowhere else in such a degree,—my little field of action is just at my own door, so that if I happen to overdo myself, I have but to step from my pulpit to my bed, and from my bed to my grave. If I had a body full of vigour, and a purse full of money, I should like well enough to travel about as Mr. Wesley does; but as Providence does not call me to it, I readily submit. The snail does best in its shell; were it to aim at galloping, like the racehorse, it would be ridiculous indeed. My wife is quite of my mind with respect to the call we have to a sedentary life. We are two poor invalids, who between us make half a labourer.
“We shall have tea cheap and light very dear;[617] I don’t admire the change. Twenty thousand chambers walled up, and filled with foul air, are converted into so many dungeons for the industrious artizan, who, being compelled by this murderous tax, denies himself the benefit of light and air. Blessed be God! the light of heaven and the air of the spiritual world are still free.
“My dear partner sweetly helps me to drink the dregs of life, and to carry with ease the daily cross. We are not long for this world—we see it, we feel it; and, by looking at death and his conqueror, we fight beforehand our last battle with that last enemy whom our dear Lord has overcome for us. That we may triumph over him with an humble, Christian courage is the prayer of, my dear friend, yours,
Fletcher’s apprehension of the nearness of death, so far as he was concerned, was realized; but his wife did not die until thirty-one years after this, not a year of which passed without her keeping the anniversary of their wedding-day. In the present year she wrote:—
“1784, November 12. We have been married three years this day. A good day it has been to me! While reflecting on the wonderful goodness of God in my providential union with my dear husband (so far, so very far, beyond my warmest wishes), my heart was enlarged with desire to render to my God a suitable return for all His mercies!”[619]
On her birthday, two months previously, she had written in her journal:—
“September 12. This day I am forty-five years old. I have had such a sense of the goodness of God toward me as I cannot express. I am filled with favours. I have the best of husbands, who daily grows more and more spiritual, and I think more healthful, being far better than when we first married. My call also is so clear, and I have such liberty in the work, and such sweet encouragement among the people. My servant, too, is much improved, and as faithful as if she were my own child. An income quite comfortable, and a good deal to help the poor with! O what shall I render to the Lord for all the mercies He hath shown unto me!”
In this happy home, Fletcher wrote the following happy letter to a youth, his godson, by name John Fennel:—
“Dear John,—I rejoice to hear that you think of a better world; and of that better part which Mary, and your mother—another Mary—chose before you. May all her prayers, and, above all, may the dew of heaven, come down upon your soul in solemn thoughts, heavenly desires, and strong resolutions to be the Lord’s, cost what it will. Let the language of your heart and lips be, ‘I will be a follower of Christ, a child of God, an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.’ A noble promise this! of which I have so peculiar a right to put you in mind. In order to be this happy and holy soul, you must not forget that your Christian name, your Christian vow, and ten thousand reasons beside, bind you to turn your back upon the world, the flesh, and the devil; and to set yourself to look steadfastly to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, your Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.
“Dear John, you have no time to lose. We have calls here to the young without end. I lately buried, in our churchyard, two brothers and sisters in the same grave. Be you also ready! I was praying for you some nights ago on my bed, in my sleepless hours; and I asked for you the faith of righteous Abel, the chastity of Joseph, the early piety of Samuel, the right choice of young Solomon, the self-denial and abstinence of Daniel, together with the early zeal and undaunted courage of his three friends; but, above all, I asked that you might follow John the Baptist and John the Apostle as they followed our Lord. Back, earnestly back my prayers. So shall you be faithful, diligent, godly; a blessing to all around you, and a comfort to your affectionate old friend and minister,
At this period, the Rev. Charles Simeon, a young man of twenty-five, and full of faith and zeal, was rising into great popularity among the Methodist clergymen of the day. He was an intimate friend of Berridge and of Henry Venn; and had recently visited Riland at Birmingham, Cadogan at Reading, Pentycross at Wallingford, and Robinson at Leicester;[621] and now, toward the end of 1784, he came to Fletcher at Madeley. As soon as he entered the vicarage, Fletcher took him by the hand and brought him into the parlour, where the two engaged in prayer. That being ended, Fletcher asked Simeon to preach in the church. After some hesitation, Simeon consented; and away went Fletcher, bell in hand, through the village, and, ringing as loudly as he could, told the people they must attend church, for a young clergyman from Cambridge had come to preach to them.
