Chapter XIV

Lady Huntingdon and Mr. Fletcher--Introduced to Lady Huntingdon
by Mr. Wesley--Bishop of London--Letter to Mr. Charles
Wesley--Mr. Fletcher preaches and celebrates the Communion
at Lady Huntingdon’s--Letter to Mr. Charles Wesley--Letter
to Lady Huntingdon--Mr. Fletcher appointed Vicar of
Madely--Writes to Lady Huntingdon and Mr. Charles Wesley--Visits
Mr. Berridge--Letters to Lady Huntingdon--Induction to
Madely--Success of his Ministry--Letters to Lady Huntingdon.

In the spring of the year 1758, Lady Huntingdon first became acquainted with that singularly holy and zealous minister, the late Mr. Fletcher, vicar of Madely, near Bridgnorth, in Shropshire. In the family of Thomas Hill, Esq,, of Tern-hall, near Shrewsbury, he had spent some years in the capacity of tutor, but having been ordained the preceding year by Dr. Egerton, then Bishop of Bangor, in the Chapel Royal of St. James’s, he was at that time very popular in London and other places, preaching in Mr. Wesley’s chapels, and wherever the providence of God opened a door to proclaim the “unsearchable riches of Christ.”

“I have seen Mr. Fletcher (says Lady Huntingdon, in a letter
dated March 19th, 1758), 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. Hearing that he preached in French, his native
language, I mentioned the case of the French prisoners at
Tunbridge. May the Lord of the harvest bless his word, and send
forth many such faithful ambassadors.”

At Lady Huntingdon’s request Mr. Fletcher did preach to the French prisoners on their parole at Tunbridge. They appeared deeply affected, and earnestly requested him to preach to them on every Lord’s-day, and they presented a petition to the Bishop of London for his leave. The Bishop, however, peremptorily rejected their petition! A few months afterwards he died of a cancer in his mouth.

“Perhaps (says Mr. Wesley) some may think this was a just
retribution for silencing such a prophet on such an occasion! I
am not ashamed to acknowledge this is my own sentiment; and I do
not think it any breach of charity to suppose that an action so
unworthy of a Christian Bishop had its punishment in this world.”

On this opinion of Mr. Wesley, the reader will form his own judgment.

The estimation in which the humble and devoted Fletcher held the Countess of Huntingdon, with whom, in the following spring, he had many interviews, may be gathered from the following short extract from one of his letters to Mr. Charles Wesley, dated March 22, 1759:--

“I was this morning with Lady Huntingdon, who salutes you, and
unites with me in saying, that we have need of you to make one
in our threefold cord, and to beg you will hasten your return,
when Providence permits. Our conversation was deep, and full of
the energy of faith on the part of the Countess; as to me, I sat
like Paul at the feet of Gamaliel.”

When (in the November of that year) the Countess recommenced the religious assemblies in her own house, Mr. Fletcher was one of the clergymen whom she requested to preach and administer the sacrament to the elegant and pious persons whom she gathered around her. Of this invitation we find Mr. Fletcher giving the following account in another letter to Mr. Charles Wesley:--

“Your letter (he says) was not put into my hands till eight days
after my arrival in London. I carried the enclosed agreeably to
its address, and passed three hours with a modern prodigy--_a
pious and humble Countess_! I went with trembling, and in
obedience to your orders; but I soon perceived a little of what
the disciples felt, when Christ said to them, ‘_It is I,
be not afraid_.’ She 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, or 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 ought to have; what think you?”

Mr. Wesley’s answer was no doubt encouraging, and the invitation of the Countess was accepted.

Neither exalted by the grace he had received, nor elated with his previous success in the ministry, he opened his commission amongst the great and honourable in the drawing-rooms of the Countess, in the lowly manner of the apostle--“Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach the unsearchable riches of Christ.” On this, as on many subsequent occasions, the affectionate and fervent manner in which he addressed his hearers, and the earnestness and zeal with which he delivered his message, were affecting proofs of the interest he took in their spiritual concerns; and there is much reason to believe that his labours in this way were not “in vain in the Lord.”

