FLETCHER OF MADELEY.

FLETCHER OF MADELEY.

BY THE REV.
FREDERIC W. MACDONALD,
Theological Tutor, Handsworth College,
Birmingham.

London:
HODDER AND STOUGHTON,
27, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCLXXXV.

Butler & Tanner,
The Selwood Printing Works,
Frome, and London.

PREFACE.

I have to express my obligations to the Rev. L. Tyerman for the help I have received in writing this little book from his life of Fletcher, published two years ago under the title of "Wesley's Designated Successor." Mr. Tyerman's labours in the sphere of Methodist history and biography are too well known to require any word of commendation from me. It may be enough to say that he has made it impossible for any one to study the history of the great movement with which the names of Wesley, Whitefield, and Fletcher are associated, without having recourse to his volumes. There may be differences of opinion respecting Mr. Tyerman's judgments upon men and things; there can be none whatever as to his patient, laborious research, and perfect honesty in the use of his ample materials.

I am also much indebted to my friends the Rev. George Mather, now of Falmouth, and Mr. George Stampe, of Great Grimsby, for the opportunity of examining a considerable number of Fletcher's manuscripts, hitherto unpublished. It was not to be expected that fresh light could be thrown on Fletcher's character, but these papers have enabled me to supply some links, and add a few details to the story of his life.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.

There is reason to think that the interest felt in the Evangelical Revival of the last century, after declining for awhile, is again steadily increasing. It may be said that this quickened interest is but part of a larger intellectual movement, of a reaction, in which we have passed from undue disparagement of the eighteenth century to an exaggerated estimate of its importance and value. Nor is it likely, when eighteenth century forms of literature, philosophy, and social life are being studied with so much sympathy, that the most prominent event in its religious history would escape attention.

There is some truth in this, but it is not the whole account of the matter. The fact is, and we are continually being reminded of it, the consequences of the Revival are by no means exhausted. We are not yet at the end of its manifestations; and though some of its later forms have new and striking features of their own, their relation to the original movement is attested both by historic descent and by inward resemblances and affinities. So long as this is the case, and the Revival, or Reformation, of a century and a half ago is still amongst the living forces that influence society, the interest with which its rise and progress are regarded will continue. Active Christian spirits will seek to understand and respond to its newer developments; and others, whether in sympathy with those developments or not, will be obliged to take account of them, and assign them, as far as possible, to their true succession and order.

In addition to its direct, historical consequences, moreover, time is continually discovering or suggesting remoter and more complicated results of the Evangelical Revival, thus rendering the study of the whole question at once more difficult and more attractive. What were its real relations, if any, to the teaching of Coleridge, the points of agreement and divergence, of attraction and repulsion between it and that original and influential mind, to which so many, who in their turn have influenced the course of religious thought in England, have confessed themselves supremely indebted? What is the connexion, revealed both by resemblances and by contrasts, between the Evangelical Revival of the eighteenth century and the Tractarian or Anglo-Catholic movement of the nineteenth, between the Oxford of John and Charles Wesley and the Oxford of Keble and Pusey and Newman? What has the Revival contributed to the gradual but unmistakable change that has come over the theology of the Calvinistic Churches; and, again, to the progress of democracy in Church and State? As regards some at least of these questions, it is too soon to look for precise and final answers; but their relevance will be admitted, and the evidence by which they must be determined accumulates from year to year.

While the interest in the Evangelical movement is thus reinforced from various quarters, time, in the exercise of its kindliest office, has removed a principal hindrance to a fair appreciation of it. Justice is now generally done to the character of its leaders, and the existing differences of opinion as to the value of their work are, for the most part, differences of which there is no need to be ashamed. It is no longer necessary to vindicate their memory from ignoble charges of fanaticism, hypocrisy, or ambition. To slander Wesley, or to ridicule Whitefield, has ceased to bring profit or to give pleasure to any one. Hardly a month passes but a monument is erected, a eulogy pronounced, a tribute paid to one or other of the men who, a hundred and fifty years ago, brought new life to the English Church and nation. Their reputation is not now a charge upon the loyalty of particular bodies of Christians, at once doing battle for themselves and for the character of their fathers and founders; they belong to the Churches, which are many, to the Church, which is One, and their names are in the keeping of the general company of Christians far and near.

And this change from the strife and bitterness of former days has come about, as such changes are wont to come, not so much by valiant advocacy or successful disputation, as by the sure working of God upon the hearts of men, enabling them to "discern between the righteous and the wicked, between him that serveth God and him that serveth Him not." Sooner or later this discernment comes, stealing through a thousand channels of conviction into the heart and conscience of a people, no one knows precisely when or how; and far more weighty than any formal acts of canonization are the verdicts by which the conscience of after ages names its benefactors and heroes, often to the reversal of the passionate judgments of earlier times. The monument of the Wesleys is in Westminster Abbey; Whitefield's grave is in America; Fletcher's ashes lie in Madeley churchyard. Each has his record in a fitting inscription; but their common epitaph, as men once persecuted for righteousness' sake, but now to be had in everlasting remembrance, was written long before: "This was he whom we had sometimes in derision, and a proverb of reproach; we fools accounted his life madness, and his end to be without honour: how is he to be numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the saints!... The righteous live for evermore; their reward also is with the Lord, and the care of them is with the Most High."

In the minutes of the Methodist Conference which met at Bristol, in July, 1786, the following entry occurs:

"Q. Who has died this year?

"A. John Fletcher, a pattern of all holiness, scarce to be paralleled in a century."

Such is the brief record that marks the passing away of a man whose place in the love and veneration of Wesley and of the Methodists was unique. Second only to the great leader himself in his influence, and in the special character of that influence leaving even Wesley behind, Fletcher's loss was the greatest sustained by the Revival from the death of Whitefield, in 1770, to that of Wesley, in 1791. One word in the short obituary notice reveals the secret of his power; it was holiness.

The term saint, in the New Testament extended to all the members of Christ, is often used colloquially to describe any one who, in comparison with worldly men or mere formal Christians, is conspicuous for reality and earnestness of spiritual life; but it may be applied to Fletcher in that last and highest sense, which makes it so rare a designation even of the best men. He possessed in an exceptional degree the qualities that constitute saintliness: deep humility and transparent purity, absolute unworldliness, with love unfailing, and patience that had its perfect work. The impression that he made upon those with whom he came in contact has been renewed upon biographers and historians.

"Fletcher was a saint," is the testimony of earlier and later witnesses. To none of his associates in the great Revival, the goodliest company of Christian men the age possessed, is this testimony borne in the same sense and with the same entire agreement. He was excelled by them in one respect and another; he could not, for example, sustain comparison for a moment with Wesley in the commanding powers, intellectual and moral, that have placed him among the greatest leaders of the Church Catholic; but for seraphic piety, for sanctity that had no perceptible spot or flaw, Fletcher of Madeley stood alone. This is the deliberate judgment of those who knew him best. Of these Wesley was the chief. In the funeral sermon which he preached soon after Fletcher's death he said: "I was intimately acquainted with him for above thirty years. I conversed with him morning, noon, and night, without the least reserve, during a journey of many hundred miles. And in all that time I never heard him speak an improper word, or saw him do an improper action. To conclude: Many exemplary men have I known, holy in heart and life, within fourscore years; but one equal to him I have not known, one so inwardly and outwardly devoted to God. So unblamable a character in every respect I have not found either in Europe or America, and I scarce expect to find another such on this side eternity."

Benson, for many years the intimate friend of Fletcher, wrote to Wesley as follows: "I have often thought the testimony that Bishop Burnet bears of Archbishop Leighton might be borne of him with equal propriety: 'After an intimate acquaintance of many years, and after being with him by night and by day, at home and abroad, in public and in private, ... I must say, I never heard an idle word drop from his lips, or any conversation which was not to the use of edifying. I never saw him in any temper in which I myself would not have wished to be found at death.' Any one who has been intimately acquainted with Mr. Fletcher will say the same of him, and they who knew him best will say it with the most assurance."

All other contemporary notices of Fletcher are in the same strain. So with the historians and biographers of subsequent times. "Fletcher in any communion would have been a saint," says Southey. "He was a saint," wrote Isaac Taylor, "as unearthly a being as could tread the earth at all." "Fletcher," says Robert Hall, "is a seraph who burns with the ardour of Divine love. Spurning the fetters of mortality, he almost habitually seems to have anticipated the rapture of the beatific vision."

These testimonies may be closed, though they are not exhausted, by a passage from one of the most recent and valuable works on the religious life of the last century:[1] "If John Wesley was the great leader and organiser, Charles Wesley the great poet, and George Whitefield the great preacher of Methodism, the highest type of saintliness which it produced was unquestionably John Fletcher. Never perhaps since the rise of Christianity has the mind which was in Christ Jesus been more faithfully copied than it was in the Vicar of Madeley. To say that he was a good Christian is saying too little. He was more than Christian, he was Christlike."

Fletcher's first biographer was John Wesley. In the preface to the funeral sermon preached in London on November 6th, 1785, he says: "I hastily put together some memorials of this great man, intending, if God permit, when I have more leisure and more materials, to write a fuller account of his life." Twelve months later, being then in the eighty-fourth year of his age, the following entry appears in his "Journal": "Oct. 25th, 1786. I now applied myself in earnest to the writing of Mr. Fletcher's life, having procured the best materials I could. To this I dedicated all the time I could spare till November, from five in the morning till eight at night. These are my studying hours; I cannot write longer in a day without hurting my eyes." The labour of love was soon completed, and Wesley published "A Short Account of the Life and Death of the Rev. John Fletcher," with the motto, "Sequor, non passibus æquis." That was no conventional eulogy—Wesley did not deal in them,—but, as we have seen, his heart's tribute to the holiest man he had ever known. And if the venerable Wesley counted himself but as one who followed, and that at a distance, the saintly Vicar of Madeley, he would be a hardy writer who could set himself to portray such a life and character unvisited by misgivings and unchastened by the responsibility that comes from the study of high examples of Christian holiness. But for the reader also, if his heart is as the writer's, there will be a share alike in the humiliation and in the hopes which the study of a holy life may well afford. This brief memoir of Fletcher of Madeley is attempted because no lapse of time or change of circumstances can make it unseasonable to contemplate a character like his. Such men do not die:

"——a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives."

CHAPTER II.
EARLY LIFE.

(1729-1750.)

John Fletcher was a Swiss by birth and education. His name was properly Jean Guillaume de la Fléchère. The origin of the anglicized form that he afterwards adopted is thus explained by himself: "Soon after I came to England my English friends, complaining of the length of my Swiss name, began to contract it by dropping the French syllables of it. So they called me Fletcher, and by that name I have been known among the English ever since." He came of an old and respectable family, not without distinguished connexions. His father had, in early life, held a commission in the French army, but, retiring from the service in order to marry, had returned to his native country, where he became a colonel in the militia, and Assesseur Baillival, or assistant judge, of Nyon. Here he resided in a fine old house in the outskirts of the town, not rich, but possessing a modest fortune and considerable local influence; and here John Fletcher, the youngest of eight children, was born on September 12th, 1729.

Nyon is an old town dating from Roman times. It is about fifteen miles from Geneva, on the northern shore of the lake, picturesquely placed at the water's edge, with the Jura Mountains rising in the distance behind, and the mountains of Savoy magnificently visible across the lake in front. The passion for Swiss scenery had not then become common and conventional. Some fifty years later Gibbon mentions it as of recent origin, counting it "a misfortune rather than a merit that the situation and beauty of the Pays de Vaud ... and the fashion of viewing the mountains and glaciers have opened us on all sides to the incursions of foreigners." Fletcher was not before his time with regard to this most modern of sentiments or susceptibilities. There is little trace of impressions made on him either by the grandeur or the loveliness of his native scenery. In a letter written when, at fifty years of age, he was revisiting Nyon, he invites a friend to come to "this delightful country, and share a pleasant apartment, and one of the finest prospects in the world in the house where I was born.... We have a fine, shady wood near the lake, where I can ride in the cool all the day, and enjoy the singing of a multitude of birds." And then he adds, "But this, though sweet, does not come up to the singing of my dear friends in England."

Fletcher received his early education at a school in Nyon, and was then sent, with his two brothers, to the Academy, now the University, of Geneva, where he spent seven years in diligent and successful study. On leaving Geneva he spent some time at Lenzburg, chiefly for the sake of learning German. In the scanty records of his youth there is a remarkable succession of perils and hairbreadth escapes. Fletcher was a bold and skilful swimmer, and on at least two occasions his adventurousness nearly cost him his life. Once he swam with a companion to a small, rocky island, about five miles from the shore of the lake. They found it so steep and smooth that they could not land, and it was not until they were completely exhausted by swimming round it that they came upon a place where they could crawl ashore, and whence they were rescued by a passing boat. The other adventure was still more perilous. He was swimming in the Rhine, and was drawn unawares into the mid-stream, where, he says, "the water was extremely rough, and poured along like a galloping horse." After a long and desperate struggle with the current, he was carried into a mill-race, and hurled among the piles on which the mill stood. A blow on the breast made him senseless, and he knew nothing more till he rose on the other side of the mill, after being among the piles for twenty minutes, to find himself five miles from the place where he had started. Another time, when he and his brother were fencing with swords blunted with a kind of button fixed upon the point, the button on his brother's weapon broke, and Fletcher received a desperate thrust in the side that had well-nigh killed him. These incidents have often been referred to as illustrations of the Providence that directed his life; but they reveal in addition elements of character that should not be overlooked. There was nothing effeminate in him. On this point a mistake may be made. It is possible to misinterpret the delicate features, with their rapt expression, the almost excessive modesty, the language fuller charged with emotion than is quite our English wont. But there was strength, not weakness, beneath these often misread indications of character. The natural man in John Fletcher was a soldier and an athlete, and these qualities of manhood remained with him to the end, though turned to higher issues and manifest in other forms than in these early years.