After the service in the church, Fletcher and his visitor went for a walk, in the course of which they entered the ironworks. Simeon was surprised at the aptitude of Fletcher to turn everything he saw to spiritual profit. To one of the ironworkers, hammering on an anvil, he remarked, “O, pray to God that He may hammer that hard heart of yours.” To another, who was heating a bar of iron, “Ah! thus it is that God tries His children in the furnace of affliction.” And to a third, who was drawing a furnace, “See, Thomas! if you can make such a furnace as that, think what a furnace God can make for sinners.”[622]
Soon after this, Wesley wrote:—
“1784, Monday, December 20. I went to Hinxworth, where I had the satisfaction of meeting Mr. Simeon, Fellow of King’s College in Cambridge. He has spent some time with Mr. Fletcher, at Madeley: two kindred souls; much resembling each other both in fervour of spirit and in the earnestness of their address. He gave me the pleasing information that there are three parishes in Cambridge wherein true Scriptural religion is preached, and several young gentlemen who are happy partakers of it.”[623]
Fletcher, the Madeley revivalist, was closing his last year on earth; Simeon, the Cambridge one, lived and laboured for more than half a century afterwards; and who can say that in Simeon’s life and labours the influence of Fletcher’s spirit and example was not an element?
A few more extracts from Fletcher’s letters, and then the end will come. Already he seemed to be waiting to “gather up his feet,” and die. In a letter to Mrs. Thornton, a friend of the Greenwood family, at Stoke Newington, he wrote:—
“Madeley, January 21, 1785. I make just shift to fill up my little sentry box, by the help of my dear partner. Had we more strength, we should have opportunity enough to exert it. O that we were but truly faithful in our little place! Your great stage of London is too high for people of little ability and little strength; and, therefore, we are afraid of venturing upon it. We should be glad to rise high in usefulness; but God, who needs us not, calls us to sink in deep resignation and humility. His will be done!”[624]
Three weeks later, he wrote to the Right Hon. Lady Mary Fitzgerald, as follows:—
“Madeley, February 11, 1785. Who are we, my lady, that we should not be swallowed up by the holy, loving, living Spirit, who fills heaven and earth? Whether we consider it or not, there He is, a true, holy, loving, merciful God. Assent to it, my lady, believe it; rejoice in it. Let Him be God, all in all; your God in Christ Jesus. What an ocean of love to swim in—to dive into!”[625]
From Fletcher’s letter to Wesley in 1755, and his “Socinianism Unscriptural,” written during the last years of his life, it is undeniably evident that Fletcher was a Millenarian. The following letter, to Mr. Henry Brooke, of Dublin, refers to the same subject, but shows that he was not so confident with respect to some of his views as he had been heretofore—
“My Dear Brother,—We are all shadows. Your mortal parent has passed away; and we must pass away after him. A lesson I learn daily, is to see things and persons in their invisible root, and in their eternal principle; where they are not subject to change, decay, and death; but where they blossom and shine in the primæval excellence allotted them by their gracious Creator. By this means, I learn to walk by faith, and not by sight. Tracing His image, in all the footsteps of nature, and finding out that which is of God in ourselves, is the true wisdom, genuine godliness. I hope you will never be afraid, nor ashamed of it. I see no danger in these studies and meditations, provided we still keep the end in view—the all of God, and the shadowy nothingness of all that is visible.
“With respect to the great Pentecostal display of the Spirit’s glory, I still look for it within and without; and to look for it aright is the lesson I am learning. I am now led to be afraid of that in my nature, which would be for pomp, show, and visible glory. I am afraid of falling, by such an expectation, into what I call a spiritual Judaizing; into a looking for Christ’s coming in my own pompous conceit, which might make me reject Him, if His wisdom, to crucify mine, chose to come in a meaner way: if, instead of coming in His Father’s glory, He chose to come meek, riding, not on the cherubim, but on the foal of an ass. Our Saviour said, with respect to His going to the feast, ‘My time is not yet come:’ whether His time to come and turn the thieves and buyers out of the outward church is yet come, I know not. I doubt Jerusalem, and the holy place, are yet given to be trodden under foot by the Gentiles. But my Jerusalem! why it is not swallowed up of that which comes down from heaven, is a question which I wait to be solved by the teaching of the great Prophet, who is alone possessed of Urim and Thummim. The mighty power to wrestle with Him is all divine: and I often pray,—
“In short, the Lord crucifies my wisdom and my will every way; but I must be crucified as the thieves. All my bones must be broken; for there is still in me that impatience of wisdom, which would stir, when the tempter says, ‘Come down from the cross.’ It is not for us to know the times and seasons, the manner and mystical means of God’s working; but only to hunger and thirst, and lie passive before the great Potter. I begin to be content to be a vessel of clay or of wood, so that I may be emptied of self, and filled with my God, my all.