During the winter Lady Huntingdon continued to be useful in every possible way, endeavouring, with the most ardent zeal and unwearied diligence, to advance the honour and interest of her Divine Master. At home and abroad, in company and alone, in public and in private, she ceased not to keep in view and prosecute, with the most intense application, her great and important design; suffering no talent to remain unoccupied, nor any moment to pass unimproved. In Mr. Fletcher she found a powerful auxiliary, and one every way calculated to fan the inextinguishable flame of holy zeal which burned upon the altar of her heart.

He continued in London during four months, assisting the Messrs. Wesley, and preaching alternately with them and others at the houses of Lady Huntingdon, Lady Gertrude Hotham, and Lady Frances Shirley, generally once, and frequently twice in every week.

In 1760 he employed himself in working in the field of usefulness he found at Brighton, after which he returned to London: but Mr. Venn, who had been with him at Brighton, having accompanied the Countess of Huntingdon to Aberford, in Yorkshire, Mr. Fletcher went down to Tern-hall, where he had few opportunities of preaching, partly owing to the shyness of the neighbouring clergy, and partly to the fears which Mr. Hill entertained, lest his interest at Shrewsbury should be lessened at the approaching election, if Mr. Fletcher delivered his sentiments with unrestrained freedom. He speaks of this in a letter written about this period to Lady Huntingdon, dated Tern, September 6, 1760, and addressed to her Ladyship “At Lady Margaret Ingham’s, at Aberford, near Tadcaster, in Yorkshire.” We make a short extract from this letter:--

“I am greatly indebted to your Ladyship for what light I have
into the nature of the foundation of Christianity; and, although
I have great reason to be ashamed of the little use I have made
of it, I hope it will work its way, by the power of Christ’s
Spirit, through the thick darkness of my self-righteous,
unbelieving heart, and then to be a closer follower of you, as
you are of Christ.

“The fear Mr. Hill has lest I should lessen his interest at
Shrewsbury against the next election, the shyness of the
neighbouring clergy, and the want I feel of an ordination from
the great Shepherd and Bishop of my soul, will probably prevent
my preaching at all in the country. O may the Spirit of God
preach in the meantime the Gospel to my heart!

“Generous as you are, Madam, I believe you would have saved me
the shame of receiving the present you made me at Paddington,
had you foreseen what uneasy thoughts it raised in my heart.
‘Is not this making godliness a gain? Can I in conscience
receive what is devoted to the poor, and when I am not in actual
want?’ I am not ashamed of living upon charity, but to receive
it without being an immediate object is what gives me more
uneasiness than want could possibly do. And now I am deprived
of many months of the unspeakable advantage of living upon
Providence, and must live upon a stock, as well as the rich of
this world! Is not this a lesson? And does not your generosity,
Madam, bid me look to Jesus for _poverty of spirit_,
without which all outward acts are nothing but pride, sin,
misery, and lies?

“J. FLETCHER.”

While living at Tern-hall,[132] Mr. Fletcher was often requested to do duty for Mr. Chambers, vicar of Madely, which being ten miles distant, a groom was ordered to get a horse ready for him every Sunday morning; but so great was his aversion to giving trouble, that if the groom did not wake at the time, he seldom suffered him to be called, but prepared the horse himself.

On the 26th of September, Mr. Fletcher wrote again to Lady Huntingdon, giving an account of his call to Madely, to the following effect:--