From childhood Fletcher had a tender conscience and a devout spirit, and was exceptionally free from fault. He says, "I think it was when I was seven years of age that I first began to feel the love of God shed abroad in my heart, and that I resolved to give myself up to Him, and to the service of His Church, if ever I should be fit for it." Years afterwards there came for him a time of spiritual conflict, of heart-searching, and deep repentance, from which he passed into the clear light of reconciliation with God through faith in Christ; but his conversion had this in common with Wesley's, that it crowned and completed the piety of his youth. In both cases conversion was a momentous, unmistakable epoch; but not by reason of any change from reckless and ungodly living. It was one of those supreme events in the history of the soul that has its foundations and beginnings long before. Its relation to the past is not, outwardly at least, one of contrast, and inwardly it is not wholly so. The continuity of the spiritual life is not broken, but rather a stage is reached where the discipline and endeavours of previous years, having served their end, pass into a larger liberty and a more abundant life. "It pleased God to reveal His Son in me," is the true account, not only of sudden conversions, properly so called, but of that last act of grace which brings devout and serious youth to the full knowledge of Him whom they have long sought, and served while yet seeking.

Fletcher's student life seems to have been wholly free from the vices which, both then and now, are too generally counted venial, or even natural and reasonable, in youth. His subsequent self-upbraidings were deep enough, but they must not be misunderstood. When he says, in a letter written to his brother in his 26th year, "My infancy was vicious, and my youth still more so," the reference is not to open, actual sins, but to that ignorance of the true Christian life which, apprehended in its full significance, appears to the regenerate conscience as the one root-evil. His confessions have little in common with those of Augustine, or Bunyan, or John Newton. The most particular allusion they contain is the following: "I formed an acquaintance with some deists, at first with the design of converting them, and afterwards with the pretence of thoroughly examining their sentiments. But my heart, like that of Balaam, was not right with God. He abandoned me, and I enrolled myself in their party. A considerable change took place in my deportment. Before, I had a form of religion, and now I lost it; but as to the state of my heart, it was precisely the same. I did not remain many weeks in this state; the Good Shepherd sought after me, a wandering sheep. Again I became professedly a Christian; that is, I resumed a regular attendance at church and the communion, and offered up frequent prayers in the name of Jesus Christ. There were also in my heart some sparks of true love to God, and some germs of genuine faith; but a connexion with worldly characters, and an undue anxiety to promote my secular interests, prevented the growth of these Christian graces."

It had been Fletcher's desire as a child to become a Christian minister. This object was still kept in view during his studies at Geneva, and appears to have been approved by his family; but as he entered his twentieth year his views underwent a considerable change, the notion of entering the ministry was abandoned, and he sought a military career instead. One or two reasons may be assigned for this change. He feared he was unfit for the ministry. Though outwardly of blameless life, he felt, as the time for ordination drew near, his need of true faith in Christ and love to God, and shrank from an office for which these were the first requisites. Further, a doctrinal difficulty disclosed itself. "I was disgusted by the necessity I should be under to subscribe the doctrine of predestination"; and while thus religiously and doctrinally disturbed, the influence of certain friends combined with his own inclination to suggest that frequent resource of the more adventurous youth of Switzerland, military service in some foreign army. Fletcher's father had served the king of France, why should not he take service under the king of Portugal, who was about to send troops to Brazil? Accordingly, disregarding his father's remonstrances, but following his example, he made his way to Lisbon, raised a company of his countrymen, doubtless by the method embodied in the proverb, "Pas d'argent, pas de Suisse," and received a captain's commission in the Portuguese service. This kind of professional soldiership, for which no patriotism or devotion to a noble cause could be pleaded, did not shock the general conscience in Fletcher's day. It presented no difficulty to his own. That such a vocation is in our own day generally condemned, being barely tolerated under the most extenuating circumstances, is an illustration of progress in morals and religion,—one of many that may be set over against some discouraging aspects of the times.

Meanwhile Fletcher is waiting in Lisbon for a remittance from home which does not arrive. His parents disapprove of this Portuguese-Brazilian venture, and refuse to send him money. But his mind is made up, and with or without money he will go. An unlooked for hindrance, however, prevents. A servant waiting upon him at breakfast let fall a kettle of hot water, and so scalded his leg as to lay him helpless in bed. In the meantime the ship sailed for Brazil without him, and was never heard of again.

On his recovery he returned to Switzerland, there being no further prospect of employment in the Portuguese service. But his desire for military life was unabated. His uncle and eldest brother were in the Dutch service, and in a little while he received word that his uncle had procured a commission for him. He at once set out for Flanders, but before he could join the army the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, in October, 1748, entirely altered the situation. Troops were disbanded or sent home, and the uncle on whom his hopes depended left the service, and died soon afterwards. With his death Fletcher's hopes were entirely destroyed, and he abandoned all thoughts of becoming a soldier.

The first well-marked stage of his history was now completed. He had reached manhood. He had received the best education that his age and his country afforded. In temperament he was active and ardent, in spirit serious and devout; and though he had declined from his early piety, he was entirely free from the follies and vices so easily learnt, and so readily condoned, at college and in camp. It was impossible to say how a life with such preparations would open out. That its promise was fair, and even noble, might well be judged; but that it should find at once the supply of its own deepest want, and the sphere for the employment of its powers, in a foreign country, and in connexion with a religious movement wholly unknown in Switzerland, and unsanctioned either by Church or society in England, was among the things that could not possibly be foreseen. Lives like Fletcher's, when they lie complete before us, are luminous in the linked succession of divinely directed steps; the overruling Providence is so manifest that nothing which takes place surprises us; but, followed in their natural order, the determining events are unforeseen, they come in unlikely forms and from quarters whence they could not be expected. From Swiss Moderatism Fletcher was to pass into the bosom of English Methodism. The student reared in the school of Calvin and Beza was to be the apologist of Evangelical Arminianism. He was to become, not

"Captain, or colonel, or knight-in-arms"

in Portugal, Brazil, or Flanders, but "Vicar of Madeley." But of all this he knew nothing;—how could he?

"I know that the way of man is not in himself:
It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps."

————

"Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me."

CHAPTER III.
SETTLES IN ENGLAND.—HIS CONNEXION WITH WESLEY AND THE METHODISTS.

(1750-1755.)

Being now without occupation, or any definite prospect of it, Fletcher determined to visit England. It does not appear that he had any motive for doing so beyond a desire to travel and to acquire the English language. Accordingly, some time in 1749 or 1750—it is impossible to fix the date more precisely—he came to London, well supplied apparently with money, but with the slenderest stock of English. At the custom house he and his companions seem to have been somewhat roughly treated, and their letters of introduction were taken from them on the ground that all letters must be sent by the post. His first adventure in London bade fair to be of the sort that London has often provided for newly arrived and trustful youth. He handed over his purse, containing some £90, to a stranger, a Jew, who offered to get his money changed for him. To the honour of this unknown Jew, let it be recorded that Fletcher's simplicity was not abused. He returned in due time, and brought the full amount in English coin.

The first eighteen months of his residence in England Fletcher spent in the house of a Mr. Burchell, who kept a school near Hatfield. Here he acquired a good knowledge of English, beside continuing his general studies. On leaving Mr. Burchell, in the year 1752, he received the appointment of tutor to the two sons of Mr. Thomas Hill, of Tern Hall, in Shropshire. This position he retained for nearly seven years, dividing his time between Shropshire and London, according as Mr. Hill's family accompanied him to town for the sitting of Parliament, or remained in the country.

Through all this time there is no sign of any wish on Fletcher's part to return to Switzerland; and it is at first sight a little perplexing that his visit to England should have developed into something very like a permanent residence, when as yet he had no definite calling, and the powerful influences of a great spiritual change had not come into existence. But there is a reasonable explanation to be found in the state of things in his native country, where a gentleman's younger son, disinclined for the ministry and disappointed of a commission in the army, had no great choice of a career. On this matter we have the testimony of an exceptionally keen and competent observer. The early years of Fletcher's residence in England correspond very closely with those of Gibbon's first period of residence in Switzerland. From 1753 to 1758, years spent by Fletcher in the family of Mr. Hill, the youthful Gibbon was living under the roof of M. Pavilliard, a Calvinist minister at Lausanne. It was about the close of this period that he wrote, for the benefit of a Swiss friend, a short paper upon political and social life in Switzerland, an essay that is doubly worth reading, for its own sake, and as exhibiting the powers and the promise in early manhood of the future historian. An extract or two will show some aspects of the society that Fletcher had so lately left, and to which he never really returned, and will suggest the explanation of that readiness to "forget his own people and his father's house," which has perplexed some of his critics and biographers:

"Even to the present day, a secret inquisition still reigns at Lausanne, where the names of Arminian and Socinian are often mentioned in the letters written by very honest people to their patrons of Berne; and offices are often given or withheld according to the reports made of the religious tenets of the candidates.... In aristocratical republics the citizens of one town are not contented with being sovereigns collectively, unless they individually appropriate all offices of honour or emolument. In the canton of Berne talents and information are not of the smallest use to any one who is not born in the capital; and in another sense they are useless to those born there, because they must make their way without them. Their subjects in the Pays de Vaud are condemned, by the circumstances of their birth, to a condition of shameful obscurity. They naturally become therefore a prey to despair, and neglecting to cultivate talents which they can never enjoy an opportunity to display, those who had capacities for becoming great men are contented with making themselves agreeable companions. Should I propose that the subjects obtained a right to hold the lucrative employments of baillis, or governors of districts, the aristocratical families of Berne would think me guilty of a crime little less than sacrilege. 'The emoluments of these offices form the patrimony of the State; and we are the State.' It is true that you in the Pays de Vaud may be deputies to the baillis; but the advantages belonging to that subordinate magistracy are obtained on certain conditions, which, unless the holder of the office lives a certain number of years, renders his bargain a very bad one for his family.

"What encouragement is then left for the gentlemen of the Pays de Vaud? That of foreign service. But to them even this road to preferment is extremely difficult, and to attain the higher ranks is impossible.... In his own district every bailli is at the head of religion, of the law, the army, and the finances. As judge, he decides without appeal all causes to the amount of a hundred francs—a sum of little importance to a gentleman, but which often makes the whole fortune of a peasant; and he decides alone, for the voices of his assessors have not any weight in the scale. He confers, or rather he sells, all the employments in his district."

It is unnecessary further to multiply extracts from this letter. The relevancy to Fletcher's personal history of those just cited will be obvious. He belonged, not to the aristocracy of Berne, but to the subordinate gentry of the Pays de Vaud. The office held by his father was not that of bailli, with its great emoluments and privileges, but the very inferior office of assesseur. Fletcher was one of those to whom little remained but foreign service, and we have seen how eagerly he sought it, and by what circumstances his hopes were frustrated. And so it was, we take it, that, having come to England, he scarcely knew why, the quiet life of a scholar and tutor satisfied him till such time as, in the possession of a new religious life and an absorbing vocation, he found "foreign service" in the highest and holiest warfare. It was while living in Mr. Hill's family that Fletcher came under the influences which determined his whole future course. He now first became acquainted with the Methodists.

Some fifteen years had elapsed since Wesley formed the first Methodist society, and Whitefield, shut out from the churches, had begun to preach the gospel to the wondering crowds on Kingswood Hill and Kennington Common. Wesley's own ungarnished account fixes the exact date of one of the most significant events in modern Church history. It is as follows: "In the latter end of the year 1739 eight or ten persons came to me in London, who appeared to be deeply convinced of sin, and earnestly groaning for redemption. They desired I would spend some time with them in prayer, and advise them how to flee from the wrath to come. That we might have more time for this great work, I appointed a day when they might all come together, which from thenceforward they did every Thursday in the evening. To these, and as many more as desired to join with them (for the number increased daily), I gave those advices from time to time which I judged most needful for them; and we always concluded our meeting with prayer suited to their several necessities. This was the rise of the United Society, first in London, and then in other places."

It was not however to the members of this society that the name of Methodist was first applied, still less was it a designation adopted by the society itself. It originated, some years earlier, in Oxford, as a nickname for the Wesleys and a few other university men, who used to meet together to read the Scriptures, and endeavoured generally to order their lives with a religious precision rare enough in the Oxford of those days. To quote Wesley's words again: "The exact regularity of their lives, as well as studies, occasioned a young gentleman of Christ Church to say, 'Here is a new set of Methodists sprung up,' alluding to some ancient physicians who were so called. The name was new and quaint, so it took immediately, and the Methodists were known all over the university."

But this first, or Oxford, Methodism was now a thing of the past. The Methodism that Fletcher found in England was really another and very different thing, though called by the same name. It was separated from the former, not only by a score or so of years, but by spiritual changes and developments of the most important character. The first Methodists were, above all things, students and Churchmen. They revived the observance of long neglected canons and rubrics; they moulded their lives on ascetic models, fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays, and eating no flesh during Lent except on Saturdays and Sundays. They thought and spoke much of Christian antiquity, and, like the Oxford leaders of a century later, sought in that venerable past a rule and an authority co-ordinate with Scripture. They read Thomas à Kempis and Bishop Taylor and the great High Church mystic of their own day, William Law. This Oxford Methodism, with its almost monastic rigours, its living by rule, its canonical hours of prayer, is a fair and noble phase of the many-sided life of the Church of England, and, with all its defects and limitations, claims our deep respect. But it was not the instrument by which the Church and nation were to be revived; it had no message for the world, no secret of power with which to move and quicken the masses. To do this it must become other than it was. It must die, in order to bring forth much fruit. And this death and rising again were accomplished in the spiritual change wrought in John Wesley, the leader of the earlier and of the later Methodism. What was that change?

In the year 1738, on his return from Georgia, Wesley writes: "It is now two years and almost four months since I left my native country, in order to teach the Georgian Indians the nature of Christianity. But what have I learned myself meantime? Why, what I the least of all suspected: that I, who went to America to convert others, was never myself converted to God."

