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The Dregs of Life
To Mr Ireland:
“Madeley, September 13th, 1784.
“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; 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 artisan, 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,
“John Fletcher.”