Mr. Fletcher’s Charity and Love of the Poor.
Mr. Fletcher’s income from his living was not more on an average, Mrs. Fletcher says, than £100 per annum; and many of the wealthy people of the Dale objected to pay tythe, which he equally objected to enforce.
“But whether he had less or more, it was the same thing upon his own account (Mrs. Fletcher remarks): as he had no other use for it, after frugally supplying his own wants and the wants of those dependent on him, but to spread the gospel and assist the poor. And he frequently said 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 my drawers it seemed to afford him no comfort. But if he could find a handful of small silver when he was going out to see the sick he would express as much pleasure over it as a miser would in discovering a pan of hid treasure. He was never better pleased with my employment than when he had set me to prepare food or physic for the poor. He was hardly able to relish his dinner if some sick neighbour had not a part of it; and sometimes when any one of them was in want I could not keep the linen in his drawers. On Sundays he provided for numbers of people who came from a distance to hear the word; and his house as well as his heart was devoted to their convenience. To relieve them that were afflicted in body or mind was the delight of his heart. Once a poor man who feared God, being brought into great difficulties, he took down all the pewter from the kitchen shelves, saying—’This will help you, and I can do without it: a wooden trencher will serve me just as well.’ In epidemic and contagions distempers, when the neighbours were afraid to nurse the sick, he has gone from house to house, seeking some that were willing to undertake that office. And when none could be found he has offered his service, to sit up with them himself. But this was at his first coming to Madeley. At present there is in many (and has been for many years) a most ready mind to visit and relieve the distressed.
“He thoroughly complied with that advice—
‘Give to all something: to a good poor man,
Till thou change hands, and be where he began.’“I have heard him say that when he lived alone in his house the tears have come into his eyes when five or six insignificant letters have been brought him, at three or four pence a-piece; and perhaps he had only a single shilling in the house to distribute among the poor to whom he was going. He frequently said to me—’O, Polly, can we not do without beer? Let us drink water, and eat less meat. Let our necessities give way to the extremities of the poor.’
“But with all his generosity and charity he was strictly careful to follow the advice of the apostle, Owe no man any thing. He contracted no debt. While he gave all he had he made it a rule to pay ready-money for everything, believing this was the best way to keep the mind unencumbered and free from care. Meanwhile his substance, his time, his strength, his life, were devoted to the service of the poor. And last of all he gave me to them. For when we were married he asked me solemnly ‘whether I was willing to marry his parish?’ And the first time he led me among his people in this place he said—‘I have not married this wife only for myself, but for you. I asked her of the Lord for your comfort as well as my own.’”
Mr. Fletcher’s Last Illness and Death.
Mr. Fletcher’s wish was to live as he would be likely to wish he had lived when he came to die, a holy life rather than a triumphant death being his main object. A Godly life was the way to a happy death, he stated in one of his sermons; nevertheless, he continued, this rule like many others might have exceptions, as the partial or entire derangement of the human machine, or the self-chastisement of a tender conscience on account of former infidelities might determine.
During the ravages of an infectious fever in the parish he reproved a portion of his flock who from fear of death refrained from rendering assistance to the sick and the dying. “Use every precaution prudence can suggest,” he said, “and meekly but confidently commit yourselves to the gracious Power in whom you live, and then without fear stand firm to the calls of duty. . . . For myself, whenever I shall have numbered the days He may appoint, I shall deem it an additional honour and blessing if He should appoint me to meet my death while I am engaged in the kind offices of humanity and mercy.”
Mr. Fletcher may be said to have had his wish, for he was engaged in visiting the sick and duties of a like kind on the Thursday, (August 4, 1785), from three in the afternoon till nine at night, when on returning home he found he had taken cold. On Friday and Saturday he suffered from fever, and on Sunday he began the service apparently with his usual strength; but he soon faltered. The congregation was alarmed, and Mrs. Fletcher earnestly entreated him to discontinue a task clearly beyond his strength. He recovered on the windows being opened, and preached with remarkable energy and effect. “As soon as he had finished his sermon,” one of his biographers says, “he walked to the communion-table. Here the same affecting scene was renewed with additional solemnity. Tears started from every eye and sighs escaped from every breast, while his people beheld their minister offering up the last languid remains of a life that had been lavishly spent in their service. In going through this last part of his duty he was frequently exhausted, but his spiritual vigour triumphed over his bodily weakness. At length, after having struggled through a service of some hours’ continuance, he was supported, with blessings in his mouth, from the altar to his chamber, where he lay some time in a swoon, and from whence he never walked into the world again. Mr. Fletcher’s friends entered so entirely into his devotional feelings that, they were spared the bitter pang which they would otherwise have experienced from the reflection that these imprudent exertions exasperated his disorder, and proved an acceleration of his death.”
He lingered till the following Sunday, at times greatly edifying his friends with accounts of his experience. Mr. Cox says:—
“After evening service several of the poor who came from a distance, and were usually entertained under his roof, lingered about the house, and at length expressed an earnest desire to be permitted once more to behold their expiring pastor. Their request was granted. The door of his chamber was set open, directly opposite to which he was sitting upright in bed, unaltered in his appearance; and as they slowly passed along the gallery, one by one, they paused at the door, with a look of mingled supplication and anguish.
“A few hours after this affecting scene he breathed his last, without a struggle or a groan. At the moment of his departure Mrs. Fletcher was kneeling by his side; a domestic, who had attended him with uncommon assiduity, was seated at his head; and his respected friend, Mr. Gilpin, was sorrowfully standing near his feet. Uncertain whether he had actually expired, they pressed near, and hung over his bed in the attitude of listening attention. His lips had ceased to move, and his head was gently sinking upon his bosom. They stretched out their hands: but his warfare was accomplished, and his happy spirit had taken its everlasting flight. Such was the end of this eminently holy and laborious servant of God, who entered into rest on the evening of Sunday, August 14, 1785, in the fifty-sixth year of his age.
“Mr. Fletcher had frequently expressed an earnest desire that he might be buried in the plainest manner possible. ‘Let there be no pomp,’ he would say, ‘no expense, no ceremony, at my funeral. The coffin of the parish poor will suit me best.’ To these instructions his affectionate widow religiously adhered. A plain oak coffin, with a brass plate, conveyed his honoured remains to their long home, without a pall, pall-bearers, scarf, or hat-band. But two thousand of his parishioners followed him to the grave, who manifested by all the signs of unaffected sorrow their affliction for their irreparable loss.”