Chapter 9 - His Character.

CHAPTER IX.

HIS CHARACTER.

1. I AM sensible, it is the method of almost all writers, to place the character of a man at the conclusion of his life. But there seems to be a particular reason for varying from the usual practice in this place. The death of Mr. Fletcher (hardly to be paralleled in the present century) was so uncommon a display of the power and goodness of God in behalf of his highly-favored servant, that it is not proper for anything to come after it. It must needs therefore close the whole account.

2. From even the imperfect account which has been given of this great and good man, any discerning person may with very little difficulty extract his character. In general, it is easy to perceive, that a more excellent man has not appeared in the Church for some ages. It is true, in several ages, and in several countries, many men have excelled in particular virtues and graces. But who can point out, in any age or nation, one that so highly excelled in all? one that was enabled in so large a measure to “put on the whole armor of God?” yea, so to “put on Christ,” as to “perfect holiness in the fear of God?”

3. Yet there is a peculiar difficulty in giving a full account of either his life or character, because we have scarce any light from himself. He was upon all occasions very uncommonly reserved in speaking of himself, whether in writing or conversation. He hardly ever said anything concerning himself, unless it slipped from him unawares. And among the great number of papers which he has left, there is scarce a page (swept that single account of his conversion to God) relative either to his own inward experience, or the transactions of his life. So that the most of the information we have is gathered up, either from short hints scattered up and down in his letters, from what he had occasionally dropped among his friends, or from what one and another remembered concerning him. In writing the lives and characters of eminent men, the Roman Catholics have a great advantage over us. The pious members of the Church of Rome make a conscience of concealing anything from their Directors, but disclose to them all the circumstances of their lives, and all the secrets of their hearts: Whereas very few of the Protestants disclose to others, even their most intimate friends, what passes between God and their own souls; at least not of set purpose. Herein they forget, or at least disregard, that wise remark of the ancient writers (exactly agreeable to various passages that occur in the canonical Scriptures): “It is good to conceal the secrets of a King, but to declare the loving kindness of the Lord.”

4. This defect was indeed in some measure supplied by the entire intimacy which subsisted between him and Mrs. Fletcher. He did not willingly, much less designedly, conceal anything from her. They had no secrets with regard to each other, but had indeed one house, one purse, and one heart. Before her it was his invariable rule, to think aloud; always to open the window in his breast. And to this we are indebted for the knowledge of many particulars which must otherwise have been buried in oblivion.

5. But, whatever the materials were, however complete our informations, yet I am thoroughly sensible of my own inability to draw such a portrait as Mr. Fletcher deserves. I have no turn at all for panegyric: I have never accustomed myself to it. It gives me therefore no small satisfaction to find, that this is in a great measure done to my hands. The picture is already drawn; and that by no mean pencil. All then which I shall attempt is, to retouch Mrs. Fletcher’s observations, and now and then to add a few articles, either from my own knowledge, or from the information of others.

6. The following are mostly her own words, — for where they are clear and expressive, as they generally are, I do not think it right to alter them for altering’ sake: —

“Whatever he might be with regard to charity,” said she, “he was no less eminent for his spirit of faith. Indeed he was not so much led by sights or impressions (which many mistake for faith) as abundance of people have been; but by a steady, firm reliance upon the love and truth and faithfulness of God. His ardent desire was, so to believe, as to be a partaker of all the great and precious promises; to be a witness of all that mind which was in Christ Jesus. And being conscious that he must be crucified with his Master, or never reign with Him, he gave himself up to Him, whom he continually set before him, to lie in his hand as the passive clay. He would often say, ‘It is my business in all events, to hang upon the Lord, with a sure trust and confidence, that he will order all things in the best time and manner. Indeed it would be nothing to be a believer, nay, in truth, there would be no room for faith, if everything were seen here. But against hope to believe in hope, to have a full confidence in that unseen power which so mightily supports us in all our dangers and difficulties, — this is the believing which is acceptable to God.’ Sometimes when I have expressed some apprehension of an approaching trial, he would answer, ‘I do not doubt but the Lord orders all; therefore I leave everything to him.’ In outward dangers, if they were ever so great, he seemed to know no shadow of fear. When I was speaking once, concerning a danger to which we were then particularly exposed, he answered, ‘I know God always gives his angels charge concerning us: Therefore we are equally safe everywhere.’

