That Sabbath Day had scarcely spent itself when from earthly sleep Jean Guillaume De La Fléchère entered into eternal waking, so one in spirit with his Lord that the change could have been no more surprising than to Enoch of old.
To the woman who knelt at his bedside until that last dread moment, the parting was no ordinary sorrow.
“I am truly a desolate woman, who hath no helper but Thee!” she wailed.
“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! and my soul is filled with an anguish which only finds its consolation in a total abandonment and resignation to the will of God.
“That awful night, when I had hung over my dear husband for many hours, expecting every breath to be his last, and during which time he could hot speak to, nor take any notice of me, a flood of unspeakable sorrow overspread my heart, and quite overwhelmed my spirit... My fatigue had been great; I was barely recovered from my fever, and this stroke so tore my nerves that it was an inlet to much temptation In former parts of my life I have felt deep sorrow, but such were now my feelings that no words I am able to think of can convey an adequate idea thereof.
“The next morning, O my God! what a cup didst Thou put into my hand! Not only my beloved husband, but, it appeared to me, my Saviour also was torn from me! Clouds and darkness surrounded both soul and body The sins even of my infancy came before me, and assaulted me as thick as hail! I seemed to have no love, no faith, no light—and yet I could not doubt but I should see the smiling face of God in glory!...An unshaken belief that Christ would bring me through all, was my great support; and it seemed to me that I must have been annihilated had I been moved from that anchor... All my religion seemed shrunk into one point, viz., a constant cry, ’Thy will be done! I will, yes; I will glorify Thee! even in this fire.’”
It was at first a matter of some distress to Mrs. Fletcher that she must leave the home where they had been so happy together Every other place alike looked desolate To her relief it was arranged that she should rent the Vicarage as long as she wished to do so, working as she chose among the people of the parish The son of the patron of the living became the new Vicar, and as he did not intend to reside at Madeley Mrs. Fletcher was allowed to recommend the Curate.
Thus, by God’s grace, was the labour of the saintly Vicar carried on and confirmed. The sweetness of his spirit lingered in fragrant influence upon the hearts of those whom he had blessed in life, and though eulogies abound of his remarkable talent, his gentle courtesy, his unfailing kindness, his beauty of holiness, none who spoke of him could ever forget that for himself he had only claimed the position which almost every morning and evening of his later life he had thus defined:—
I nothing have, I nothing am;
My treasure’s in the bleeding Lamb,
Both now and evermore.
In the desolate stillness of Madeley Vicarage, where she lived for thirty years after bidding him farewell, Mrs. Mary Fletcher performed the last bit of earthly service she might do in the name of her beloved; she wrote the inscription, which appears on the following page, for his tombstone in the old churchyard they had so often crossed side by side.