“I am exceeding glad that your dear partner goes on simply and believingly. Such a companion is a great blessing; for when two shall agree touching one thing in prayer, it shall be done. My wife and I endeavour to fathom the meaning of that deep promise. Join us, and let us search after that which exceeds knowledge—I mean the wisdom, and the power, the love, and the faithfulness of God.
“Adieu! Be God’s, as the French say, and see God is yours in Christ, for you,[627] for brothers Dugdale, Shannon, Pickering, Mrs. Blashford, etc.
It must be confessed that there is a little mysticism in Fletcher’s letter; but let it pass. The next was written a month later. The Rev. Peard Dickenson was now in the twenty-sixth year of his age. He had been ordained a deacon, on June 16, 1783, and, a few months afterwards, had been ordained a priest by the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was now the Curate of the venerable Vicar of Shoreham, the Rev. Vincent Perronet, and wrote to Fletcher, asking his advice respecting pastoral visitation. Fletcher replied, as follows:—
“Dear Sir,—I did not answer your obliging letter, because I thought it would be presumption in me to advise you, when you have my reverend father, Mr. Perronet, to advise with. To send a line, in those circumstances, appeared to me like ‘sending coals to Newcastle.’
“However, having now an opportunity to forward a letter to London, I shall say what I have thought on the subject. It is exceeding well to visit from house to house, even the Infidels, to feel their pulse, and to see whether they do not begin to entertain more favourable thoughts of ‘the pearl of great price’ than grunting ‘swine’ or snarling ‘dogs’ generally do. Such visits, half upon the footing of Christian love, and half upon the footing of human civility, may tend to remove prejudices. In some cases, writing a letter with tenderness, or giving a little tract suited to the circumstances of the person, may clear our own conscience, though it should do him no good.
“My love, respects, and duty, to your venerable Vicar, who, I am told, is now your grandfather.[629] I hope the report is well grounded; and, if it is, I wish you joy on entering into so respectable a family; and I wish you and your partner all the help and comfort I find in mine; who, as well as myself, desires to be kindly remembered to all the dear family at Shoreham.
“I am, dear Sir, your affectionate brother and servant in Christ,
The Rev. Melville Horne was one of Fletcher’s protegees. At Wesley’s Conference, in 1784, he had been “admitted on trial,” as a Methodist Itinerant Preacher, and appointed to the Liverpool circuit. It is well known that, after this, he obtained episcopal ordination, became curate at Madeley, published a collection of Fletcher’s letters in 1791, went as a missionary to Western Africa, and, on his return to England, rose to considerable distinction. Fletcher had lent the young itinerant certain books, and now wrote to him the following letter, which refers to a practice which must have been of recent adoption. Romaine made it a rule to read nothing but the Bible; wisely or unwisely, Fletcher had begun, to some extent, to copy his example:—
“Dear Brother,—I am sorry you should have been uneasy about the books. I received them safely, after they had lain for some days at Salop. I seldom look into any book but my Bible; not out of contempt, as if I thought they cannot teach me what I do not know; but because, ‘Vita brevis, ars longa,’ I may never look into them again.