“Not less eminent than his faith was his humility. Amidst all his laying himself out for God, and for the good of souls, he ever preserved that special grace, the making no account of his own labors. He holden himself and his own abilities in very low esteem; and seemed to have that word continually before his eyes, ‘I am an unprofitable servant.’ And this humility was so rooted in him, as to be moved by no affront. I have seen many, even of the most provoking kind, offered him; but he received them as his proper portion; being so far from desiring the honor which cometh of men, that he took pleasure in being little and unknown. Perhaps it might appear from some passages of his life, that in this he even leaned to an extreme; for genuine humility does not require, that any man should desire to be despised. Nay, we are to avoid it, so far as we possibly can, consistently with a good conscience; for that direction, ‘Let no man despise thee,’ concerns every man as well as Timothy.

“It is rare to meet with an eminent person that can bear an equal. But it was his choice and his delight to prefer everyone to himself. And this he did in so free and easy a manner, that in him it appeared perfectly natural. He never willingly suffered any unkindness shown to him to be mentioned again; and if it was, he generally answered, ‘O let it drop; we will offer it in silence to the Lord.’ And indeed the best way of bearing crosses is, to consecrate all in silence to God.

“From this root of humility sprung such a patience as I wish I could either describe or imitate. It produced in him a most ready mind, which embraced every cross with alacrity and pleasure. For the good of his neighbor, nothing seemed hard, nothing wearisome. Sometimes I have been grieved to call him out of his study two or three times in an hour; especially when he was engaged in composing some of his deepest works; but he would answer, with his usual sweetness, ‘O my dear, never think of that. It matters not, if we are but always ready to meet the will of God. It is conformity to the will of God that alone makes an employment excellent.’ He never thought anything too mean, but sin; he looked on nothing else as beneath his character. If he overtook a poor man or woman on the road, with a burden too heavy for them, he did not fail to offer his assistance to bear part of it; and he would not easily take a denial. This therefore he has frequently done.

“In bearing pain he was most exemplary, and continued more and more so to the last. Nor was it least remarkable in the most humbling part of the ministry, the coming down to the capacities of the ignorant. Nevertheless he had a most resolute courage in the reproving of sin. To daring sinners he was a son of thunder; and no worldly considerations were regarded, whenever he believed God had given him a message to deliver to any of them.

“One considerable part of humility is, to know our own place, and stand therein. Every member has its peculiar appointment in the human body, where the wise Master-builder has placed it; and it is well while each continues in its place. But, as every dislocated bone gives pain, and must continue so to do till it is replaced in its proper socket, so every dislocated affection must give pain to the soul till it is restored to its own place, till it is totally fixed in God, till we resign our whole selves to the disposal of infinite wisdom. This is the proper place of every rational creature; and in this place he invariably stood. Whatever he believed to be the will of God, he resolutely performed, though it were to pluck out a right eye, to lay his Isaac on the altar. When it appeared that God called him to any journey, he immediately prepared for it, without the least hesitation; although, for the last years of his life, he hardly ever traveled to any considerable distance, without feeling some tendency to a relapse into his former distemper; and it was usually some weeks after his return, before he recovered his usual strength.”

Humility continually produces meekness, and the latter bears an exact proportion to the former. I received a letter on this head but a few days since, which it may not be improper to subjoin: —

“REV. SIR,

“I WAS yesterday in company with several Clergymen, who, among other things, mentioned Mr. Fletcher, and seemed particularly anxious that in the account of his life a proper degree of caution should be observed in the panegyric that may be applied to his character. They say he was extremely passionate; and that there was in many instances an austere severity and rigor in his conduct to the young people under his care, particularly at Trevecka. As this information comes from a gentleman eminent for his knowledge of mankind, and universally esteemed as one of the greatest geniuses of the age, and one whose veracity has never been questioned, it will have no small weight in the learned world.”