Now it may be urged, with some show of reason, as indeed his own language in later life implies, that Wesley was not, in the full sense of the term, an unconverted man during the whole of his Oxford life and of his residence in Georgia. But nothing is more certain than the reality and importance of the change through which he now passed. His apprehension of salvation by faith in Christ had been hitherto obscure and imperfect. He found no rest for his soul. He longed to be at peace with God. "The faith which I want is a sure trust and confidence in God that, through the merits of Christ, my sins are forgiven, and I reconciled to the favour of God, ... that faith which enables every one that hath it to cry out, 'I live not, but Christ liveth in me; and the life which I now live, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me.'" It is not necessary to repeat here the oft-told story of Wesley's acquaintance with the Moravians, and more particularly with Peter Böhler, by whose teaching and testimony he was convinced that the one thing wanting to him was a living faith in Christ, together with that assurance of forgiveness and power over sin that are its fruits. How much had to be surrendered before a man of Wesley's training and attainments could submit himself to the conception of saving faith that was now presented to him, may be learnt from his own statements. It is enough to say that he found that way of faith in Christ which is the open secret of the gospel, at once "hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes." He received the reconciliation and rejoiced in God. "I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." This was Wesley's "conversion." Whether rightly so called or not, there is no doubt as to the change itself, and its results. Henceforth he was a new man, ready for a new work. Instead of directing the religious life of a handful of devout university men, he traversed the land in every direction, preaching to the multitudes and organizing societies for Christian fellowship. Religion was no longer a painful quest, a high endeavour, a discipline, but a life bright with the Divine favour and filled with unspeakable blessings, offered to all men through faith in Christ. Peace with God, the witness and fruit of the Spirit, the blessings of sonship and sanctification,—these were not the rewards of fidelity and endurance, the privilege of the few; they were included in the common salvation. Every sinner might seek them, every believer would find them. There is no mistaking the difference between this gospel, soon to be preached in every town and village of England, and the teaching that nourished the austere piety of the Oxford Methodists. As an able writer has put it, "The birthday of a Christian was shifted from his baptism to his conversion, and in that change the partition line of two great systems is crossed." Some will reckon this change a grave error, and all that came of it to be but a falling away from a high beginning. They will find in the ascetic, churchly pietists of the earlier time their true Wesley and their ideal Methodism; but time and history have borne a testimony from which there is, practically, no appeal. The Methodism that revived the Church and awakened the nation was not that of the "Holy Club" at Oxford. It differed from it as Wesley after "conversion" differed from his former self. Its spirit, its methods, its watchwords were altered. Something may have been lost when Methodism moved from its academic birthplace into the work-day world, but more was gained. It had found what it had long sought. It knew now what salvation meant. "I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He ... set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings. And He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the Lord."

By the time that Fletcher became acquainted with Methodism it had passed through some important stages of its history. It had reached its highest point in the favour of a small section of the aristocracy, and had encountered its strongest opposition among the people. Never in subsequent years were so many persons of rank associated with Methodism as in its first two or three decades; and never in later times have its followers endured afflictions like those which the first Methodists suffered in Staffordshire, in Yorkshire, and in Cornwall. It had now secured something like peace for its persecuted people; its travelling preachers crossed and recrossed the entire country; its societies contained many thousands of members, won for the most part from ignorance and irreligion; and with restless yet disciplined activity it was appreciably influencing the national life. Religion, which had seemed to "stand on tiptoe in our land," turned again to its ancient seats, and to the home it had well-nigh forsaken. There was hope for Christianity among us yet.

It was during one of Fletcher's journeys to London with Mr. Hill's family that he first met with the people called Methodists. The story is told by Wesley: "While they stopped at St. Albans, he walked out into the town, and did not return till they were set out for London. A horse being left for him, he rode after, and overtook them in the evening. Mr. Hill asked him why he stayed behind. He said, 'As I was walking I met with a poor old woman, who talked so sweetly of Jesus Christ, that I knew not how the time passed away.' 'I shall wonder,' said Mrs. Hill, 'if our tutor does not turn Methodist by-and-by.' 'Methodist, madam,' said he; 'pray, what is that?' She replied, 'Why, the Methodists are a people that do nothing but pray; they are praying all day and all night.' 'Are they?' said he; 'then, by the help of God, I will find them out, if they be above ground.' He did find them out not long after, and was admitted into the society."

Amongst the Methodists Fletcher learnt what Wesley had learnt from the Moravians, that there was something in religion to which he was yet a stranger. Like so many others of fine moral nature and virtuous habits, he was much perplexed as to the nature of saving faith. "Is it possible," he writes, "that I, who have always been accounted so religious, who have made divinity my study, and received the Premiums of Piety (so called) from the university for my writings on Divine subjects,—is it possible that I should yet be so ignorant as not to know what faith is?" He came to the conclusion that this was so. His past life, so free from outward sin, appeared to him to be sinful beyond expression. It had no foundation in Christ. He had lived to himself. His righteousness was self-righteousness, it was as filthy rags. He now heard sermons, but was only the more convinced that he was an unbeliever; he wrote out a confession of his sins, misery, and helplessness, but had no heart to finish it. He feared he did not even yet mourn enough for his sins; "but I found relief in Mr. Wesley's 'Journal,' where I learned that we should not build on what we feel, but that we should go to Christ with all our sins and hardness of heart." Deliverance however was at hand. The salvation that he longed for drew near. He trusted in Christ, and found rest to his soul. His bonds were broken. He was filled with joy and peace through believing. Henceforth, "the life that he lived in the flesh, he lived by the faith of the Son of God."

It is surely worthy of remark that the chief leaders of the Evangelical Revival were converted in mature life, not after a wild and reckless, but after a more than commonly religious youth. Among the associates soon to be gathered around them a very different type of spiritual history may be discerned. Many of these had been notoriously sinful, and their conversion had all the dramatic completeness which belongs to a sudden transformation of conduct and character. But of the Wesleys and Whitefield at Oxford, and subsequently of Fletcher, it might be said that they were "touching the righteousness which is in the law, blameless." They fasted and prayed, and frequented the sacrament; they read religious books; they visited the sick and taught the ignorant; they eschewed all self-indulgence, were scrupulous in respect of duty, and consistently devout in spirit and manner. And yet the change wrought in them when they obtained a saving faith in Christ could not have been really greater if there had been a previous life of sin and folly to escape from. When a man passes from a righteousness of his own "which is of the law," to "that which is through faith in Christ," it is as truly a birth from above as when he is turned from sin to righteousness. The inner power and significance of conversion are the same in both cases. But this is widely misunderstood. That the wicked should be, if possible, converted, is generally held to be desirable. Society, even when most cynical and worldly, does, in a manner, hold that it behoves evil doers, especially among the lower orders, to repent of their sins and mend their ways; but that good people should call themselves sinners, that scholars and gentlemen of excellent character—whose only fault indeed was that of being righteous overmuch—should be anxious about their souls, and make other respectable people as uneasy as themselves, caused much irritation and perplexity.

It was, however, not the least of God's mercies to the Church and nation that the Revival began as it did with the conversion of good men, that its first witnesses and workers were not reclaimed profligates, but representatives of all that was best in the existing social order. If the gospel was to awaken the conviction of sin in such men as these, if it was to disclose to them deep spiritual needs, and set them asking what they must do to be saved, then society had misunderstood the whole matter,—which indeed was pretty nearly the case. Society's discernment of evil when it takes the form of crime is sufficiently acute; concerning vice also it has convictions more or less emphatic: but of sin, as sin, its notions are feeble and confused. And that confusion and inadequacy of view are shared by the Church when men's need of Christ and His salvation is measured by the more or less of their outward good behaviour; as though conversion were necessary for wicked and worthless members of the community, while those of a better sort can see the kingdom of God without being born from above. The history and experience of its leaders, humanly speaking, preserved the Revival from this error, and from the first guarded the doctrine of the new birth from one of its most common and practical perversions. The notion that while there are some people too bad to be converted there are others too good to require it, was doubly disproved. The early Methodist preachers moved joyously and confidently through the land, proclaiming a salvation which the worst might obtain, and which the best must not refuse or neglect.

From the time of his conversion to the close of his life Fletcher was a Methodist. The exact date when he joined the society cannot be determined, but in the year 1756 he was a member of a class in London, of which a Mr. Richard Edwards was the leader. His "class ticket," bearing the name "John Fletcher," and the date "Feb., 1757," lies before us as we write.

CHAPTER IV.
SPIRITUAL DISCIPLINE.

It was in the beginning of the year 1755, when Fletcher was in the twenty-sixth year of his age, that he passed through the great change described in the last chapter. For nearly five years he continued to live in Mr. Hill's family, dividing his time, as before, between Shropshire and London. Towards the close of that period, however, new duties and engagements were opening out before him, and in 1760, when his pupils entered the University of Cambridge, Fletcher's tutorship was at an end.

His residence at Tern Hall was in many respects a happy one for Fletcher. His duties were comparatively light, and his situation was favourable to that life of meditation, prayer, study, and self-discipline to which he was so powerfully drawn. On Sundays he attended the parish church of Atcham, a village near Shrewsbury. When the service was over he usually walked home alone by the Severn side. After a while these walks were shared by a pious man named Vaughan, then in Mr. Hill's service, who, in after years, gave the following account of them to Mr. Wesley:

"It was our ordinary custom, when the church service was over, to retire into the most lonely fields or meadows, where we frequently either kneeled down or prostrated ourselves on the ground. At those happy seasons I was a witness of such pleadings and wrestlings with God, such exercises of faith and love, as I have not known in any one ever since. The consolations which we then received from God induced us to appoint two or three nights in a week, when we duly met, after his pupils were asleep. We met also constantly on Sunday between four and five in the morning. Sometimes I stepped into his study on other days. I rarely saw any book before him, besides the Bible and the 'Christian Pattern.'"

Another, who knew him at that time, says that when there was company to dinner at Mr. Hill's, Fletcher would often get himself excused from being present, and retire into the garden, to dine on a piece of bread and a little fruit. There are many testimonies to his lifelong abstemiousness, but at this period it reached a point of asceticism, concerning which Wesley has recorded his judgment: "None can doubt if these austerities were well intended; but it seems they were not well judged. It is probable they gave the first wound to an excellent constitution, and laid the foundation of many infirmities, which nothing but death could cure." Again, referring to his manner of life at Madeley, several years after, Wesley says: "He did not allow himself such food as was necessary to sustain nature. He seldom took any regular meals except he had company; otherwise, twice or thrice in four-and-twenty hours he ate some bread and cheese, or fruit. Instead of this he sometimes took a draught of milk, and then wrote on again."

That all this was unwise, and brought its own punishment, will be readily admitted; but it is well to note that Fletcher's ascetic practice was not the result of an ascetic theology. Beyond most holy men Fletcher apprehended and rejoiced in the freedom of the children of God. The last touch of the spirit of bondage disappeared at his conversion, and henceforth he was no more a servant but a son, walking in the clearest light, and possessing the strongest witness to his adoption. His rigid self-denial, his almost unearthly indifference to the common comforts and recreations of human life, his carefully ordered devotions, were not the travail of a soul going about to establish its own righteousness, nor the half-expiatory sacrifices of one who seeks to pacify his conscience or appease his restless longings. Beneath his ascetic practice was evangelical doctrine, and a living faith. He did not fast, and give whole days to study and whole nights to prayer, because he was in doubt or distress concerning his soul, but from his very joy in God, and delight in all that lifted him from things beneath to things above. His was the asceticism of love, and not of bondage or of fear.

By the help of manuscripts carefully preserved, though not hitherto made public, it is possible to draw very near to the devotional life of Fletcher at this period of his history. A document which affords pathetic insight into the depth and thoroughness of his consecration of himself to God now lies before us. It is a solemn covenant, drawn up in Latin, and covers the two sides of a parchment some nine inches by five in size. It is exquisitely written in a round, legible hand. The opening sentence, which is in Greek, reads thus: "In the name of God, the Creator of heaven and earth, Amen. O most high Jehovah, only God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, the vilest of the vile, worst of the sons of Adam, an apostate spirit, a man utterly undone, ... resolve to consecrate myself to Thee, my Creator Redeemer, Sanctifier." In the humblest strain of penitential confession, he proceeds to offer and present himself to God through the merits of Jesus Christ. The recurring phrase of consecration is, "Do, reddo, dico, dedico" (I give, restore, devote, dedicate); and all that he has, or is, or may be, is brought within this form of dedication. The formula of supplication is, "Peto, rogo, posco, flagito" (I ask, entreat, implore, importune); and in these terms he prays for pardon, grace, guidance, and final deliverance. There is reason to think that the signature, now almost illegible, was written with his own blood. After the manner of the earlier nonconformists, among whom the practice of drawing up solemn forms of covenant with God prevailed, Fletcher kept by him through life this sign and memorial of deliberate consecration to God, and renewed from time to time both its general vow and its detailed promises. It is dated August 24th, 1754.

Some two years later he prepared for his own use a little manual of devotions, which is perhaps the most vital of all the Fletcher relics still preserved, as revealing more directly than any other his interior life, and the spirit and method of his daily devotions. It is a small, square book, strongly bound in leather, containing about two hundred closely written pages.

More than half of its contents are passages from the Greek Testament, carefully arranged under various headings, Faith, Promises, The Heavenly Life. To these are added selections from Charles Wesley's hymns, then recently published, now, and for a long time past, known and prized by the devout of every communion.

But the most personal and characteristic portions of the book are Fletcher's own meditations, resolutions, and precepts. They are written, for the most part, in Latin and in French. Some specimens of these will be found in the appendix to this volume. Here it must suffice to translate a few of the rules by which he disciplined his daily life.

Under the date January 15th, 1757, is written, in French,—

"Pray on my knees as often as possible.