“Go on improving yourself by reading, but above all by meditation and prayer: and allow our Lord to refine you in the fire of temptation. Where you see a want, at home or abroad, within or without, look upon that want as a warning to avoid the cause of the leanness you perceive, and a call to secure the blessings which are ready to take their flight; for sometimes ‘the true riches,’ like those of this world, make themselves wings and flee away. The heavenly dove may be grieved, and take its flight to humbler and more peaceful roofs. I am glad you do not want hard or violent measures: I hope you will never countenance them, no, not against what you dislike. I believe things will turn out very well at the Conference, and I shall be a witness of it, if the Lord gives me a commission to be a spectator of the order and quietness of those who shall be there. If not, I shall help you by prayer to draw the blessing of love upon our friends.[631]
“In being moderate, humble, and truly desirous to be a Christian,—that is, to be the least, the last, and the servant of all, we avoid running ourselves into difficulties; we escape many temptations, and many mortifying disappointments. For my part, as I expect nothing from men, they cannot disappoint me; and, as I expect all good things from God, in the time, way, measure, and manner it pleaseth Him to bestow, here I cannot be disappointed; because He does, and will do, all things well.
“I trust you labour for God and souls, not for praise and self. When the latter are our aim, God, in mercy, blesses us with barrenness, that we may give up Barabbas, and release the humble Jesus, whom we crucify afresh by setting the thief on the throne, and the Lord of glory as our footstool: for so do those who preach Christ out of contention, or that they may have the praise of men.
“That God may bless you and your labours is the prayer of your old brother,
A capital letter for a young Methodist preacher, like Melville Horne, who, six years afterwards, published it for the benefit of all Methodist probationers.
At this time, fever was raging at Madeley. Mr. W. Bosanquet, in an unpublished letter, addressed to his sister, Mrs. Fletcher, and dated “Bishopsgate Street, May 16, 1785,” observed:—
“I am very happy to hear that both you and Mr. Fletcher have escaped the fevers, having been so much among them. The poor must feel themselves greatly obliged for this; for it is of much more use to visit them when sick than even to give them money.”
The revered Vicar of Shoreham, the Rev. Vincent Perronet, died exactly a week before the date of this letter, and was buried on May 14, by Charles Wesley, who wrote to Mrs. Fletcher, as follows:—
“My Dear Sister,—If you love Mr. Fletcher, you ought to love the poor Methodists; for to their prayers you owe him, and he you. I found words, and the people faith, while we heard, at Bristol” (in 1776), “that our friend was just departing.[633] You have been the instrument of adding some years to his valuable life. Remember, for the short time that I shall want your prayers, my dear friend, your old faithful servant,
“C. Wesley.”
And then, on the same sheet, the poet of Methodism wrote to Fletcher himself the following:—
“My Very Dear Brother,—You ought to have paid the last office, instead of me, to our most venerable Archbishop at Shoreham. On Sunday, I deposited the sacred ashes in his partner’s grave, and preached twice. His death was such as his life promised. For many years, he breathed the pure spirit of love. The survivor who follows him nearest is longo proximus intervallo.
“A fortnight ago, I preached the condemned sermon to above twenty criminals. Every one of them, I have good grounds to believe, died penitent. Twenty more must die next week.
“Sally presents her duty and love: the rest join. Direct to me in Marylebone, and help me to depart in peace.”[634]
This, probably, was the last letter which Fletcher received from his old and loving friend. Within three years afterwards, Charles Wesley did “depart in peace.” Fletcher’s last letters, written eight weeks after the date of the foregoing, were addressed to James Ireland, Esq., and to Lady Mary Fitzgerald. It has been already stated that fever was fatally prevalent at Madeley in the summer of 1785, and an extract from a letter written by William Bosanquet, Esq., expressing his happiness that Fletcher and his wife had escaped the pestilence, has been already given. Soon after that, the sister of Mr. Bosanquet caught the infection; and Fletcher wrote as follows to Mr. Ireland:—
“Madeley, July 19, 1785.
“My Dear Friend,—Blessed be God, we are still alive, and, in the midst of many infirmities, we enjoy a degree of health, spiritually and bodily. O how good was the Lord, to come as Son of man to live here for us, and to come in His Spirit to live in us for ever! This is a mystery of godliness. The Lord make us full witnesses of it!
“A week ago, I was tried to the quick by a fever with which my dear wife was afflicted. Two persons, whom she had visited, having been carried off, within a pistol-shot of our house, I dreaded her being the third. But the Lord has heard prayer, and she is spared. Oh, what is life! ‘On what a slender thread hang everlasting things!’ My comfort, however, is, that this thread is as strong as the will of God, and the word of His grace, which cannot be broken.