7. I am glad this information came to my hands in time, as it may now receive so sufficient an answer as will probably satisfy every candid and impartial reader.

Two things are here asserted concerning Mr. Fletcher: The First, that he was extremely passionate: The Second, that there was an austere severity and rigor in his conduct toward the young persons under his care, particularly at Trevecka. The former assertion is unquestionably true; such he was by nature. The latter I question much, with regard to his conduct at Tern, as well as at Trevecka. None can be a more competent witness of his conduct at Tern, than Mr. Vaughan, who lived so long in the same house; and whose testimony concerning him has been so largely given in the preceding pages. But, waving this, can it possibly be supposed, that either Mr. Hill, or his sons then verging toward manhood, would have born the austere rigor and severity of a young man that received his head from them? yea, and that year after year? Surely the supposition shocks all credibility.

8. Equally incredible is the assertion of his “austere severity and rigor “toward the young men at Trevecka. This is inconsistent with the whole account given by Mr. Benson, an eye and ear witness of all his conduct. Had it been true in any degree, would it have been possible that he should have been so esteemed and beloved by those very young men? I cannot form the least conjecture whence such an assertion could arise unless it was invented by some young man after Mr. Fletcher was dismissed, in order to ingratiate himself with his patroness.

9. The farther account which Mr. Benson gives of him from; personal knowledge is this: “Mr. Fletcher,” says he, “was naturally a man of strong passions, and prone to anger in particular; insomuch that he has frequently thrown himself on the floor, and laid there most of the night bathed in tears imploring victory over his own spirit. And he did not strive in vain; he did obtain the victory, in a very eminent degree. For twenty years and upwards before his death, no one ever saw him out of temper, or heard him utter a rash expression on any provocation whatever. I have often thought the testimony that Bishop Burnet, in the History of his own Times, bears of Archbishop Leighton, might be born of him with equal propriety: ‘After an intimate acquaintance with the Archbishop for many years, and after being with him by night and by day, at home and abroad, in public and in private, on sundry occasions and in various affairs, I must say, I never heard an idle word drop from his lips, nor 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 that has been intimately acquainted with Mr. Fletcher will say the same of him. But they that knew him best, will say it with the most assurance.

10. His “disengagements from the world, and love of the poor,” Mrs. Fletcher joins together. “Never,” says she, “did I behold anyone more dead to the things of the world. His treasure was above; and so was his heart also. He always remembered that admonition of the Apostle, ‘No man that warreth entangleth himself with the things of this life.’ It was his constant endeavor to preserve a mind free and disencumbered; and he was exceeding wary of undertaking any business that might distract and hurry it. Yet, in his worldly concerns, knowing himself to be a steward for God, he would not through carelessness waste one penny. He likewise judged it to be his bounden duty to demand what he knew to be his right. And yet he could well reconcile this with that word, ‘He that will have thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.’ Indeed, whether he had less or more, it was the same thing upon his own account, as he had no other use for it, but to spread the gospel, and to assist the poor. And he frequently said, he never was happier than when he had given away the last penny he had in his house. If at any time I had gold in my drawers, it seemed to afford him no comfort. But if he could find a handful of small silver, when he was going out to see the sick, he would express as much pleasure over it as a miser would in discovering a bag of hid treasure. He was never better pleased with my employment, than when he had set me to prepare food or physic for the poor. He was hardly able to relish his dinner, if some sick neighbor had not a part of it; and sometimes, if any one of them was in want, I could not keep the linen in his drawers. On Sundays he provided for numbers of people who came from a distance to hear the word; and his house, as well as his heart, was devoted to their convenience: To relieve them that were afflicted in body or mind was the delight of his heart. Once a poor man, who feared God, being brought into great difficulties, he took down all the pewter from the kitchen shelves, saying, ‘This will help you; and I can do without it. A wooden trencher will serve me just as well.’ In epidemic and contagious distempers, when the neighbors were afraid to nurse the sick, he has gone from house to house, seeking some that were willing to undertake it. And when none could he found, he has offered his service, to sit up with them himself. But this was at his first setting out here. At present, there appears in many (and has done so for many years) a most ready mind to visit and relieve the distressed.