“The light I expected from our friend at Bristol is come, though
from a different quarter. A fortnight ago the minister of the
parish, with whom I have had no connexion for these two years,
sent me word (I know not why) that his pulpit should be at my
service at any time, and seems now very friendly. Some days
after, I ventured, without design, a visit of civility to the
vicar of a neighbouring parish, who fell out with me three years
ago for preaching faith in his church: he received me with the
greatest kindness, and said often he should have me take care
of souls somewhere or other. Last Sunday the vicar of Madely,
to whom I was formerly curate, coming to pay a visit here,
expressed great regard for me, seemed to be quite reconciled,
and assured me that he would do all that was in his power to
serve me; of which he yesterday gave me a proof, by sending
me a testimonial unasked. He was no sooner gone than news was
brought that the old clergyman I mentioned to your Ladyship
died suddenly the day before; and that same day, before I heard
it, Mr. Hill, meeting at the races his nephew, who is patron of
Madely, told him, that if he would present me to that cure, he
would give the vicar of that parish the living vacated by the
old clergyman’s death. This was immediately agreed to, as Mr.
Hill himself informed me in the evening, wishing me joy.[133]
This new promise, the manner in which Mr. Hill forced me from
London to be here at this time, and the kindness of the three
ministers I mentioned, whose hearts seemed to be turned at this
juncture to sign my testimonials for institution, are so many
orders to be still, and wait till the door is quite open or
shut. I beg, therefore, your Ladyship would present my respects
and thanks to Lady Margaret and Mr. Ingham, and acquaint them
with the necessity which these circumstances lay me under to
follow the leadings of Providence.”

To Mr. Charles Wesley he says:--

“My heart revolts at the idea of being here alone, opposed by
my superiors, hated by my neighbours, and despised by all the
world. Without piety, without talents, without resolution, how
shall I repel the assaults and surmount the obstacles which
I foresee, if I discharge my duty at Madely with fidelity?
On the other hand, to reject this presentation, to burn the
certificate, and to leave in the desert the sheep whom the
Lord has evidently brought me into the world to feed, appears
to me nothing but obstinacy and refined self-love. I will
hold a middle course between these extremes: I will be wholly
_passive_, in the steps I must take, and _active_ in
praying the Lord to deliver me from the evil one, and to conduct
me in the way he would have me go.

“If you can see anything better, inform me of it speedily; and,
at the same time, remember me in all your prayers, that, if
this matter be not of the Lord, the enmity of the Bishop of
Lichfield, who must countersign my testimonials; the threats of
the chaplain of the Bishop of Hereford, who was a witness to
my preaching at West-street; the objections drawn from my not
being naturalized, or some other obstacle, may prevent the kind
intentions of Mr. Hill.”

Having occasion, about this period, to accompany his pupils to London,[134] he determined to avail himself of that opportunity to call upon Mr. Berridge, vicar of Everton. He accordingly introduced himself as a raw convert, who had taken the liberty to wait upon him for the benefit of his instruction and advice. From his accent and manners, Mr. Berridge perceived that he was a foreigner, and enquired what countryman he was. “A Swiss, from the canton of Berne,” was the reply. “From Berne! then, probably, you can give me some account of a young countryman of yours, one John Fletcher, who has lately preached a few times for the Messrs. Wesley, and of whose talents, learning, and piety, they both speak in terms of high eulogy. Do you know him?” “Yes, sir, I know him intimately; and, did those gentlemen know him as well, they would not speak of him in such terms, for which he is more obliged to their partial friendship than to his own merits.” “You surprise me (said Mr. Berridge) in speaking so coldly of a countryman in whose praise they are so warm.” “I have the best reason (he rejoined) for speaking of him as I do--I am John Fletcher!” “If you be John Fletcher (replied his host) you must do me the favour to take my pulpit to-morrow; and when we are better acquainted, without implicitly receiving your statement, or that of your friends, I shall be able to judge for myself.” Thus commenced an intimacy with Mr. Berridge, which controversy could not interrupt.