“That grace and peace, love and thankful joy, may ever attend you is the wish of your most obliged friends,
The day after this, he wrote the following to the Right Honorable Lady Mary Fitzgerald:—
“Hon. and Dear Lady,—We have received your kind letter, and have mournfully acquiesced in the will of our heavenly Father, who, by various infirmities and providences, weans us from ourselves and our friends, that we may be His without reserve. It was, perhaps, a peculiar mercy that Providence blocked up your way to this place this summer. A bad putrid fever carries off several people in these parts. Two of our neighbours died of it last week; and my wife, who had visited them, was taken in so violent a manner, that I was obliged to offer her up to God in good earnest, as an oblation worthy a son of Abraham. I hope the worst is over; but her weakness will long preach to me, as well as my own.
“Dying people, we live in the midst of dying people. O let us live in sight of a dying, rising Saviour; and the prospect of death will become first tolerable, and then joyous! Or, if we weep, as our Lord, at the grave of our friends, or at the side of their deathbeds, we shall triumph in hope that all will be for the glory of God, and the good of our souls.
Twenty-five days after writing this, his last letter, Fletcher himself was dead. His wife, who had so narrowly escaped becoming a victim to the prevailing fever, shall tell the remainder of his earthly story. The day after the funeral, she wrote a letter to Wesley, a copy of which she immediately gave to Fletcher’s “old friend, Winifred Edmunds, whose son,” says she, “prints it for the satisfaction of many who have made applications for some account of God’s dealings with my beloved husband. I consider this a debt I owe to his dear orphans at Madeley; and, as it is probable I may be called away by the same fever, perhaps this may be the last office of love I can yield them.” The title of the publication was, “A Letter to the Rev. Mr. Wesley, on the Death of the Rev. Mr. Fletcher, Vicar of Madeley, in Shropshire. Madeley: Printed by J. Edmunds.” 16mo, 16 pp. About the same time, however, Mrs. Fletcher wrote a much longer account, which was printed with the following title: “A Letter to Mons. H. L. de la Flechere, Assessor Ballival of Nyon, in the Canton of Berne, Switzerland, on the Death of his Brother, the Reverend John William De la Flechere, Twenty-five Years Vicar of Madeley, Shropshire. London, 1786.” 12mo, 64 pp. From these two publications, the following account is taken. Writing to Fletcher’s brother, the mourning widow said:—
“As there is no one to whom my dearest husband was more closely united than yourself, so there is no one who can more tenderly sympathize with me in a loss so mutual. You have expressed a desire to receive from my own pen some account of a life the most angelic I have ever known; and I will endeavour to comply with your request as far as my weak state of body and torn nerves will permit.
“From the beginning, he was a laborious workman in his Lord’s vineyard, till he had spent himself in the best of services and was ripening fast for glory. Those sinners who fled from him he pursued to every corner of his parish by all sorts of ways, public and private, early and late, in season and out of season, entreating and warning them to flee from the wrath to come. Some made it an excuse for not attending the service on Sunday mornings that they did not awake early enough to get their families ready. He promised to be their watchman; and, taking a bell in his hand, was accustomed, at five in the morning, to go round the more distant parts of the parish, reminding the inhabitants of their invitation to the house of God.
“But he did not confine his labours to this parish. For many years, he regularly preached at places eight, ten, or sixteen miles distant, returning home the same night, though he seldom reached it before one or two in the morning. At a little Society, which he had gathered about six miles from Madeley, he preached two or three times in a week at five in the morning. As to visiting the sick, this was a duty for which he was ever ready. If he heard the knocker in the middle of the coldest winter night, his window was instantly thrown up, and the uniform answer was, ‘I will attend you immediately.’
“His frequent journeys to Trevecca, where he superintended a college of young men designed for the ministry, added much to his other fatigues,—riding on bad roads and wading through waters. Very often, in travelling through Wales, he was obliged to lie in damp and unsuitable lodgings; which, I have heard him observe, gave a deep stroke to his constitution.
“With regard to the success of his labours, it is a subject on which he has so often stopped my mouth that I will only say, besides the great reformation that has taken place in this parish, as to outward behaviour, he has left behind him a goodly company of upright, earnest people, whom he had gathered into little Societies, and who now mourn, as sheep bereaved of their dear shepherd.