11. “He thoroughly complied with that advice, —

‘Give to all something; to a good poor man,

Till thou change hands, and be where he began.’

I have heard him say, that when he lived alone in his house, the tears have come into his eyes, when one had brought him five or six insignificant letters, at three or four pence a piece; and perhaps he had only a single shilling in the house, to distribute among the poor to whom he was going. He frequently said to me, ‘O Polly, can we not do without beer? Let us drink water, and eat less meat. Let our necessities give way to the extremities of the poor.’

12. “But with all his generosity and charity he was strictly careful to follow the advice of the Apostle, ‘Owe no man anything.’ He contracted in debt. While he gave all he had, he made it a rule to pay ready money for everything; believing this was the best way to keep the mind unencumbered and free from care. Meanwhile his substance, his time, his strength, his life, were devoted to the service of the poor. And, last of all, he gave me to them. For when we were married, he asked me solemnly, whether I was willing to marry his parish. And the first time he led me among his people in this place, he said, ‘I have not married his wife only for myself, but for you. I asked her of the Lord, for your comfort, as well as my own.’”

13. All his life, as well as during his illness, particularly at Newington and Brislington, (as has been largely related,) he was grateful in a very high degree, to those who conferred the least benefit upon him; yea, or even endeavored so to do. One of these was Mr. Richard Edwards, of London, to whose care he was committed as a Leader, when he was first admitted into the London Society. A lively sense of the kindness which Mr. Edwards then showed him, he retained to the end of his life. This he testified by repeated letters; one or two of which it may be well to transcribe.

“TERN, Oct. 19, 1756.

DEAREST BROTHER,

“THIS is to let you know, that (praise be to the Lord!) I am very well in body, and pretty well in soul. But I have very few Christian friends here. And God has been pleased to take away the chief of those few by a most comfortable death. And lately I heard that my aged father is gone the way of all flesh. But the glorious circumstances of his death make me ample amends for the sorrow which I felt. For some years, I have wrote to him with as much freedom as I could have done to a son, though not with so much effect as I wished. But last spring, God visited him with a severe illness, which brought him to a sense of himself. And, after a deep repentance, he died about a month ago, in the full assurance of faith. This has put several of my friends on thinking seriously, which affords me great cause of thankfulness. I am

“Your unworthy brother and servant in the Lord,

“JOHN FLETCHER.”

14. Two years after he wrote to him as follows: —

“I THANK you for your encouraging observations I want them, and use them by the grace of God. When I received yours, I had not had one opportunity of preaching; so incensed were all the Clergy against me. One, however, let me have the use of his church, the Abbey church, at Shrewsbury. I preached in the forenoon with some degree of the demonstration of the Spirit. The congregation was very numerous; and I believe one half at least desired to hear me again. But the Minister would not let me have the pulpit any more. The next Sunday, the Minister of a neighboring parish lying a dying, I was sent for to officiate for him. He died a few days after, and the chief man in the parish offered to make interest that I might succeed him. But I could not consent. The next Sunday, I preached at Shrewsbury again; but in another church. The next day I set out for Bristol, and was much refreshed among the brethren. As I returned I called at New-Kingswood, about sixteen miles from Bristol. The Minister offering me his church, I preached to a numerous congregation, gathered on half an hour’s notice. I think the seed then sown will not be lost.”

16. “Another uncommon talent which God had given him,” says Mrs. Fletcher, “was a peculiar sensibility of spirit. He had a temper the most feeling of any I ever knew. Hardly a night passed over, but some part of it was spent in groans for the souls and bodies committed to his care. I dreaded his hearing either of the sins or sufferings of any of his people before the time of his going to bed, knowing how strong the impressions would be on his mind, chasing the sleep from his eyes.

