- To the Rev. Vincent Perronet.
endeavours, in using a little very gentle exercise from time to time as I was able. Whenever I go out, every one stops to stare at me, and many express their astonishment at the sight of such a spectre; so greatly am I reduced and altered.’ On the 12th of June following he seemed to himself to be rather gaining a little ground, but, says he, ‘the continual, sudden, and severe changes in the weather here, tear me almost to pieces, and seem to throw me back as fast as I recover.’ Soon after this, he removed to a pleasant village, called Gimel, between Lausanne and Geneva where Miss Perronet’s sister was settled. There he rode out, drunk asses’ milk, and breathed the purest air. ‘Mrs. Perronet is there,’ says Mr. Fletcher to his father, ‘with her two daughters. So that if his illness should prove more grievous, he will not want for good attendance and the most tender nursing. Support him, dear sir, with your fatherly exhortations. They are balm to his blood and marrow to his bones.’
“As the reader will undoubtedly wish to know the sequel of the story of this benevolent man, I shall here insert an extract from another of his letters. Being returned to Lausanne, Oct. 23, he wrote from thence to his father as follows: -
127. - TO THE REV. VINCENT PERRONET.
HONOURED AND DEAR SIR, - I wrote some time ago by a private hand: but that is not always either the safest or the most expeditious method of conveying intelligence. My letter, however, contained little more than an account of my return from the mountains, where I seemed to have gained very little in point of health and strength. I mentioned, likewise, my earnest wishes to return to England, in case it should please God to assist me in the means. This, I humbly trust, is in good measure effected: for I have quite unexpectedly met with a very worthy gentleman, (a Swiss, whom I formerly knew in England,) who sets out for London within about a week or fortnight. We shall travel in a chaise, and he is so kind as to promise to suit his mode of travelling to my weakness, which indeed is very great.: We may possibly be on the road when this letter reaches you, and I doubt not but my friends will assist me with their prayers. The season for travelling is late, it is true, especially for one in my weak state: but I choose this rather than venture to stay another winter in this terrible climate. Beside, I consider it as a providential call to return; and I have taken your advice, to put what remains to be done in my affairs into trusty and good hands. I am, honoured and dear sir, your dutiful son,
W. PERRONET.
“He soon after left Switzerland, and with great pain and difficulty reached Douay, in French Flanders, where he was taken worse and died in peace, Dec. 2, 1781. A little time after, Mr. Fletcher wrote as follows to his father: -
128. - TO THE REV. VINCENT PERRONET.
REV. AND DEAR SIR, - While I condole with you about the death of my dear friend and your dear son, I congratulate you about the resignation and Christian fortitude with which you, Abraham - like, lay him upon the altar of our heavenly Father’s providential, good, and acceptable will. We shall one day see why he made your sons go before you, and my kind physician before me. About the time he died, so far as I can find by your kind letter, a strong concern about him fell upon me by day and by night, insomuch that I could not help waking my wife f28 to join me in praying for him, and at once that concern ceased, nor have I since had any such spiritual feeling; whence I concluded that the conflict I supposed my friend to be in, was ended. But how surprised was I to find it was by death! Well, whether Paul or Apollos, or life or death, all things are ours through Jesus, who knows how to bring good out of evil, and how to blow us into the harbour by a cross wind, and even by a dreadful storm.
If, my dear friend, your son has not quite completed his affairs in Switzerland, and an agent is necessary there for that purpose, I offer you the care and help of my brother who was our counsellor, and who, I am sure will do what lies in him to oblige the father of him whom he had the pleasure of having some time under his roof, as a sick monument of Christian meekness and resignation. I am but poorly, though I serve yet my Church without a curate, Mr. Bailey being wanted at Kingswood. But what are we? Poor mortals, dying in the midst of a world of dying or dead men. But in the midst of death, we are in Christ, the resurrection and the life, to whom be glory for ever. So prays Rev. and dear sir, your affectionate son and servant in the Gospel,
J. FLETCHER.”