“Never did I behold any one more dead to the things of the world. I have heard him say he was never happier than when he had given away the last penny he had in the house. If at any time I had gold in the drawer, it seemed to afford him no comfort; but if he could find a handful of small silver when going out to visit the sick, he would express as much pleasure over it as a miser would in discovering a bag of hidden treasure. He was never better pleased with my employment than when he had set me to prepare food or physic for the poor. He could hardly relish his dinner if some sick neighbour had not a part; nor could I sometimes keep the linen in his drawers for the same reason. On Sabbath days, he provided refreshments for numbers of people who came from a distance to hear the Word, and his house was devoted to their convenience. Once a poor widow, who feared God, being brought into difficulties, he immediately took all his pewter from the kitchen shelves, saying, ‘This I can do without; it will relieve your want, and a wooden trencher serves me better.’ Sometimes, in epidemic disorders, when the neighbours were afraid to nurse the sick, he has gone from house to house seeking help for them; and, when none could be found, has offered to sit up with the sick himself. In his younger years, he was ready to weep when five or six letters were brought, at threepence or fourpence a-piece, and he, perhaps, had only a shilling in the house to distribute among the poor to whom he was going. Frequently would he say to me, ‘O Mary, cannot we do without beer? Let us drink water, and buy less meat, that our necessities may give way to the extremities of the poor.’ But with all his charity, he was careful to avoid debts. While he gave all he could, he made it a rule to pay ready money for everything, believing this was the only way to keep the mind free from cares.
“He always had a steady, firm reliance upon the love and faithfulness of God. Sometimes, when I have expressed a fear of trials, he would answer, ‘The Lord orders all, and I leave everything to Him. I always seem conscious He gives His angels charge concerning us, and therefore think we are equally safe everywhere.’ He had many remarkable deliverances. Sometimes, both himself and his horse, in dark nights, have fallen down steep places, and yet both have been preserved. Once, I believe in Wales, in passing over a wooden bridge it broke asunder, and he and his mare sank into the river, but both got safe to land.
“A little before his last illness, being on his knees in prayer for light whether he should go to London or not,[637] the answer seemed to him, ‘No, not to London, but to your grave.’ Acquainting me with this, he said, with a heavenly smile, ‘Satan would represent this as something awful, the cold grave, the cold grave!’ On the following Sabbath (which I think was the next day), the anthem sung in the church was the Twenty-third Psalm. On his return home, he observed how the words of the Psalm had been blest to him; and from that time he seemed to be without the least temptation.
“Still, there was scarce a night but some part of it was spent in groans for the souls and bodies of those committed to his care. I really dreaded his hearing either of the sins or sufferings of any of his people before he went to bed, knowing how strong the impression would be upon his mind.
“In the last years of his life, he never, except once, travelled far from home without being in danger of a relapse into his consumption; and after his return, he would be weeks before he recovered his usual strength. He also sometimes said to me that, though he had been engaged in the work of the Lord in various places and situations, the seasons of his closest communion with God were always in his own house and church.
“With regard to his communion with God, he constantly endeavoured to maintain an uninterrupted sense of the Divine presence. In order to this, he was slow of speech, and had the greatest government of his words. He acted, he spake, he thought, as under the immediate eye of God. Thus setting God always before him, he remained unmoved, at all times possessing internal recollection. I never saw him diverted therefrom on any occasion whatever. I travelled with him above a thousand miles, during which journeys neither change of company, place, nor circumstances ever seemed to make the least difference in his fixed attention to the presence of God. He was always striving to raise his own and every other spirit into close and immediate intercourse with God; and I can say, with truth, that all his union with me was so mingled with prayer and praise, that every employment and every meal were perfumed therewith.
“Some time ago, when the fever began to rage among us, he preached a sermon on visiting the sick; in which he seemed to be carried out of himself, observing, ‘What do you fear? You are afraid of catching the distemper, and of dying with those who have it. O fear no more! What an honour to die in your Master’s service! If this were permitted to me, I should esteem it a singular favour.’
“During the last few months, though his health and strength sensibly increased, he was constantly crying out for dying grace. Often would he say, ‘O Mary, I am afraid lest we should have our good things here. Let us look up. Let us live above all. We have one foot in the grave.’ He scarcely ever lay down or rose up without repeating—
“There was scarce an hour in which he was not calling upon me to drop every thought and every care, that we might attend to nothing but drinking deeper into God. We spent much time in prayer for the fulness of the Spirit, and were led to an act of abandonment (as we called it) of our whole selves into the hands of God, to do or to suffer whatever was pleasing to Him.