“And yet I have heard him speak of a time, twelve or fourteen years ago, when he was greatly tempted to think, that he was not sensible enough of the afflictions of his fellow-creatures. He thought Christ bore our infirmities, and carried our sorrows; but, said he, ‘I have not that Christ-like temper: I do not bear the sorrows of others.’ After being for some time buffeted with this temptation, he prayed, that a measure of this spirit might be given him. Not long after, as he was visiting a poor sick family, so lively a sense of their affliction on a sudden fell upon his mind, that he could scarce get home. As soon as he sat down in his house, his soul was penetrated with such a sense of the woes of mankind as utterly depressed and overcame him, and drank up his spirits; insomuch that he could not help himself, nor move from one chair to another. And he was no more able to walk or help himself, than a newborne child. At the same time he seemed to lose the use of his memory, and of all his faculties. He thought, ‘What is this? Is it a disease? Is it a stroke of the palsy? Rather, is it not an answer to my own ill-judged, though well-intended, prayer? Did I not ask a burden unsuitable to a finite, and capable of being born only by an infinite being?’ He remained some hours in this situation. Then it came into his mind, ‘If this is a purely natural event, the will of the Lord be done! But if it be the answer to an improper prayer, God will answer again by removing it.’ He cried to the Lord, and was immediately restored to strength both of body and mind.

“When we were at Leeds, in the year 1784, I had another proof of the tender sensibility of his heart. O how deeply was he affected concerning the welfare of his brethren! When any little disputes arose between them, his inmost soul groaned under the burden; and, by two or three o’clock in the morning, I was sure to hear him breathing out prayer for the peace and prosperity of Sion. When I observed to him, I was afraid it would hurt his health, and wished him to sleep more, he would answer, ‘O Polly, the cause of God lies near my heart!’

“Toward me his tenderness was exerted in its utmost extent. My soul, my body, my health, my ease and comfort, were his daily study. We had no thought, either past or present, which we purposely concealed from each other. My spiritual advancement was his constant endeavor; and to this he was continually stirring me up, inviting me to walk more closely with God; urging that thought, ‘O my dear, let us pray for dying grace; for we shall not be long here.’ His temporal affairs he committed solely to me, though he was always ready to assist me in the smallest matters. “One article more remains to be spoken of, namely, his communion with God. Although he enjoyed this, more or less, at all times and in all places, yet I have frequently heard him observe, that the seasons of his closest communion were always in his own house, or in the church; usually in the latter. It is much to be lamented that we have no account of it from his own pen. It was his constant endeavor to maintain an uninterrupted sense of the presence of God. In order to this, he was slow of speech, and had the greatest government of his words. Indeed he both acted, and spoke, and thought, as under the eye of God. And thus setting God always before him, he remained unmoved in all occurrences; at all times and on every occasion possessing inward recollection. Nor did I ever see him diverted therefrom on any occasion whatever, either going out or coming in, whether by ourselves or in company. Sometimes he took his journeys alone; but above a thousand miles I have traveled with him; during which neither change of company, place, nor the variety of circumstances which naturally occur in traveling, ever seemed to make the least difference in his firm attention to the presence of God. To preserve this uniform habit of soul, he was so watchful and recollected, that, to such as were unexperienced in these things, it might appear like insensibility. Although no one could converse in a more lively and sensible manner, even on natural things, when he saw it was to the glory of God; he was always striving to raise his own and every other spirit to a close and immediate intercourse with, God. And I can say with truth, all his union with me was so intermingled with prayer and praise, that every employment and every meal was, as it were, perfumed therewith.”

16. I had concluded what I purposed to say concerning the character of Mr. Fletcher, when I received a long letter from Mr. Benson; an extract of which I cannot withhold from the reader. Or although most of the particulars hereof are contained in the preceding pages, yet as they are here placed in quite another order, and have also several new circumstances intermixed, I could not doubt of their being both agreeable and profitable to every person of piety.