On the 3rd of October, Mr. Fletcher, in a letter to the Countess of Huntingdon, thus refers to his induction at Madely:--

“Were I to have my choice, I would prefer waiting at the pool
under your roof, or that of those who think like you, to any
other way of life; and I will own to your Ladyship, that the
thought of giving this up is one of the chief difficulties
I have now to encounter. But I seem to be the prisoner of
Providence, who is going, in all probability, to cast my lot
among the colliers and forgemen of Madely; the two thousand
souls of that parish, for whom I was called into the ministry,
are many sheep in the wilderness, which, after all, I cannot
sacrifice to my own private choice. When I was suffered to
attend them for a few days, some began to return to the Shepherd
of their souls, and I found it then in my heart to spend and
be spent for them; when I was sent away from them, that zeal,
it is true, cooled to such a degree, that I have wished a
thousand times they might never be committed to my care; but
the impression of the tears of those who, when I left them, ran
after me, crying, ‘Who shall now show us the way to heaven’?
never wore quite off from the bottom of my heart, and, upon
second thoughts, I always concluded that if the Lord made my
way plain to their church, I could not run away from it without
disobeying the order of Providence. That time is come--the
church is vacated--the presentation to it brought, unasked for,
into my hands--the difficulty of getting proper testimonials,
which I looked upon as insurmountable, vanishes at once--the
three clergymen that had opposed me with most bitterness signed
them--and the Bishop of Lichfield countersigns them without the
least objection--the lord of the manor, my great opposer, leaves
the parish--and the very man (the vicar) who told me I should
never preach in that church, now recommends me to it, and tells
me he will induct me himself. Are not these intimations of the
will of God? It seems so to me. What does your Ladyship think of
it? I long to go and consult you in Yorkshire, but cannot do it
now, without giving up the point on which I want your advice.”

Again, on the 28th of October, 1760, he thus addresses the Countess:--

“Since I had the honour to write last to your Ladyship, all the
little circumstances of my institution and induction have taken
such an easy turn, that I question whether any clergyman noted
for good fellowship ever got over them with less trouble. 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 Madely, but who will
remove about the same time.

“Among many little providences I have seen the finger of God
in lately, I shall mention one to your Ladyship. The Bishop
having unexpectedly sent me word to go to him for institution
without delay, if I would not be at the trouble of following
him to London, I set out in haste for Hereford, where I arrived
the day before his Lordship’s departure. As I went along, I
thought that if my going to Madely was from the Lord, it was
providential that I should be thus called to be instituted in
the country, for were it to be in London, Sir Peter Rivers,
the Bishop’s chaplain, who examined me for orders, and last
summer made so much noise in West-street Chapel, where he found
me preaching, would infallibly defeat the end of my journey,
according to his threatenings. Thus did worldly wisdom work in
my heart; but no divination can stand against the God of Jacob,
who is a jealous God, and does not give his glory to another. A
clergyman, named Sir Dutton Colt, came to see the Bishop just
as I entered the palace, and the secretary coming to him, said,
in my hearing, ‘Sir Peter is just come from London to take
possession of a prebend, which the Bishop has given him; he
is now in the palace--how do you rank with him?’--My surprise
was great for a moment, and my first thought was to ride away
without institution: but having gone too far to retreat, I
had an instant strength from on high to be still and see the
salvation of the Lord. My second thought was to thank God for
sending this man from London in that point of time to defeat
Mr. Hill’s design; and easily throwing up Madely, I cried for
strength to make a good confession before the High-priest and
the Scribe; and I felt I had it, but was not called to use it,
for the Bishop was alone, the ceremony was over in ten minutes,
and Sir Peter did not come in till after. I met him at the door
of the Bishop’s room, and a wig I had on that day prevented
his recollecting who I was. Your Ladyship cannot conceive how
thankful I was for this little incident, not because I was
disappointed of a living, but because I saw and felt that,
had I been disappointed, it would have been no manner of
disappointment to me.

“If I know anything of myself, I shall be much more ready
to resign my benefice, when I have had a fair trial of my
unprofitableness to the people committed to my care, than I was
to accept it. Mr. John Wesley bids me do it without a trial.
He will have me ‘see the devil’s snare, and fly from it at the
peril of my soul.’ I answer, I cannot see it in that light. He
adds, ‘others may do well in a living--you _can_ not, it
is not your calling.’ I tell him 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 Madely,
where I was first sent into the ministry, and where a chain of
providences I could not break has again fastened me; and that
though I should be as unsuccessful as Noah, yet I am determined
to try to be there a preacher of Christ’s righteousness; and
that, notwithstanding my universal inability, I am not quite
without hopes that he who reproved a prophet’s madness by the
mouth of an ass, may reprove a collier’s profaneness even by
my mouth. I reserve for another letter an account of my own
soul, and what begins to be as dear to me as my own soul--_my
parish_. In the mean time, I earnestly recommend both to your
Ladyship’s prayers.”