Sing frequently penitential hymns.

Eat slowly, and upon my knees, three times a day only, and never more.

Always speak gently.

Neglect no outward duty.

Beware of a fire that thou kindlest thyself.

The fire that God kindles is bright, mild, constant, and burns night and day.

Think always of death, and the Cross, the hardness of thy heart and the blood of Christ.

Beware of relaxing, and of impatience; God is faithful, but He owes thee nothing.

Speak only when necessary.

Do not surrender thyself to any joy.

Rise in the morning without yielding to sloth.

Follow always thy first motion.

Be a true son of affliction.

Write down every evening whether thou hast kept these rules."

Among the Latin meditations is one headed "Deus mihi amandus est quid": "God is to be loved because—" And then follow various grounds for gratitude and love:

"Because He created me,
Of sound body and mind,
In a middle station of life, and in the bosom of His Church;
Preserves me alive and well;
Has not given me over to the power of the devil;
Gives all things necessary for life;
In various ways, and wonderfully, has delivered me from death;
Raised up for me good parents, teachers, friends;
Gives me food, shelter, books, good health,
clothing, friends, and a not dishonourable name;
Has mercifully withheld hurtful things when I asked them;
Before the foundations of the world determined to give His Son for me,
And gave Him in time to flesh, infirmities, scorn, sorrows, poverty, and death;
Imparts Him to me in the word, and in the holy supper."

Among the "rules for a holy life," written in English, the following may be quoted:

"Mortify thy five senses till crucified with Christ;

Sit at Christ's feet; cast away thy own will; consult His at every word, morsel, motion; ask His leave even in lawful actions.

Renounce thyself in all that can hinder thy union with God. Desire nought but His love.

Mortify all affection toward inward, sensible, spiritual delights in grace; they rather please and comfort than sanctify.

The life of God consists not in high knowledge, but profound meekness, holy simplicity, and ardent love to God.

Receive afflictions as the best guides to perfection.

Remember always the presence of God.

Rejoice always in the will of God.

Direct all to the glory of God."

The little book from which these extracts are taken was Fletcher's companion in his hours of private prayer and communion with God. It was written, not for others, but for himself. For a century past it has been in safe and reverent keeping, and is now as he left it. Its pages are worn by his touch. With these hymns and meditations he nourished his soul in secret. With these rules he loved to bind his free Christian spirit. Like other saintly men, he found that the impulses, even of the regenerate life, may not be left to themselves with entire confidence in their sufficient working. He sought to strengthen them by meditation, to sustain them by spiritual exercises and discipline; he furnished them with tests and standards, and made self-examination definite and precise. He sought perfection at once in supreme love to God, and in the minutest details of character and conduct. Let this be borne in mind in connexion with the fact that Fletcher was a leader of the Evangelical Revival, and a founder and father of Methodism. Evangelical religion has been charged with indifference to painstaking spiritual culture. Its doctrine of salvation by faith has been thought to carry with it self-confidence, familiar ways with God, and easy dealing with one's own soul. It is supposed to compensate for its insistence upon conversion, by sanctioning subsequent laxity in the matter of prayer and fasting. It is charged with spiritual shallowness, and asked why, with all its innumerable activities, it fails to produce the deeper and more disciplined devoutness of which Thomas à Kempis in the Roman, and Andrewes and Keble in the Anglican, communities are great examples.

A proper discussion of this question would require, amongst other things, an examination of the terms in which it is stated. They would be found to contain, with some truth, assumptions utterly false and misleading. Amongst these is the assumption that sanctity is not such, unless it have a certain form, diverging not too widely from an accepted type. The Roman controversialist objects to the Church of England that it does not exhibit notes of sanctity, "that it has no saints." As Dr. Mozley has said, "He refuses, in a certain case, to see and recognise the Christian type, because it does not come before him in the Latin shape, and with the accompaniments of intellectual grace and refinement, which it has incorporated on its European area."[2] By a very slight alteration in the wording of this sentence, it would describe with equal accuracy the attitude of those who cannot recognise sanctity which does not come before them in the Anglican shape; and by a second and a third alteration, it would describe the inability, here and there existing, to discern any sanctity but that of an accepted type or favoured school. Much of the disparagement of "Evangelical" piety is plainly of this kind; and the truth needs to be spoken with regard to all these narrow and sectarian gauges of Christian character. Amid the "diversities of ministrations and diversities of workings," there is no essential distinction as to the so called "note of sanctity"; Eastern or Western, Anglican or Puritan, holiness is always and essentially the same, rebuking every attempt to fasten it to a particular type, or ignore it apart from a particular succession.

Fletcher was an Evangelical of Evangelicals, teaching conversion, the witness of the Spirit, and the entire sanctification of believers. He profoundly influenced the theology and general religious spirit and character of Methodism. What then is the bearing of his spiritual life and the influence of his example upon these latter? It is this: that while holiness is, in its truest, deepest aspect, the gift of God,—it is God who sanctifies as surely as it is God who justifies,—yet, alike in the pursuit and possession of holiness, the Christian is called to work together with God, in watchfulness and prayer, in self-examination and self-denial, in reading and meditation, "exercising himself unto godliness" in the many ways which Scripture enjoins and which insight and experience will suggest.

If at any time the Methodists, or Evangelical Christians generally, should let slip either of these truths; if holiness be thought of, on the one hand, as a human attainment and not a Divine gift, or, on the other, as a gift of God having no relation to personal discipline and culture,—they will at least be breaking with their best traditions, and have against them both the teaching and the example of their fathers.

This little manual of devotion, written by his own hand, and worn by long and frequent use, reveals much of the way in which Fletcher's inmost life was cultivated. Knowing that life as it was manifested in his character and conduct, we regard with deep interest the means by which it was nurtured in secret. The lovely growth of goodness had at the root of it the patient discipline here portrayed. We might have guessed as much, but here we see that it was so.

CHAPTER V.
ENTERS THE MINISTRY.

From this brief glance at Fletcher's habits of devotion we return to the history of his life. He was not destined to be a religious recluse, cultivating in quiet places "a fugitive and cloistered virtue." His thirst for communion with God was equalled by his passion for winning souls. If the one drove him to retirement, the other thrust him into society. He longed for others to possess the salvation that he had found. On such a matter he could not be silent, and he became a preacher almost before he knew it. Both in personal intercourse and in addressing assemblies, his foreign accent and a certain winning simplicity of manner proved very attractive; but the hours spent alone with God and his own soul were the secret of a power to appeal and persuade that was well-nigh irresistible.

Naturally it was taken for granted that his proper vocation was the ministry. He was pressed by one and another, and particularly by Mr. Hill, to enter holy orders; but his mind was not yet made up. His former shrinking from an office for which he felt himself unfit was not wholly removed. He thought it might be better to serve God in a private and less responsible way of life; and yet, from time to time, the work of the ministry attracted and exercised his thoughts in a manner that might be taken to indicate God's will.

In his perplexity he sought counsel from Wesley. It is not known when, or under what circumstances, he had become personally known to him, but the letter in which he asks his advice is probably the first he ever wrote to Wesley, and the tone of it suggests that personal acquaintance, if it had begun, was as yet very slight.

"Tern,
Nov. 24th, 1756.

Rev. Sir,—

"As I look upon you as my spiritual guide, and cannot doubt of your patience to hear, and your experience to answer, a serious question proposed by any of your people, I freely lay my case before you."

[After giving an account of his early history, and more recent experience, he tells Wesley that he had been offered a title to orders, and asks,—]

"Now, sir, the question which I beg you to decide is, whether I must and can make use of that title to get into orders. For, with respect to the living, were it vacant, I have no mind to it, because I think I could preach with more fruit in my own country and in my own tongue.

"I am in suspense. On one side my heart tells me I must try, and it tells me so whenever I feel any degree of the love of God and man; but on the other, when I examine whether I am fit for it, I so plainly see my want of gifts, and especially of that soul of all the labours of a minister of the gospel, love, continual, universal, flaming love, that my confidence disappears, I accuse myself of pride to dare to entertain the desire of supporting the ark of the Lord. As I am in both these frames successively, I must own, sir, I do not see plainly which of the two ways before me I can take with safety, and I shall be glad to be ruled by you.... I know how precious is your time; I desire no long answer; persist or forbear will satisfy and influence, sir,

Your unworthy servant,
J. Fletcher."

No reply to this letter has been preserved, but there can be no doubt as to the nature of Wesley's advice. He recommended Fletcher's being ordained; he probably dissuaded him from returning to Switzerland, and he discouraged the notion of his settling in a parish. He greatly desired to see Fletcher in the itinerant work in which he himself was engaged, the more so as his brother Charles was now withdrawing from it.

On Sunday, March 6th, 1757, Fletcher received deacon's orders from the Bishop of Hereford, and on the following Sunday he was ordained priest by the Bishop of Bangor, at the request of the Bishop of Hereford. The day after receiving priest's orders he was licensed "to perform the office of curate in the parish church of Madeley, in the county of Salop," and "a yearly salary of twenty-five pounds, to be paid quarterly, for serving the same," was assigned to him.

This license to the curacy must not be confounded with his appointment, more than three years afterwards, to the vicarage of Madeley. Fletcher has no history as curate of Madeley. The appointment was in fact a nominal one, for it is tolerably certain that he exercised no spiritual function whatever in Madeley for at least two years after his ordination. The title to orders was probably given to him by the Rev. Rowland Chambre, then Vicar of Madeley, at Mr. Hill's request, with the understanding that the curacy should be only nominal. The position of chaplain and tutor in Mr. Hill's family, though not furnishing a legal title to orders, would be considered equivalent to a cure of souls. The fact that he was ordained deacon and priest on two consecutive Sundays, the customary interval of a year being dispensed with, may be ascribed either to the influence of Mr. Hill, or of Wesley himself; or it may be taken as proof that his character was admittedly high, and that in his examination or interviews with the bishop, he had shown himself exceptionally well qualified, both intellectually and morally.

His connexion with Mr. Hill's family drew to its close. It did not afford him the sphere for Christian work that he desired, ind involved him in occasional embarrassments and difficulties. Mr. Hill was uniformly kind, but he feared that the scandal of Methodism attaching to his tutor would injure him at the next election. The neighbouring clergy for the most part fought shy of Fletcher, so that he had few opportunities of preaching in their churches. But the one compensation for these restrictions was found in the devout retirement he loved so well. He writes to Wesley: "The will of God be done: I am in His hands; and if He does not call me to so much public duty, I have the more time for study, prayer, and praise." He seems to have been conscious that it was a time of discipline and preparation with him, and until the indications of God's will were plain, he would not seek release from a position where the providence of God had placed him.

Meanwhile, as his tutorship became less and less satisfactory as a vocation, his connexion with the Methodists opened up to him new labours and new friendships. Immediately upon his ordination Fletcher was drawn into the full stream of the Revival, and brought into active association with its leaders. His very first ministerial act, on the day that he was ordained priest, was to assist Wesley in the administration of the Lord's supper at Snowsfields chapel; and from that time he frequently read prayers and preached in the Methodist chapels in London. He made the acquaintance of Charles Wesley and Whitefield, of the Countess of Huntingdon, of Berridge, Vicar of Everton, of Thomas Walsh, and of some of the devout women who were not least among the glories of early Methodism, including Mary Bosanquet, who, many years afterwards, became his wife. By these and others Fletcher was received with no common welcome. Wesley himself wrote in his "Journal," "When my bodily strength failed, and none in England were able and willing to assist me, He sent me help from the mountains of Switzerland, and a helpmeet for me in every respect; where could I find such another?" A little later the Countess of Huntingdon wrote to a friend: "I have seen Mr. Fletcher, and was both pleased and refreshed by the interview. He was accompanied by Mr. Wesley, who had frequently mentioned him in terms of high commendation, as had Mr. Whitefield, Mr. Charles Wesley, and others, so that I was anxious to become acquainted with one so devoted, and who appears to glory in nothing, save in the Cross of our Divine Lord and Master."

Another testimony referring to this time, though written many years later, is that of a Mrs. Crosby, well-known amongst the first Methodists: "I heard this heavenly-minded servant of the Lord preach his first sermon in West Street chapel. I think his text was, 'Repent: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.' His spirit appeared in his whole attitude and action. He could not well find words in the English language to express himself, but he supplied that defect by offering up prayers, tears, and sighs."

Of all those with whom Fletcher was now brought into close and happy relations, Charles Wesley seems to have most completely won his heart. Towards the elder Wesley he showed affectionate reverence, and a loyalty that had its trials, and gave its proofs in many ways. He undoubtedly looked upon him as the chief of living men. Of Thomas Walsh, whose life, Southey says, "might almost convince a Catholic that saints are to be found in other communions, as well as in the Church of Rome,"—of Walsh, Fletcher, impressed with his deep, stern, mystic sanctity, wrote, "I wish I could attend him everywhere, as Elisha attended Elijah." But it was in Charles Wesley that he found his dearest and most intimate friend, to whom for years he turned for solace, for counsel, and for confidential intercourse.

We have seen the terms in which Lady Huntingdon speaks of Fletcher after her first interview with him. On his part, Fletcher was profoundly impressed with the countess's manifold excellences, and wrote to Charles Wesley that he had "passed three hours with a modern prodigy—a humble and pious countess." Lady Huntingdon has perhaps suffered in the modern estimate of her character and work from the overstrained and even fulsome language concerning her which it was the custom of many of her friends and followers to employ. Appreciation of her ladyship's rank so mingled with esteem for her piety as to produce an unhappy effect upon the phraseology of her admirers. The countess's biographer continues, in a later age, a style which, barely endurable when a century old, is intolerable when repeated and renewed. He speaks of "the elegant and pious persons to whom Mr. Fletcher was invited to preach and administer the sacrament"! But we must not allow the effusive language of her contemporaries, or the fine writing of her biographer, to conceal from us the true worth of a very able and most devoted Christian woman. If that language seem to us occasionally wanting in manliness, in proper self-respect, and in Christian simplicity, it bears witness to the ascendency exercised by a remarkable character over all but the very strongest of those who came under its influence; and if it was dangerous to be the subject of so much eulogy, it should be remembered that Lady Huntingdon never shrank from running counter to the prejudices of the class to which she belonged, and endured, for the sake of Christ and His cause, ridicule from those of her own order, which most people would find harder to bear than actual persecution.

