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.