“On Thursday, August 4, he was occupied in the work of God from three in the afternoon till nine at night; when he came home, and said, ‘I have taken cold.’ On Friday and Saturday, he was poorly; but went out part of each day, and seemed uncommonly drawn out in prayer.
“On Saturday night, his fever first appeared very strong. I begged him not to go to the church in the morning; but to let a pious brother,[638] who was with us, preach in the yard; but he told me, it was the will of the Lord that he should go. When I met a little company of our pious women, on Sunday morning, I begged they would pray that he might be strengthened. In reading the prayers, he almost fainted. I got through the crowd, with a friend, and entreated him to come out of the desk, as did some others; but, in his sweet manner, he let us know we were not to interrupt the order of God. I then retired to my pew. All around me were in tears. When he was a little refreshed, by the windows being opened and a nosegay thrown into the desk by a friend, he proceeded with the service. Going into the pulpit, he preached with a strength and recollection which surprised us all. In his first prayer, he said, ‘Lord, Thou wilt manifest Thy strength in weakness. We confer not with flesh and blood; but put our trust under the shadow of Thy wings.’
“His text was, ‘O Lord, Thou preservest man and beast. How excellent is Thy lovingkindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Thy wings.’ After sermon, he went up the aisle to the communion-table, with these words, ‘I am going to throw myself under the wings of the cherubim, before the mercy-seat.’ The congregation was large, and the service lasted till nearly two o’clock. Sometimes he could scarcely stand, and was often obliged to stop for want of power to speak. The people were deeply affected. Weeping was on every side. Notwithstanding his extreme weakness, he gave out several verses of hymns, and uttered various lively sentences of exhortation.
“As soon as the service was over, we hurried him away to bed, where he immediately fainted. He then dropped into a sleep for some time; and, when he awoke, he cried out, with a pleasant smile, ‘Now, my dear, thou seest I am no worse for doing the Lord’s work. He never fails me when I trust in Him.’ He dozed most of the evening, now and then awaking full of the praises of God. At night, his fever returned, and his strength decreased amazingly.
“On Monday and Tuesday, he lay on a couch in the study, was at times very restless, but often slept. When awake, he was delighted in hearing me read hymns, and tracts on faith and love. His words were animating, and his patience beyond expression. I asked, ‘Hast thou any conviction that the Lord is about to take thee?’ He answered, ‘No, not in particular; only I always see death so near, that we both seem to stand on the verge of eternity.’ Sometimes he would say, ‘O Polly! shall I ever see the day when thou must be carried out to be buried? I shrink at giving my dear Polly to the worms.’ Awaking on one occasion, he said, ‘It was Israel’s fault that they asked for signs. We will not do so; but, abandoning our whole selves into the hands of God, we will there lie patiently, assured that He will do all things well.’
“On Wednesday, August 10, he told me, he had received such a manifestation of the full meaning of the words, ‘God is love,’ as he could not tell. ‘It fills me,’ he said, ‘it fills me every moment. O Polly! my dear Polly! God is love! Shout! Shout aloud! Oh! it so fills me, that I want a gust of praise to go to the ends of the earth. But it seems as if I could not speak much longer. Let us fix upon a sign between ourselves’ (tapping me twice with his finger). ‘By this I mean God is love, and we will draw each other into God. Observe! by this we will draw each other into God.’ Sally coming in, he cried, ‘O Sally! God is love! Shout, both of you! I want to hear you shout His praise!’ All this time, his medical attendant hoped he was in no danger. He knew his disease to be the fever; but, as he had no bad headache, slept much without the least delirium, and had an almost regular pulse, the symptoms were thought to be favourable.
“On Thursday, August 11, his speech began to fail; but to his friendly doctor he would not be silent while he had any power to speak, often saying, ‘O Sir, you take much thought for my body; give me leave to take thought for your soul.’ When I could scarcely understand anything he said, I spoke the words, ‘God is love!’ Instantly he caught them, and broke out in a rapture, ‘God is love, love, love! O for the gust of praise I want to sound!’ Here his voice again failed. If I named his sufferings, he would smile, and make the sign.