His next letter to the Countess is dated Tern, Nov. 19th, 1760; it is written in a somewhat desponding tone, as the following extract shows:--

“I have hitherto wrote my sermons, but am carried so far beyond
my notes, when in the pulpit, that I propose 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. Some begin to come from the
adjacent parishes, and some more (as they say) _threaten_
to come when the season permits it. 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 a centre of a work, as it
lies just among the most populous, profane, and ignorant. But
it is well if, after all, there is any work in my parish. I
despair even of this when I look at myself, and fall in quite
with Mr. John Wesley’s opinion about me; though sometimes, too,
I hope the Lord hath not sent me here for nothing; and I beg
for strength to stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.
Nevertheless, I am still fully determined to resign my living
after a while, if the Lord does not think me worthy to be his
instrument. If your Ladyship could at any time spare a minute,
I should be glad to know whether you do not think that I shall
_then_ be at full liberty to do it before God. I abhor the
title of a living for a living’s sake--it is death to me.

“There are three meetings in my parish--a Papist, Quaker, and
Baptist--and they begin to call the fourth _the Methodist
one_--I mean the church. But the bulk of the inhabitants are
stupid heathens, who seem past all curiosity, as well as all
sense of godliness. I am ready to run after them into their pits
and forges, and I only wait for Providence to show me the way.
I am often reduced to great perplexity, but the end of it is
sweet. I am driven to the Lord, and he comforts, encourages, and
teaches me. I sometimes feel that zeal which forced Paul to wish
to be accursed for his brethren’s sake; but I want to feel it
without interruption. The devil, my friends, and my heart, have
pushed at me to make me fall into worldly cares and creature
snares--first, by the thoughts of marrying, then by the offers
of several boarders, one of whom offered me sixty pounds a year
(and he is a Christian youth), but I have been enabled to cry,
‘_Nothing but Jesus_, and the service of his people,’ and I
trust the Lord will keep me in the same mind.

“Wherever this finds your Ladyship, may the angel of the Lord’s
presence prevent, accompany, and follow all your steps, which
is and will always be the prayer of your Ladyship’s unworthy
servant,

“J. FLETCHER.”

Again, in a letter of the 6th January, 1761, he says:--

“I had a secret expectation to be the instrument of a work in
this part of our Church, and I did not despair of being soon a
_little Berridge_; and thus warmed with sparks of my own
kindling, I looked out to see the rocks broke in pieces, and
the waters flowing out; but, to the great disappointment of my
hopes, I am now forced to look within, and see the need I have
of being broken, and of relenting myself. If my being stationed
in this howling wilderness is to answer no public end as to
the Gospel of Christ, I will not give up the hopes that it may
answer a private end as to myself, in humbling me under a sense
of universal unprofitableness. If I preach the Gospel ten years
here (suppose I live so long), and see no fruits of my labours,
in either case I promise to praise God, if I can but say from my
heart, ‘_I am nothing--I have nothing--I can do nothing_.’
* * * I complained secretly a month ago of my want of concern,
and my stupidity, at my solemn times of waiting upon God; and
the Lord, in answer to my prayers, I believe, let loose upon
me, for some moments every evening, the enemy of my soul. I
might call him the dog of the good Shepherd; for a straying
loitering sheep that hears a bull-dog barking, and sees him
ready to devour, cannot fly into the sheepfold with more speed
than those odd visits made me betake myself to the stronghold
of my soul. But to my shame, the pressure was no sooner removed
but I returned to my stupid state. Where I am, and what the Lord
will do with me, or by me, I know not. If I can but once truly
hold him, I shall not care, for then I shall follow him, though
blindfold, whithersoever he goeth.