Fletcher was added to the number of Lady Huntingdon's chaplains. It is almost unnecessary to say that this was not an "appointment" in the strict sense of the word, but that he preached from time to time to the fashionable congregations that assembled at Lady Huntingdon's house at Chelsea. These assemblies have often been described. They included the most distinguished men and women of the day. Chesterfield, Bolingbroke, Horace Walpole and others, bear witness to the fashion which prevailed. To listen to Whitefield in Lady Huntingdon's drawing-room became a recognised diversion for society, and the most cynical and worldly were found side by side with the serious and devout. Undoubtedly some "who came to scoff remained to pray." Amongst the women of rank who heard the gospel in this way several were converted, and became earnest and faithful witnesses for Christ; but the hindrances to deep and lasting results were very great, and we are inclined to think that this particular phase of the Evangelical Revival was by no means among its most fruitful or important developments. The ignorance and brutality of the crowds to whom Wesley and Whitefield preached, presented no such resistance to the gospel as the vanity and finished worldliness of the drawing-room congregations. An instance will suffice. A lady who had been invited by Lady Huntingdon replied in the following terms: "I thank your ladyship for the information concerning the Methodist preachers. Their doctrines are most repulsive, and strongly tinctured with impertinence and disrespect towards their superiors, in perpetually endeavouring to level all ranks and do away with all distinctions. It is monstrous to be told you have a heart as sinful as the common wretches that crawl on the earth. This is highly offensive and insulting, and I cannot but wonder that your ladyship should relish any sentiments so much at variance with high rank and good breeding."[3]

There is no record of the impression made by Fletcher upon these fashionable congregations. Meanwhile he was engaged in a work probably more congenial to him, viz. preaching to the French prisoners, a number of whom were settled at Tunbridge. After a few months this came to an end; he was forbidden by the Bishop of London to continue his ministrations. There was something "irregular" in them, it would appear. Wesley wrote afterwards, "If I had known this at the time, King George should have known it; and I believe he would have given the bishop little thanks."

The following extracts from his letters belong to this period:

To the Rev. Charles Wesley.

"Mar. 22nd, 1759.

"Since your departure I have lived more than ever like a hermit. It seems to me that I am an unprofitable weight upon the earth. I want to hide myself from all. I tremble when the Lord favours me with a sight of myself. I tremble to think of preaching only to dishonour God. To-morrow I preach at West Street, with all the feelings of Jonah. Oh! would to God I might be attended with success! If the Lord shall in any degree sustain my weakness, I shall consider myself as indebted to your prayers.

"A proposal has lately been made to me to accompany Mr. Nathanael Gilbert to the West Indies. I have weighed the matter; but, on the one hand, I feel that I have neither zeal nor grace nor talents to expose myself to the temptations and labours of a mission to the West Indies; and, on the other, I believe that if God call me thither the time is not yet come.... Pray let me know what you think of this business; if you condemn me to put the sea between us, the command would be a hard one, but I might possibly prevail on myself to give you that proof of the deference I pay to your judicious advice. Give me some account of Mrs. Wesley, and of the godfather she designs for your little Charles; and, that she may not labour under a deception, tell her how greatly I want wisdom, and add that I have no more grace than wisdom. If, after all, she will not reject so unworthy a sponsor, remember that I have taken you for a father and adviser, and that the charge will in the end devolve upon you. Adieu!"

To the Same.

"April, 1759.

"I have lately seen so much weakness in my heart, both as a minister and a Christian, that I know not which is most to be pitied, the man, the believer, or the preacher. Could I at last be truly humbled, and continue so always, I should esteem myself happy in making this discovery. I preach merely to keep the chapel open until God shall send a workman after His own heart. Nos numeri sumus—this is almost all I can say of myself."

To the Same.

"Nov. 15th, 1759.

"The countess proposed to me something of what you hinted to me in your garden, namely, to celebrate the Communion sometimes at her house in a morning, and to preach when occasion offered; in such a manner however as not to restrain my liberty, nor to prevent my assisting you, or preaching to the French refugees; and that only till Providence should clearly point out the path in which I should go. Charity, politeness, and reason accompanied her offer, and I confess, in spite of the resolution which I had almost absolutely formed, to fly the houses of the great, without even the exception of the countess's, I found myself so greatly changed that I should have accepted on the spot a proposal which I should have declined from any other mouth; but my engagement with you withheld me, and, thanking the countess, I told her, when I had reflected on her obliging offer, I would do myself the honour of waiting upon her again.

"Nevertheless, two difficulties stand in my way. Will it be consistent with that poverty of spirit which I seek? Can I accept an office for which I have such small talents? And shall I not dishonour the cause of God by stammering out the mysteries of the gospel in a place where the most approved ministers of the Lord have preached with so much power and so much success? I suspect that my own vanity gives more weight to this second objection than it deserves to have: what think you? You are an indulgent father to me, and the name of son suits me better than that of brother."[4]

CHAPTER VI.
FIRST YEARS AT MADELEY.—DIFFICULTIES AND DISCOURAGEMENTS.

(1760-1767.)

Fletcher had now completed his thirty-first year, and had been three years and a half in orders. Ten years had elapsed since his coming to England, and he had no thought of returning to Switzerland. The anglicised form of his name was significant of the change that had taken place in his sentiments and sympathies. In these he had become an Englishman, although—and it is necessary to mark the distinction—his temperament was never naturalised, but remained that of a foreigner to the last. The yearning for his native land, which is supposed to characterise the Swiss, was wholly wanting in him. Spiritual affections and aspirations seemed to leave little room for love of country, and, for a time at least, to dissolve the ties of family and home. On this subject Charles Wesley, as we gather from a letter of Fletcher's, administered a mild reproof, to which he replies, with the utmost simplicity, that he had often thought "that the particular fault of the Swiss is to be without natural affection." It should be added that later years showed that he had no need to seek shelter under any such doubtful generalization, or charge himself with so grievous a moral deficiency.

Meanwhile, his position needed defining to himself, and to others. He was not adequately or satisfactorily employed. His labours in connexion with the Wesleys and Lady Huntingdon, broken off and resumed from time to time, according as he lived in London or in Shropshire, were but preparatory to some more definite and continuous vocation. What that should be he knew not. It was however soon to be determined.

His friend Mr. Hill, desirous of doing something for the tutor of his sons, offered him the living of Dunham, in Cheshire. "The parish," said he, "is small, the duty light, the income good (£400 per annum), and it is situated in a fine, healthy, sporting country." "Alas!" replied Fletcher, "Dunham will not suit me; there is too much money and too little labour." All that Mr. Hill could say to this unexpected difficulty was, "Few clergymen make such objections," and to tell him that it was a pity to decline such a living, as he did not know where he could find him another. What was to be done? Mr. Hill suggested Madeley; "Would you like that?" "That, sir," said Fletcher, "would be the very place for me." "My object," answered Mr. Hill, "is to make you comfortable in your own way. If you prefer Madeley, I shall find no difficulty in persuading Mr. Chambre to exchange it for Dunham, which is worth more than twice as much as Madeley." A nephew of Mr. Hill was patron of Madeley, and the uncle and nephew meeting soon after at Shrewsbury races, the exchange of livings was negotiated then and there, and the result communicated to Fletcher. On his part there were still a few doubts and heart-searchings, and one powerful influence was opposed to his accepting this or any other living: Wesley wanted him for itinerant work, and told him, "Others may do well in a living; you cannot, it is not your calling." "I tell him," says Fletcher, "I readily own that I am not fit to plant or water any part of the Lord's vineyard; but that if I am called at all, I am called to preach at Madeley, where I was first sent into the ministry, and where a chain of providences I could not break has again fastened me."

With these convictions the matter was soon settled. His induction to "the vicarage of the parish church of Madeley" was signed by the Bishop of Hereford, on October 4th, 1760. Henceforth Fletcher is Vicar of Madeley. He has found the sphere of labour where he was to spend the remainder of his days, and received the designation by which he will ever be remembered.[5]

Among the country parishes of England are many whose remoteness from toil and din, and tranquil beauty of church and parsonage, of hall and cottage, have made them meet homes for gentle-spirited men. George Herbert at Bemerton, Augustus Hare at Alton, John Keble at Hursley, represent an element in the historic Church of England, which is to its more imposing aspects what the pastoral scenery amid which they lived, is to the mountains of Westmorland or Wales. Had the providence which shaped Fletcher's course guided him to some such retirement, and made him shepherd of a simple, docile flock, no man would have trodden with greater meekness and fidelity the quiet ways of the country parson; but he was called to another and more arduous service. Few scenes of labour could be less attractive, considered in itself, than that upon which he was now entering. The parish of Madeley, including Coalbrookdale and Madeley Wood, was large and populous. The inhabitants were principally colliers and ironworkers, ignorant, rough, and brutal. Their condition is not to be wondered at. Little or nothing had been done to raise and improve them. The well-organized, well-worked parish of modern times, was not yet in existence. The non-residence of the clergy, which lasted throughout the century, as may be seen by the language of Bishop Burnet at its beginning and of Bishop Horsley at its close, was a fruitful source of many evils, and a chief hindrance in the way of a higher standard of parochial duty. Another twenty years was to elapse before any serious attempt was made to establish Sunday schools. Public catechizing had fallen into disuse. Day schools were few and inefficient. Voluntary associations for Christian work were all but unknown. The district visitor, the tract distributer, the Bible-woman, the home missionary, the many organizations of Christian piety and zeal with which the land is now covered, had not yet arisen. The Revival was to produce them in due course, but meanwhile the mass of the people was untouched by any effectual Christian influences, save where the Methodist clergy, or Wesley's itinerants, brought the gospel home to them. What could be expected of a rough collier population but hard drinking, profane swearing, and cruel sports? These were common practices everywhere, and were not likely to be found in their mildest forms among the people of Madeley and the neighbouring villages.

In his letters to Charles Wesley and the Countess of Huntingdon, Fletcher gives some particulars respecting his parish and the work he had undertaken.

Oct. 28th, 1760.

"I preached last Sunday for the first time in my church, and shall continue to do so, though I propose staying with Mr. Hill till he leaves the country, which will be, I suppose, in a fortnight, partly to comply with him to the last, partly to avoid falling out with my predecessor, who is still at Madeley, but who will remove about the same time."

Nov. 19th, 1760.

"I have hitherto wrote my sermons, but am carried so far beyond my notes when in the pulpit that I purpose preaching with only my sermon-case in my hand next Friday, when I shall venture on an evening lecture for the first time. I question whether I shall have above half a dozen hearers, as the god of a busy world is doubly the god of this part of the world, but I am resolved to try. The weather and the roads are so bad that the way to the church is almost impracticable; nevertheless all the seats were full last Sunday. I cannot yet discern any deep work, or indeed anything but what will always attend the crying down man's righteousness, and insisting upon Christ's,—I mean a general liking among the poor, and offence, ridicule, and opposition among the 'reputable' and 'wise' people. Should the Lord vouchsafe to plant the gospel in this country, my parish seems to be the best spot for the centre of a work, as it lies just among the most populous, profane, and ignorant."

"Jan. 6th, 1761.

"As to my parish, all that I see hitherto in it is nothing but what one may expect from speaking plainly and with some degree of earnestness: a crying out, 'He's a Methodist, a downright Methodist'; while some of the poorer sort say, 'nay, but he speaketh the truth.' Some of the best farmers and most respectable tradesmen talk often among themselves (as I am told) about turning me out of my living as a Methodist or a Baptist.... My Friday lecture took better than I expected, and I propose to continue it till the congregation desert me.... The number of communicants is increased from thirty to above a hundred; and a few seem to seek grace in the means."

April 27th, 1761.

"Last Sunday I had the pleasure of seeing some in the churchyard who could not get into the church. I began a few Sundays ago to preach in the afternoon, after catechising the children, but I do not preach my own sermons. Twice I read a sermon of Archbishop Ussher, and last Sunday one of the homilies, taking the liberty to make some observations on such passages as confirmed what I advanced in the morning; and by this means I stopped the mouths of many adversaries.... You will do well to engage your colliers at Kingswood to pray for their poor brethren at Madeley. May those at Madeley one day equal them in faith, as they now do in that wickedness for which they (the Kingswood colliers) were famous before you went among them."

Aug. 12th, 1761.

"I know not what to say to you of the state of my soul. I daily struggle in the Slough of Despond, and I endeavour every day to climb the hill Difficulty. I need wisdom, mildness, and courage: and no man has less of them than I. O Jesus, my Saviour, draw me strongly to Him who giveth wisdom to all who ask it, and upbraideth them not! As to the state of my parish, the prospect is yet discouraging. New scandals succeed those that wear away. But offences must come. Happy shall I be if the offence cometh not by me! My churchwardens speak of hindering strangers from coming to the church, and of repelling them from the Lord's table; but on these points I am determined to make head against them. A club of eighty workmen in a neighbouring parish, being offended at their minister, determined to come in procession to my church, and requested me to preach a sermon for them; but I thought proper to decline it, and have thereby a little regained the good graces of the minister, at least for a time."

Oct. 12th, 1761.

"Discouragements follow one after another with very little intermission. Those which are of an inward nature are sufficiently known to you; but some others are peculiar to myself, especially those I have had for eight days past, during Madeley wake. Seeing that I could not suppress these bacchanals, I did all in my power to moderate their madness; but my endeavours have had little or no effect. You cannot well imagine how much the animosity of my parishioners is heightened, and with what boldness it discovers itself against me, because I preached against drunkenness, shows, and bull-baiting. The publicans and maltmen will not forgive me; they think that to preach against drunkenness and to cut their purse is the same thing."