“On Friday, August 12, finding his body covered with spots, I so far understood them as to feel a sword pierce through my soul. As I knelt by his bed, with my hand in his, intreating the Lord to be with us in this tremendous hour, he strove to say many things, but could not. At length, pressing my hand, and often repeating the sign, he breathed out, ‘Head of the Church, be head to my wife!’ Sally said to him, ‘My dear master, do you know me?’ He replied, ‘Sally, God will put His right hand under you.’ She added, ‘O my dear master, should you be taken away, what a disconsolate creature will my poor mistress be!’ He answered, ‘God will be her all in all.’ He had always delighted in the lines—
“When I repeated them to him, he cried, ‘Boundless, boundless!’ and added, though with great difficulty—
“On the afternoon of Saturday, August 13, while a few Christian friends were standing near his bed, he stretched out his hand to each of them, and, to a minister, remarked, ‘Are you ready to assist to-morrow?’ One asked, ‘Do you think the Lord will raise you up?’ He strove to answer, ‘Raise in resur... raise in resur....’ To another, who put the same question, he replied, ‘I leave it all to God.’ I said, ‘My dear creature, I ask not for myself, but for the sake of others. If Jesus is very present with thee, lift thy right hand.’ He did so. I added, ‘If the prospect of glory opens before thee, repeat the sign.’ He raised his hand again; and, in half a minute, a second time. After this, his dear hands moved no more; but, on my asking, ‘Art thou in much pain?’ he answered, ‘No.’
“From this time, he entered into a kind of sleep, though with his eyes open and fixed. Twenty-four hours, my dearly beloved breathed like a person in common sleep; and then, at thirty-five minutes past ten on Sunday night, August 14, his precious soul entered into the joy of his Lord, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. I was scarce a minute at a time from him, night or day, during his illness, and I can truly say—
“And here I break off my mournful story. On my bleeding heart, his fair picture of heavenly excellence will be for ever drawn. When I call to mind his ardent zeal, his laborious endeavours to seek and save the lost, his diligence in the employment of his time, his Christlike condescension towards me, and his uninterrupted converse with heaven, I may well be allowed to add, my loss is beyond the power of words to paint.
“On August 17, his dear remains were deposited in Madeley churchyard; amid the tears and lamentations of thousands, who flocked about the bier of their dead pastor. Between the house and the church, they sung these verses:—
“The service was performed by the Rev. Mr. Hatton, Rector of Waters-Upton, whom the Lord moved, in a pathetic manner, to speak to the weeping flock. At my request, he read the following paper:—[639]
“‘It was the desire of my beloved husband to be buried in this plain manner, and, out of tenderness, he begged that I might not be present. In all things I would obey him.
“‘Permit me, by the mouth of a friend, to bear my testimony, to the glory of God, that I never knew anyone walk so closely with God as he did. The Lord gave him a conscience tender as the apple of an eye. He literally preferred the interest of every one to his own. He shared his all with the poor, who lay so close his heart, that, when his speech was so gone that he could utter nothing without difficulty, he cried out, “O my Poor! What will become of my Poor?” He was blessed with so great a degree of humility as is scarcely to be found. I am witness, how often he has taken real pleasure in being treated with contempt. It seemed the very food of his soul, to be little and unknown. When he said to me, “Thou wilt write a line or two to my brother in Switzerland, if I die,” I replied, “My dear, dear love, I will write him all the Lord’s dealings with thee.” “No, no,” said he, “write nothing about me. I only desire to be forgotten. God is all.”
“‘His diligent visitation of the sick laid the foundation of the spotted fever of which he died; and his vehement desire to take his last leave of you, with dying lips and hands, gave (it is supposed) the finishing stroke, by preparing his blood for putrefaction. Thus did he live and die your servant.
“‘He walked with death always in sight. About two months ago, he came to me and said, “My dear love, I know not how it is, but I have a strange impression death is very near us, as if it would be a sudden stroke upon one of us; and it draws out my soul in prayer that we may be ready.” He then broke out, “Lord, prepare the soul Thou wilt call; and, O stand by the poor disconsolate one who shall be left behind!”
“‘Three years, nine months, and two days, I have possessed my heavenly-minded husband; but now the sun of my earthly joy is set for ever.’”
This is a very artless story; but it is not less valuable because of that. Mrs. Fletcher sent a copy to Charles Wesley, together with the following note:—