“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 is 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; and spread about such stories as your Ladyship may
guess at, without my writing them. My Friday lecture took
better than I expected, and I propose to continue it till the
congregation desert me. The number of hearers at that time is
generally larger than that which my predecessor had on Sunday.
The number of communicants is increased from thirty to above a
hundred; and a few seem to seek grace in the means. May they
do it in sincerity! * * I thank your Ladyship for mentioning
Mr. Jones as a curate. There is little probability of my ever
wanting one. My oath obliges me to residence, and when I am here
I can easily manage all the business, and only wait for some
opportunities of bearing oftener witness to the truth.”

One more extract from this interesting correspondence shall conclude this chapter. The letter we are about to quote is dated Madely, April 27, 1761:--

“Conscious that few people can sympathize with me in so feeling
a manner as your Ladyship, I shall make no apology for pouring
out my complaints before you in this letter.

“I learn, by slow experience, that in me dwelleth no good
thing. This, I find, cannot be learned of man, nor by man--it
is a lesson that grace alone teaches effectually in the furnace
of affliction; I am still at the first line, but I think I
read it and understand it in a manner quite different from
what I did before. Surely the Saviour speaks as no man ever
spake, and he teaches with authority, not as the scribes;
his words are riveted in the heart--those of man only graze
the surface of the understanding. I have met with several
trials since Providence has cast me (I shall not say in this
part of the Lord’s vineyard, but) into this part of our
spiritual Sodom; nevertheless, they did not work upon me as
they ought to have done: I stood out against them in a kind
of _self-resolution_, supported by human fortitude,
rather than divine humility, and so they did not bring down
the strength of nature, but rather increased it; for the old
man, if he cannot have his own food, will live quietly and
comfortably on spiritual food too. Yea, he is often pampered by
what the natural mind supposes will poison him. But of late I
have met a trial that, by God’s infinite mercy, has found its
way to my heart. O may the wound be deep enough to let in the
mind of Jesus!

“A young woman, 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. I could
bear patiently enough before the reports that went about that I
drove people mad; but the fear of having this laid to my charge,
backed with so glaring an instance, has thrown me into some
agonies of soul, in which, through very great storms, I got into
a very great calm; and the Lord, in compassion to my infirmity,
perhaps also for the honour of his cause, seems to hear me in
that which I feared, and I believe there is some hope that the
snare will be broken.

“Why God permits these offences to arise has not a little
staggered me. Once I was for taking to my heels, and,
hireling-like, for flying at the first approach of the wolf.
But, thanks be to the divine grace, I now try to commit to the
Lord the keeping of his own ark, and cry for a blind faith
in him who calls light out of darkness. Had not this trial
staggered me, I should have great hopes that a few living
stones may be gathered here for the temple of the Lord. There
is a considerable stir about religion in the neighbourhood;
and though most people rise up against it, yet some begin to
enquire in earnest what they must do to be saved, and some get
a sight of the way. My church is full, notwithstanding the
oaths that some of my parishioners have sworn never to hear me
again. I am insensibly led into exhorting sometimes in my house,
and elsewhere. I preach Sunday morning and Friday evening; and
Sunday evening, after catechizing or preaching to the children,
I read one of the homilies, or a sermon of Archbishop Usher’s,
insisting on all that confirms what I advanced in the morning,
which greatly stops the mouths of the gainsayers, till God shall
turn their hearts.

“I beg your Ladyship (when the blessed Spirit blows) would
remember my poor flock and their poor shepherd at the throne of
grace. I propose writing soon to Mr. Charles Hotham and Mrs.
Carteret; nevertheless, should take it kindly if, Madam, you
would, in the meantime, present my respects, without forgetting
Lady Gertrude, Mrs. Cavendish, and Mrs. Leighton.

“I am, my Lady, with the truest regard and gratitude,

Your Ladyship’s unworthy servant,

“J. FLETCHER.”