Fletcher's difficulties during these earlier years at Madeley were, indeed, very numerous. In his letters he passes lightly over the violence of the more ignorant and brutal of his flock. Though from time to time dangerous enough, it did not daunt or distress him so much as some other kinds of opposition. While fearlessly reproving their vices, he was full of tenderness and pity for the poor sinful wretches who cursed and insulted him to his face. He sought them separately, literally pursuing those who tried to hide themselves from him, and entreated them to turn from their sins. He would break in upon their assemblies, where drunkenness and obscenity had scarcely any limits, and reprove them with an earnestness that touched the consciences of some, while it roused others to resentment and revenge. On one occasion at least he had a narrow escape for his life. One Sunday evening when he was expected at Madeley Wood, a number of colliers, who were baiting a bull, maddened with drink and excitement, agreed to bait the parson. Some of them undertook to pull him off his horse as soon as he appeared, while the rest were to set the dogs upon him. But the providence of God prevented this crime, and protected the faithful minister. Just as he was about to set out for Madeley Wood he was unexpectedly sent for to bury a child, and so was detained until it was too late to go to the Wood; and the drunken colliers, who were cursing their ill luck, had nothing for it but to return to the public-house and solace themselves after their manner.

From among the very worst of these despisers of his ministry some, however, were converted to God, and became his joy and consolation.

On a certain Sunday, after reading prayers at Madeley, he says that his mind became so confused that he could not recollect his text or any part of his sermon. Under these circumstances he began to explain and apply the first lesson, which was the third chapter of the Book of Daniel, containing the account of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego being cast into the fiery furnace. The remainder of the story may be told in Fletcher's own words. "I found in doing this such extraordinary assistance from God, and such a peculiar enlargement of heart, that I supposed there must be some peculiar cause for it. I therefore desired, if any of the congregation found anything particular, they would acquaint me with it in the ensuing week. In consequence of this, the Wednesday after a woman came and gave the following account:

"'I have been for some time much concerned about my soul. I have attended church at all opportunities, and have spent much time in private prayer. At this my husband, who is a butcher, has been exceedingly enraged, and has threatened me severely as to what he would do to me if I did not leave off going to John Fletcher's church; yea, if I dared to go again to any religious meetings whatever. When I told him I could not in conscience refrain from going, at least to the parish church, he became outrageous, and swore dreadfully, and said if I went again he would cut my throat as soon as I came back. This made me cry to God that He would support me; and though I did not feel any great degree of comfort, yet, having a sure confidence in God, I determined to do my duty, and leave the event to Him. Last Sunday, after many struggles with the devil and my own heart, I came downstairs ready for church. My husband said he should not cut my throat, as he had intended, but he would heat the oven, and throw me into it the moment I came home. Notwithstanding this threat, which he enforced with many bitter oaths, I went to church, praying all the way that God would strengthen me to suffer whatever might befall me. While you were speaking of the three children whom Nebuchadnezzar cast into the burning, fiery furnace, I found all you said belonged to me. God applied every word to my heart; and when the sermon was ended I thought if I had a thousand lives I could lay them all down for Him. I felt so filled with His love that I hastened home, fully determined to give myself to whatsoever God pleased, nothing doubting that He either would take me to heaven, if He suffered me to be burnt to death, or that He would in some way deliver me, as He did His three servants that trusted in Him. When I got to my own door I saw flames issuing from the oven, and I expected to be thrown into it immediately. I felt my heart rejoice that if it were so the will of the Lord would be done. I opened the door, and to my astonishment saw my husband upon his knees, praying for the forgiveness of his sins. He caught me in his arms, earnestly begged my pardon, and has continued diligently seeking God ever since.'"

But there was opposition, as has been said, that weighed more heavily upon Fletcher's spirit than that of the poor and ignorant, who knew not what they did. Now it was a "new convert, whom the devil had by fifty visions set on the pinnacle of the temple. I have had more trouble with her visions than with her unbelief." Then he writes: "A daughter of one of my most substantial parishioners, giving place to Satan by pride and impatience, is driven in her conviction into a kind of madness. Judge how our adversaries rejoiced!"

Another incident caused him almost to despair of any good. A constable was sent to his house upon information that a cry of murder had been heard there on Christmas Day. The report arose from the cries from a young woman, who used to fall into convulsions, sometimes in the church and sometimes in the private meetings. He writes: "Her constitution is considerably weakened as well as her understanding. What to do in this case I know not; for those who are tempted in this manner pay as little regard to reason as the miserable people in Bedlam." He adds, "And for my part I was tempted to forsake my ministry and take to my heels."

A further affliction was the ill-will of the neighbouring clergy and gentry. At the archdeacon's visitation a sermon was preached against what were called the "doctrines of Methodism," and after the sermon Fletcher was triumphantly asked what answer he could make. A young clergyman, living in Madeley Wood, fastened a paper to the door of the parish church charging him with "rebellion, schism, and being a disturber of the public peace." He had opened a room for religious services in a small house built upon the rock in Madeley Wood. Hence it was known as the Rock Church. It was determined to put the Conventicle Act in force against him. A poor widow who lived in the house, Mary Matthews by name, and a young man who used to take part in the services held there, were arrested and taken before the justice. Mary Matthews was fined £20, and the justice proposed to grant a warrant for the apprehension of Fletcher. The other justices thinking it a matter beyond their jurisdiction, the warrant was not issued. His churchwardens talked loudly of putting him in the spiritual court for holding meetings in houses, and, Fletcher adds, "what is worse than all, three false witnesses offer to prove upon oath that I am a liar; and some of 'my followers' (as they are called) have dishonoured their profession, to the great joy of our adversaries."

No wonder he was from time to time greatly cast down. His health was delicate, he lived alone, and, between deliberate fasting and unconscious neglect of himself, his body suffered and his spirits were depressed. He writes to Charles Wesley: "I preach, I exhort, I pray, etc., but as yet I seem to have cast the net on the wrong side of the ship. Lord Jesus, come Thyself and furnish me with a Divine commission! For some months past I have laboured under an insufferable drowsiness. I could sleep day and night, and the hours which I ought to employ with Christ on the mountain I spend like Peter in the garden."

The drowsiness of which he complains was probably connected with what Wesley says was his invariable rule; viz. to sit up two whole nights in a week, and devote the time to reading, meditation, and prayer. We have seen that Wesley disapproved these austerities as "well intended but not well judged." It would be easy, but ungracious, to expand into censure what Wesley so gently touched upon. It will be pleasanter to look for a moment upon the solitary vicar at his frugal meal, as portrayed by one who never forgot her girlish visit to the vicarage.

"Mr. Fletcher sometimes visited a boarding school at Madeley. One morning he came in just as the girls had sat down to breakfast. He said but little while the meal lasted, but when it was finished he spoke to each girl separately, and concluded by saying to the whole, 'I have waited some time on you this morning, that I might see you eat your breakfast; and I hope you will visit me to-morrow morning and see how I eat mine.' He told them his breakfast hour was seven o'clock, and obtained a promise that they would visit him. Next morning they went at the time appointed, and seated themselves in the kitchen. Mr. Fletcher came in, quite rejoiced to see them. On the table stood a small basin of milk and sops of bread. Mr. Fletcher took the basin across the kitchen, and sat down on an old bench. He then took out his watch, laid it before him, and said: 'My dear girls, yesterday morning I waited on you a full hour while you were at breakfast. I shall take as much time this morning in eating my breakfast as I usually do, if not rather more. Look at my watch! and he immediately began to eat and continued in conversation with them. When he had finished he asked them how long he had been at breakfast. They said, 'Just a minute and a half, sir.' 'Now, my dear girls,' said he, 'we have fifty-eight minutes of the hour left'; and he began to sing—

'Our life is a dream;
Our time as a stream
Glides swiftly away,
And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.'"

After this he gave them a lecture on the value of time, and the worth of the soul. They then all knelt down in prayer, after which he dismissed them with impressions on the mind the narrator never ceased to remember.[6]

In following Fletcher through the earlier years of his ministry at Madeley the thought will present itself to most persons that a good wife would have been an incalculable blessing to him. In a letter to Mr. Perronet, written in November, 1765, he says, "I live alone in my house, having neither wife, child, nor servant." Surely this is a somewhat forlorn view of the Vicar of Madeley, which not all his gentle cheerfulness can effectually brighten. A wife's ministering would have been as good for his health and comfort as her sympathy and counsel would have been helpful in the peculiar difficulties of his pastorate. George Herbert, in his "Country Parson," though he shows a sufficient leaning towards the celibacy of the clergy, yet qualifies his verdict: "The country parson, considering that virginity is a higher state than matrimony, and that the ministry requires the best and highest thing, is rather unmarried than married. But yet, ... as the temper of his parish may be, where he may have occasion to converse with women, and that amongst suspicious men, and other like circumstances considered, he is rather married than unmarried." Fletcher was never suspected of levity or indiscretion. It was hardly within the power, either of the foolish or the malicious, to fasten scandal upon one so transparently pure in spirit and demeanour. But, as it has been seen, the religious fears and fancies, and morbid or fanatical conditions of certain women caused him much trouble, and almost made him despair of his work. In these matters the aid of such a wife as Fletcher would have married—as many years afterwards he did marry—would have been invaluable. It is the more to be regretted that he did not marry, as it appears that his heart was already drawn towards Miss Bosanquet, his future wife. But her fortune he regarded as an almost insuperable obstacle. Juvenal's sarcasm, Veniunt a dote sagittæ, recurred to him, and he shrank from the notion of becoming the suitor of a wealthy woman. Charles Wesley thought it would be better for him to marry; but he repelled the suggestion, and wrote him several "reasons against matrimony," which, to say the truth, are a very laboured piece of writing, and are never likely to convince any human being whose mind is not already made up.

CHAPTER VII.
CONTROVERSY AND CORRESPONDENCE.

Almost from the beginning of his ministry Fletcher's pen was active in the service of religion. From various causes much, if not the greater part, of his writings was controversial, and to this fact may be assigned, in part at least, their immediate popularity and subsequent neglect. But the spirit of controversy never got the better of the spirit of devotion. Whatever view may be taken of the Calvinist controversy, in which he took a leading part, few will dissent from Southey's judgment: "If ever true Christian charity was manifested in polemical writing, it was by Fletcher of Madeley. Even theological controversy never in the slightest degree irritated his heavenly temper." Some extracts from his earlier writings will show the spirit in which he entered upon this part of his labours.

In reply to the visitation sermon attacking the "doctrines of Methodism," he wrote, in July, 1761, a short "Defence of Experimental Religion," which may be classed amongst the best apologies of the period. He had now acquired an easy, pleasant English style, tending somewhat to the florid and diffuse, but generally stopping short of excess, and often forcible and persuasive in a high degree. He had no difficulty in showing that to represent virtue and morality as the way to salvation is neither agreeable to the Scripture nor to the doctrine of the Church of England. The true nature of justification, and of the faith that justifies, he illustrates from the Articles and Homilies. The necessity of God's grace to turn the will, as against the superficial notion that a man is as free to do good as to do evil, is shown from Article X., from the baptismal office, and the collect for Ash Wednesday.

It was inevitable in the state of religion in England, and considering the chief intellectual influences then in the ascendant, that to preach salvation as a present blessing to be possessed and enjoyed, was to incur the charge of enthusiasm. The high and moderate clergy never felt surer of themselves than when exposing the folly and presumption of "feelings" and "experiences" in religion. Fletcher distinguishes between what is true and what is false on this subject:

"To set up impulses as the standard of our faith or rule of our conduct; to take the thrilling of weak nerves, sinking of the animal spirits, or flights of a heated imagination, for the workings of God's Spirit; to pretend to miraculous gifts, and those fruits of the Spirit which are not offered and promised to believers in all ages, or to boast of the graces which that Spirit produces in the heart of every child of God, when the fruits of the flesh appear in our life—this is downright enthusiasm: I detest it as well as you, sir, and I heartily wish you good luck whenever you shall attack such monstrous delusions.

"But is it consistent with the doctrines of our Church to condemn and set aside all feelings in religion, and rank them with unaccountable impulses? Give me leave, sir, to tell you that either you or the compilers of our Liturgy, Articles, and Homilies must be mistaken, if I did not mistake you.... They bid us pray (office for the sick) that every sick person may know and feel that there is no saving name or power but that of Jesus Christ. In the seventeenth of our Articles they speak of godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the workings of God's Spirit. And in the third part of the homily for rogation week, they declare that when after contrition we feel our consciences at peace with God through the remission of our sin, it is God that worketh this miracle in us. (Compare this with Rom. v. 1.) They are so far therefore from attributing such feelings to the weakness of good people's nerves, or to a spirit of pride and delusion, that they affirm it is God that worketh them in their hearts....

"You seemed, sir, to discountenance feelings as not agreeable to sober, rational worship; but, if I am not mistaken, reason by no means clashes with feelings of various sorts in religion. I am willing to let any man of reason judge whether feeling sorrow for sin, hunger and thirst after righteousness, peace of conscience, serenity of mind, consolation in prayer, thankfulness at the Lord's table, hatred of sin, zeal for God, love to Jesus and all men, compassion for the distressed, etc., or feeling nothing at all of this, is matter of mere indifference: yea, sir, take for a judge a heathen poet, if you please, and you will hear him say of a young man who, by his blushes, betrayed the shame he felt for having told an untruth,—Erubuit, salva res est....

"If a man may feel sorrow when he sees himself stript of all, and left naked upon a desert coast, why should not a penitent sinner, whom God has delivered from blindness of heart, be allowed to feel sorrow upon seeing himself robbed of his title to heaven, and left in the wilderness of this world destitute of original righteousness? Again, if it is not absurd to say that a rebel, condemned to death, feels joy upon his being reprieved and received into his prince's favour, why should it be thought absurd to affirm that a Christian, who, being justified by faith, has peace with God, and rejoices in hope of the glory to come, feels joy and happiness in his inmost soul on that account? On the contrary, sir, to affirm that such a one feels nothing (if I am not mistaken) is no less repugnant to reason than to religion....

"But if, because your text was taken out of St. Paul's epistle, you choose, sir, to let him decide whether feelings ought to have place in sound religion, or not, I am willing to stand at the bar before so great a judge, and promise to find no fault with his sentence.... Where does he exclaim against feeling the power of God, or the powerful operations of His Spirit on the heart? Is it where he says that the kingdom of God is 'not in word, but in power'; that this kingdom within us (if we are believers), this true, inward religion consists in peace, righteousness, and joy in the Holy Ghost; that Christians rejoice in tribulation, because the love of God is shed abroad in their hearts by the Holy Ghost given unto them? Is it where he says, he is 'not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, because it is the power of God to the salvation of every one that believeth'; that he desired to 'know nothing but Jesus and the power of His resurrection'? (2 Cor. ii. 24.) Or is it when he calls the exerting of this power in him his life; saying, 'I live not, but Christ lives in me; and the life that I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me'?

"Can we suppose that he discountenances feelings in religion, when he prays that 'the God of hope' would fill the Romans (xv. 13) 'with all joy and peace in believing, that they might abound in hope through the power of the Holy Ghost'; when he says that 'they had not received again the spirit of bondage to fear, but the spirit of adoption, crying, Abba, Father, and witnessing to their spirits that they were the children of God,' agreeable to that of St. John, 'He that believeth hath the witness in himself'?

"One more argument on this subject, and I shall conclude the whole. If good nature, affability, and morality, with a round of outward duties, will fit a man for heaven, without any feeling of the workings of the Spirit of God in the heart, or without peace, righteousness, and joy in the Holy Ghost; if such a professor of godliness is really in that narrow way to the kingdom which few people find, why did our Lord puzzle honest Nicodemus with the strange doctrine of a new birth?... why did He trouble the religious centurion with sending for Peter, that the Holy Ghost might fall upon him and all that heard the word, while the apostle preached to them remission of sins, through faith in Jesus?

"But, above all, if inward feelings are nothing in sound religion, if they rather border upon enthusiasm, why did not our Lord caution the woman who came behind him in Simon's house, who wept at his feet, and kissed and wiped them with her hair? Why did He not take this opportunity to preach her and us a lecture on enthusiasm? Why did He not advise her to take something to help the weakness of her nerves, and prevent the ferment of her spirits? Why did He not tell her she went too far, she would run mad in the end? Why did He not bid her (as people do in our days) go into company a little, and divert her melancholy? Nay, more; why did He prefer her with all her behaviour to good-natured, virtuous, religious, undisturbed Simon?

"... However, do not mistake me, sir; I am far from supposing that the sincerity of people's devotion must be judged of by the emotion they feel in their bodies.... But as I read that God will have the heart or nothing, so I know that when He has the heart, He has the affections, of course. Fear and hope, sorrow and joy, desire and love act upon their proper objects, God's attributes. They often launch out, and, as it were, lose themselves in His immensity, and, at times, several of these passions acting together in the soul, the noble disorder they cause cannot but affect the animal spirits, and communicate itself more or less to the body. Hence came the floods of tears shed by David, Jeremiah, Mary, Peter, Paul, etc.; hence came the sighs, tears, strong cries, and groans unutterable of our Saviour Himself."

The "Defence," from which these extracts are made, fairly exhibits the mind of early Methodism, and of the Evangelical Revival generally, upon the questions discussed. The discrimination between religious feeling arising from the quickened apprehension of Divine truth, and that which is little more than natural emotion unnaturally stimulated, is not peculiar to Fletcher. He did but share it with the other leaders of the new reformation. The teaching of Wesley, the master mind of the whole movement, is, as regards this matter, as much marked by strong sense as by Evangelical fervour.

The comment, perhaps, of most readers of this "Defence of Experimental Religion" will be that the points contended for are obvious and indisputable, that they would be so readily admitted as to render much of the argument superfluous. That this should appear so is one of the many illustrations of the extent to which the results of the great Revival have passed into the religious life of the nation, and become a common heritage.

The private letters written at this period of Fletcher's life contain very little biographic material, and indeed record few incidents of any kind. Written, for the most part, to persons like-minded with himself, they consist mainly of the outpourings of praise and holy aspiration, mingled with exhortations and counsels. To the spiritually-minded who may read them they will continue to interpret and justify themselves, but it must be admitted that they do not belong to the rare and precious class of writings that rank among the permanent treasures of the Christian Church. The distinction between that which is "for an age," and that which is "for all time," is nowhere more marked than in religious literature. Fletcher's letters nourished the spiritual life of his friends and correspondents, and were much read by Methodists for a generation or two; but they have failed to win a place among the books that do not grow old, those companions of the spiritual life whose ministry is from generation to generation. So few indeed are the books of this class that there is no need to apologise for Fletcher because he has not added to their number.[7]

A few extracts from his correspondence may be given.

To the Rev. Charles Wesley.

"Sept. 20th, 1762.

"The 'crede quod habes et habes' is not very different from those words of Christ, 'What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.' The humble reason of the believer and the irrational presumption of the enthusiast draw this doctrine to the right hand or to the left. But to split the hair, here lies the difficulty.... Truly you are a pleasant casuist. What! 'It hath pleased Thee to regenerate this infant with Thy Holy Spirit, to receive him for Thine own child by adoption, and to incorporate him into Thy holy Church'—does all this signify nothing more than 'being taken into the visible Church'?

"How came you to think of my going to leave Madeley? I have indeed had my scruples about the above passage, and some in the burial service; but you may dismiss your fears, and be assured I will neither marry nor leave my Church without advising you."

To Miss Hatton.

"Nov. 1st, 1762.

"That there is a seal of pardon and an earnest of our inheritance above, to which you are as yet a stranger, seems clear from the tenor of your letter; but had I been in the place of the gentleman you name, I would have endeavoured to lay it before you as 'the fruit of faith,' and a most glorious privilege, rather than as 'the root of faith,' and a thing absolutely necessary to the being of it.... Hold fast your confidence, but do not trust nor rest in it; trust in Christ, and remember He says, 'I am the way'; not for you to stop, but to run on in Him. Rejoice to hear that there is a full assurance of faith to be obtained by the seal of God's Spirit, and go on from faith to faith until you are possessed of it. But remember this, and let this double advice prevent your straying to the right or left: first, that you will have reason to suspect the sincerity of your zeal if you lie down easy without the seal of your pardon, and the full assurance of your faith; secondly, while you wait for that seal in all the means of grace, beware of being unthankful for the least degree of faith and confidence in Jesus, beware of burying one talent, because you have not five, beware of despising the grain of mustard seed because it is not yet a tree.

"With respect to myself: in many conflicts and troubles of soul I have consulted many masters of the spiritual life; but Divine mercy did not, does not, suffer me to rest upon the word of a fellow creature. The best advices have often increased my perplexities; and the end was to make me cease from human dependence, and wait upon God from the dust of self-despair. To Him therefore I desire to point you and myself, in the person of Jesus Christ. This incarnate God receives weary, perplexed sinners still, and gives them solid rest. He teaches as no man ever taught; His words have spirit and life; nor can He possibly mistake our case."

Fletcher's correspondence with Miss Hatton continued, at intervals, for some years. She was much afflicted in body, and, as it would seem, harassed and burdened in spirit, and his letters afforded her consolation and guidance until the close of her life, to which he thus refers: "Poor Miss Hatton died last Sunday fortnight full of serenity, faith, and love. The four last hours of her life were better than all her sickness. When the pangs of death were upon her, the comforts of the Almighty bore her triumphantly through, and some of her last words were: "Grieve not at my happiness.... I wish I could tell you half of what I feel and see. I am going to keep an everlasting sabbath.... Thanks be to God, who giveth me the victory!"

His care for his people found expression in many ways that watchful love suggested, or their necessities seemed to call for. During his occasional absences from home he addressed pastoral letters to his flock filled with Christian exhortations and counsels. The following are extracts:

"Oct., 1765.

"I beg you will not neglect the assembling of yourselves together, and when you meet in society, be neither backward nor forward to speak. Let every one esteem himself the meanest in the company, and be glad to sit at the feet of the lowest.... I had not time to finish this letter yesterday, being called upon to preach in a market town in the neighbourhood.... A gentleman churchwarden would hinder my getting into the pulpit, and, in order to do this, cursed and swore, and took another gentleman by the collar in the middle of the church. Notwithstanding his rage, I preached. May the Lord raise in power what was sown in weakness!"

"Sept., 1766.

"When I was in London I endeavoured to make the most of my time, that is to say, to hear, receive, and practise the word. Accordingly I went to Mr. Whitefield's tabernacle, and heard him give his society a most excellent exhortation upon love. He began by observing, that 'when St. John was old, and past walking and preaching, he would not forsake the assembling himself with the brethren, as the manner of too many is, upon little or no pretence at all. On the contrary, he got himself carried to their meeting, and, with his last thread of voice, preached to them his final sermon, consisting of this one sentence, "My little children, love one another."' I wish, I pray, I earnestly beseech you to follow that evangelical, apostolical advice.... Bear with one another's infirmities, and do not easily cast off any one; no, not for sin, except it be obstinately persisted in."

From unpublished manuscripts of Fletcher we find that in the latter part of the year 1764 he was engaged in a somewhat remarkable controversy within his own parish. His opponent was a Mrs. Anne Darby, a member of the Society of Friends, and the subjects discussed included the Athanasian Creed, the doctrine of the Trinity, the Sacraments, and the Christian Ministry. His account of its origin is as follows:

"On Thursday, November 22nd, 1764, Mrs. Darby, a female teacher among the people called Quakers, came into a house where the Vicar of Madeley was instructing his parishioners. He had given previous notice of his design to answer the objections made by dissenters and infidels against the Church of England; and he happened at her coming to defend the doctrine of the blessed Trinity, as contained in Athanasius's Creed.

"It was not long before the lady began the attack, and having given us a scriptural account of the Trinity, she blamed us for two things:

"1st. For dwelling upon that point rather than enforcing practical duties.

"2nd. For admitting St. Athanasius's Creed, as in her opinion it is full of gross misrepresentations of the Godhead."

A verbal discussion followed, which is carefully recorded. Mrs. Darby afterwards brought the six following questions, and put them to the vicar, who, in turn, furnishes a written reply.

"1st Query. Dost thou believe that thy Church, or as it is called, the Church of England, is the Church of Christ?

"2nd Query. Dost thou believe that thou art a minister of Christ?

"3rd Query. But Christ's ministers had all their trade. Was not Paul a tentmaker? And is thy maintenance such as suits a minister of the gospel?

"4th Query. The ministers of Christ preach the gospel freely. 'Freely ye have received, freely give,' says Christ. Dost thou do so?

"5th Query. Is the baptism thou baptizest with, the baptism of Him who baptized with the Holy Ghost?

"6th Query. Dost thou believe that the supper thou celebratest is the supper of which Christ said, 'I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear My voice, and open, I will come in, and sup with him, and he with Me'?"

In discussing these queries Fletcher took great pains. He deals with no less than fifteen "objections" under one of them. Instead of asserting his authority, or that of the Church, he set himself to answer every reasonable question, including some that would hardly be considered such, to give satisfaction, if possible, to his opponents, and protect his people from what appeared to him serious perversions of truth. The labour involved would have sufficed to produce a book, but he had no literary aim in the matter. His manuscript was submitted to Mrs. Darby, and then, bound in a stout leathern cover, circulated among his parishioners. As we have quoted its opening passage, we will give an extract from its close, in which the Vicar of Madeley and Mrs. Darby take leave of one another.

"I hope the reader by this time laments with me the bad use that Mrs. Darby makes of a good understanding. How much better were it for her, and us all, if, instead of quibbling and wresting the Scriptures, as these sheets show she hath done, she would second the endeavours of the vicar in promoting a reformation of essentials in the parish with respect to principles and manners!

"But if she is still moved by the spirit of contention to make fresh assaults upon us, and to obtrude George Fox's peculiar tenets, to the disparagement of St. Paul's doctrines, we cannot but wish she may have a better memory to remember our answers, and more candour to do our arguments justice.

"In the meantime if the Vicar hath avoided the force of any of her objections, or omitted answering any, and if he has mistaken her in anything, he is ready to acknowledge it, as soon as she hath made it appear; and he hopes that if she acts by him as he hath assured her by words of mouth he would do by her, she will recall the copies of her partial manuscript, and correct them, according to the mistakes I have pointed out therein, before she makes them circulate any further."

To this is appended in Mrs. Darby's writing:

"Being called upon for this manuscript before I had considered it all over properly, I therefore have got it copied; and after examination (if worth notice) shall communicate my sentiments hereupon to John Fletcher and sober people. A. Darby."

What further came of this controversy, whether anything further came of it, we cannot tell. With Mrs. Darby's postscript before us it would not be safe to conclude that the last word had been spoken.

Among the labours belonging to this period was the organization of a "Society of Ministers of the Gospel," for which Fletcher drew up rules and regulations. Although, as we have seen, at the beginning of his work in Madeley he had met with a good deal of opposition from neighbouring clergy, he found it possible a few years later to form a clerical association for the promotion of spiritual life and ministerial efficiency. The society was to meet at Worcester, in the private house of some reputable person, twice in the year, on the Tuesday and Wednesday next before the full of the moon, in the months of May and September. The meeting was to begin at ten o'clock, dinner at two; the expense to be defrayed by an equal contribution of the whole society, "absentees not excepted." The topics for conversation and inquiry are set forth in considerable detail. They include "public preaching, the case of religious societies, the catechizing of children and instruction of youth, the case of personal inspection and personal visiting of the flock, the case of ruling their own houses well, the case of visiting the sick, the case of their own particular experiences and personal conduct."

Every member of the society was "recommended to take down brief minutes of the business transacted by the society, for his future recollection of it and meditation upon it."

The following are Fletcher's notes of the meeting held on May 12th, 1767:

"1. How far is it proper to preach against particular sins, and to enforce particular duties, and how to do this in a gospel-like manner.

"Answer. Very proper to stated congregations. Many convinced of sin by it; many kept decent by it. Believers themselves made watchful. Preach so as not to encourage pharisees.

"2. Whether we are to preach the law, and morality, and why?

"Answer. Yes: three reasons. (1) To inform believers; (2) To convince false moralists; (3) To stop the mouth of the adversaries, and confound antinomians.

"3. How far is it proper to mention and improve particular cases, and the experience of particular people, in funeral sermons and other discourses, to try to awaken the careless?

"Answer. Extraordinary cases known to all may be improved—with tenderness, wisdom, avoiding the appearance of sentencing any one, and saying what we say of them in Scripture words, and with suppositions.

"4. (Digression.) Whether charity and duty oblige us to say over all the dead, 'we hope they rest in Christ.' (Settled.) (A hardship) and may be omitted because not insisted on as absolutely indispensable.

"6. What's the proper length of a sermon for hearers and speaker?

"Answer. A stranger may be heard for an hour; a stated minister from 30 to 50 minutes.

"7. What to do to keep within these bounds?

"Answer. Pray, digest the point, have few heads, be not long upon them. If you have been too full upon the first, be less so upon the last.

"8. When a minister hath studied a subject with design to preach on it, and is shut up in his heart and clouded in his mind at preaching time, and another text presents itself, and liberty is offered to speak from it, is it enthusiasm to do it?

"Answer. Trial may be made, and if the preacher finds freedom and the people edification, the matter was from above.

"9. Whether we may allegorize Scripture, and how far?

"Answer. So far as the Holy Ghost hath allegorized we may safely do the same; but we must be very sparing of anything that exceeds Scripture warrant. Avoid taking historical allegorical texts to raise doctrines upon. Such texts may be brought by way of comparison or illustration of some other weighty passages which contain the doctrine plainly.

"10. Societies.

"Disadvantages. They raise a jealousy in those who do not belong to them, increase their prejudice, make them think the minister partial, and watch over the society for evil.

"Advantages. They are scriptural, comfortable, profitable, the only means of keeping up some discipline."

Such were the questions discussed, and the opinions expressed in the "Society of Ministers of the Gospel," organized, and probably founded, by Fletcher. The society was one of those innumerable results of the Revival, by which its spirit and principles were widely diffused through the Church. A generation later such associations were common amongst the Evangelical clergy. Of these the Eclectic Society, founded by John Newton and Richard Cecil in 1783, is well-known to us through the "Notes," extending from 1798 to 1814, published by Archdeacon Pratt.[8]

At the close of his first seven years at Madeley, Fletcher's chief difficulties had either disappeared, or were greatly diminished. Though he still lamented the comparative unfruitfulness of his labours, he had, in truth, much to rejoice over. Many of the ungodly had been converted through his ministry, some of whom were now walking worthy of Christ, while others had died in the Lord. He was now generally esteemed, and by the better part of his flock greatly beloved. He had gained experience in the administration of his parish and the direction of souls. In preaching, catechizing, visiting, and holding religious meetings he was indefatigable, and spared no pains to guard his people from doctrinal error or spiritual decline. The organization that gradually rose under his hand was not of the modern parochial type, but well suited to the circumstances of the people and of the time. He established regular preaching-places, not only in his own parish, but eight, ten, or more miles away, and formed societies for Christian instruction and fellowship. From time to time his hands were strengthened and his heart encouraged by visits from his friends and fellow labourers. Wesley's first visit was in July, 1764, and is thus referred to in his "Journal":

"I rode to Bilbrook, near Wolverhampton, and preached at between two and three. Thence we went on to Madeley, an exceedingly pleasant village, encompassed with trees and hills. It was a great comfort to me to converse once more with a Methodist of the old type, denying himself, taking up his cross, and resolved to be altogether a Christian.

"Sunday, July 22nd. At ten Mr. Fletcher read prayers, and I preached on those words in the gospel, 'I am the Good Shepherd: the Good Shepherd layeth down His life for the sheep.' The church would nothing near contain the congregation; but a window near the pulpit being taken down, those who could not come in stood in the churchyard, and I believe all could hear. The congregation, they said, used to be much smaller in the afternoon than in the morning; but I could not discern the least difference, either in number or seriousness. I found employment enough for the intermediate hours in praying with the various companies who hung about the house, insatiably hungering and thirsting after the good word. Mr. Grimshaw, at his first coming to Haworth, had not such a prospect as this. There are many adversaries indeed, but yet they cannot shut the open and effectual door."

Wesley's itinerant preachers were welcomed by Fletcher when their rounds brought them to his parish. To Alexander Mather, a brave and devoted Methodist preacher, he wrote to say that an occasional exhortation from him or his colleague to the societies he had formed would be esteemed a favour, and expressed at the same time a willingness, if it were not deemed an encroachment, to go, as Providence might direct, to any of Mr. Mather's preaching-places.

And as Fletcher rejoiced in the evangelistic labours of others in his own neighbourhood, so he willingly engaged in similar labours himself in various parts of the country. In the year 1765 we find him exchanging pulpits for a while with Mr. Sellon, curate of Breedon, in Leicestershire, and preaching to the crowds who filled the church, and clambered to the windows to see and hear.

Two years later, having secured the services of an acceptable curate to serve the parish in his absence, he spent some weeks in Yorkshire with the Countess of Huntingdon and Mr. Venn, the Vicar of Huddersfield. They were joined by a number of earnest clergy from different parts of the country, Mr. Madan from London, Dr. Conyers, Rector of Helmsley, Mr. Burnet, Vicar of Elland, and several others, by whom the gospel was preached to multitudes in town and country. In such companionship and in such labours Fletcher rejoiced greatly, and returned to his parish with renewed strength. The sense of loneliness was relieved. The difficulties of his work at Madeley seemed no longer exceptional. Cheered by the success vouchsafed to his labours and those of his friends, he came back to his people "in the fulness of the blessing of Christ." Modern experience has shown how a parish or a congregation may be benefited by the coming of a mission preacher, and how a minister may be enlarged in heart and utterance by special labours away from his own flock. Missions based upon the recognition of these truths are now familiar to us all; but in this matter, as in so much of the quickened life of the Church, the men of the Revival led the way.

CHAPTER VIII.
TREVECCA COLLEGE.—THE CALVINIST CONTROVERSY.

In the summer of 1768 Fletcher undertook an office which greatly increased his labours and responsibilities. The religious movement directed by the Countess of Huntingdon continuing to develop, a considerable number of chapels had, by this time, been built or hired in various parts of the country. The pulpits were generally supplied by clergymen of the Established Church, procured by the countess's personal influence. But such arrangements became increasingly difficult to make. Their 'irregularity' was disapproved in high quarters. Lady Huntingdon's chaplains were, in fact, as 'irregular' in their labours as Wesley's itinerant preachers. The system that found no place for the one could not long sanction the other; whilst her ladyship's ecclesiastical authority was a still greater anomaly than that of Wesley.

It became necessary therefore to meet the demand for earnest, evangelical preachers in some other way than by the services of the regular clergy. Meanwhile, the expulsion of six students from the University of Oxford for "being attached to the sect called Methodists, and holding their doctrines," showed that the university was hardly likely to be the nursing mother of such men as were required.

In these circumstances the countess resolved to found a school or college for the training of godly young men for the work of the ministry. She proposed to admit such as were truly converted to God and gave evidence of being called to preach the gospel, and to give them the advantage of three years' residence and instruction, at the close of which they might enter the ministry, either in the Church of England, or among Protestants of any other denomination. After taking counsel with Whitefield, Romaine, Venn, Fletcher, and others, Lady Huntingdon established the institution on which her heart was set.

Fletcher appears to have been in thorough sympathy with the countess's aims from the first. Being consulted as to the selection of books for the college, he writes: "Having studied abroad, and used rather foreign than English books with my pupils, I am not acquainted with the books Great Britain affords well enough to select the best and most concise. Besides, a plan of studies must be fixed upon first, before proper books can be chosen. Grammar, logic, rhetoric, with ecclesiastical history, and a little natural philosophy, and geography, with a great deal of practical divinity, will be enough for those who do not care to dive into languages. Mr. Townsend and Charles Wesley might, by spending an hour together, make a proper choice; and I would recommend them not to forget Watts's 'Logic,' and his 'History of the Bible by Questions and Answers,' which seem to me excellent books of the kind for clearness and order. Mr. Wesley's 'Natural Philosophy' contains as much as is wanted, or more. Mason's 'Essay on Pronunciation' will be worth their attention. Henry and Gill on the Bible, with four volumes of Baxter's 'Practical Works,' Keach's 'Metaphors,' Taylor on the Types, Gurnal's 'Christian Armour,' Edwards on Preaching, Johnson's English dictionary, and Mr. Wesley's Christian Library, may make part of the little library. The book of Baxter I mention I shall take care to send to Trevecca, as a mite towards the collection, together with Usher's 'Body of Divinity,' Scapula's Greek lexicon, and Lyttleton's Latin dictionary."

But while Lady Huntingdon received counsel and assistance from many quarters, and from Fletcher amongst the rest, there was one service for which she looked to him alone. Would Fletcher allow himself to be placed at the head of her college? Would he accept the presidency, visiting Trevecca as often as he conveniently could, to direct the studies and discipline of the place, and test the character and qualifications of the students? From his profound esteem for the countess, and in the hope of assisting in the good work of raising up an earnest ministry, Fletcher accepted the office, and, without fee or reward of any kind, threw himself heartily into its duties.

An old mansion, known as Trevecca House, in the parish of Talgarth, South Wales, was altered and adapted to the requirements of a college; tutors were procured, and the house was soon filled with students, the first of whom was a young man from Madeley, converted under Fletcher's ministry. Lady Huntingdon herself took up her residence there, and by her presence stimulated the zeal of the household. Much of the time of the students was employed in evangelistic work. On foot or on horseback they visited the towns and villages for twenty or thirty miles round, preaching in chapels and houses, in field and market-places, as opportunity allowed. The pious founder soon saw a revival and extension of the work of God which filled her heart with joy, and assured her that the undertaking, concerning which some of her best friends had their misgivings, was approved by God. At the dedication of the college and chapel, on August 24th, 1768, Lady Huntingdon's birthday, Whitefield was the preacher, and large numbers of people came together from all parts of the country. The following year, the anniversary was the occasion of a still more remarkable gathering, and of a series of religious services marked by great manifestations of spiritual power. The most eminent ministers that Lady Huntingdon's summons could assemble were present. The congregations, too large for the chapel, assembled in the court. Day by day, and almost all day long, for a week together, vast crowds were moved to tears, to rapture, and to awe under the preaching of the gospel. Howel Harris, Howel Davies, and Daniel Rowlands, men whose names are household words in Wales to-day, preached in Welsh; and Wesley, Fletcher, and Shirley in English. Thousands of voices rose in hymns of praise, and joined in fervent responses and cries of prayer. On the Saturday and Sunday, and again on the following Thursday, the Lord's supper was administered, and Fletcher addressed the communicants with an earnestness and pathos that it seemed impossible to withstand. Many were awakened and converted. "Truly God was in the midst of us," said Lady Huntingdon, "and many felt Him eminently nigh. The gracious influences of His Spirit seemed to rest on every soul.... Words fail to describe the holy triumph with which the great congregation sang—

'Captain of Thine enlisted host,
Display Thy glorious banner high.'"

After a week of never to be forgotten blessings, the great crowds slowly dispersed, and the tireless evangelists took horse and rode away, each to his work, with strength renewed, and spirit refreshed as from the presence of the Lord.

Although Fletcher did not reside at the college, his connexion with it was by no means a nominal one. His journeys to Trevecca were frequent, involving fatigue and privations, which his feeble frame could ill endure, though he counted them less than nothing. As to the character of his visits, and the influence that accompanied him, the testimony of Mr. Benson, the headmaster, himself a man of exceptional intelligence and sanctity, is well known, but is too important to be omitted here:

"Mr. Fletcher visited them frequently, and was received as an angel of God. It is not possible for me to describe the veneration in which we all held him. Like Elijah in the schools of the prophets, he was revered, he was loved, he was almost adored; and that, not only by every student, but by every member of the family. And indeed he was worthy. The reader will pardon me if he think I exceed. My heart kindles while I write. Here it was that I saw, shall I say an angel in human flesh? I should not far exceed the truth if I said so. But here I saw a descendant of fallen Adam so fully raised above the ruins of the fall, that though by the body he was tied down to earth, yet was his whole conversation in heaven, yet was his life, from day to day, hid with Christ in God. Prayer, praise, love, and zeal, all ardent, elevated above what one would think attainable in this state of frailty, were the element in which he continually lived. And as to others, his one employment was to call, entreat, and urge them to ascend with him to the glorious Source of being and blessedness. He had leisure comparatively for nothing else. Languages, arts, sciences, grammar, rhetoric, logic, even divinity itself, as it is called, were all laid aside when he appeared in the schoolroom among the students. His full heart would not suffer him to be silent. He must speak, and they were readier to hearken to this servant and minister of Jesus Christ than to attend to Sallust, Virgil, Cicero, or any Latin or Greek historian, poet, or philosopher, they had been engaged in reading. And they seldom hearkened long before they were all in tears, and every heart catched fire from the flame which burned in his soul.