“As to drawing the character of that great and good man,” says Mr. Benson, “it is what I will not attempt: But if I can suggest anything that will assist you therein, I shall think my little labor well bestowed. With this view I have been looking over many of his letters, and observe in them all, what I have a thousand times observed in his conversation and behavior, the plainest marks of every Christian, grace and virtue. “Perhaps if he followed his Master more closely in one thing than another, it was in humility. It is one branch of poverty of spirit (another word for humility) to think meanly of ourselves. As he certainly thought meanly of himself, both as a Christian, as a Preacher, and as a writer, I need not say how he shone in all those characters; but he knew not that he shone in any of them. How low an opinion he had of himself as a Christian, manifestly appears from his placing himself at the feet of all, and showing a continual desire to learn from every company he was in. He paid all due deference to the judgment of others, readily aknowledged whatever was good in them, and seemed to think himself the only person in whom there dwelt no excellency worth notice. Hence it was that he often wrote and spoke, as if he had not received that grace which he undoubtedly had received. And indeed he overlooked what he had attained, through the eager desire he had of higher and greater things. Many of his letters show how very meanly he thought of his own attainments as a Christian; through the continually increasing views which he had of the divine purity, and of the high degree of conformity thereto which is attainable even in this world. “And however little he was in his own eyes as a Christian, he was equally so as a writer and a Preacher. In consequence of the mean opinion he had of his own abilities, he gladly offered what he wrote to be corrected by any friend, however inferior to himself. Thus in a letter, dated November 23, 1771, he says, ‘I have sent a letter of fifty pages upon Antinomianism. I beg, upon my bended knees, you would revise and correct it. I have followed my light, small as it is. Put yours to mine.’ What a mean opinion he had of his own writings appears from a letter written March 20, 1774: ‘I do not repent of my having engaged in this controversy; for though I doubt my little publications cannot reclaim those who are confirmed in believing the lie of the day, yet they may here and there stop one from swallowing it at all, or at least from swallowing it so deeply.’ Two years after, he says, ‘I have almost run my race of scribbling; and I have preached as much as I could, though to little purpose; but I must not complain. If one person has received good by my ten years’ labor, it is an honor for which I cannot be too thankful, if my mind were as low as it should be. Let us bless the Lord in all things.’

“As difficult as it is to think meanly of ourselves, it is still more difficult to be willing that others should think meanly of us. And how eminent he was in this appears from hence, that he was constantly upon his guard, lest any expression should drop either from his lips or pen, which tended to make anyone think well of him; either on account of his family, or learning, or parts, or usefulness. Yea, he took as much pains to conceal his excellencies, as others do to show them; having the same desire to be little and unknown, which many have to be known and esteemed.

“It would have remained a secret in this kingdom, even to his most intimate friends, that he was of so great a family, had not Mr. Ireland gone over with him to Switzerland; where he was surprised to find Mr. Fletcher’s relations some of the first people in the country. “‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ said the Lord Jesus. And this blessedness was as certainly his as the former. He was a man of a serious spirit; one that stood at the utmost distance from levity of every kind. Though he was constantly cheerful, as rejoicing in hope of his heavenly inheritance, yet had he too deep a sense of his own wants, and the wants of the Church of God, as also of the sins and miseries of mankind, to be at any time light or trifling. I have a letter before me, dated December, 1771, which at once gives us a picture of his seriousness, watchfulness, and earnestness; and contains advises well deserving the consideration of all that fear God. ‘There is undoubtedly,’ said he, ‘such a thing as the full assurance of faith. Be not discouraged on account of thousands who stop short of it: It is our own fault if we do not attain. God would give us ample satisfaction if we did but deeply feel our wants. Both you and I want a deeper awakening, which will produce a death to outward things and speculative knowledge. Let us shut our eyes to the gilded clouds without us; let us draw inward, and search after God, if haply we may find him. Let us hold our confidence, though we are often constrained against hope to believe in hope. But let us not rest in our confidence, as thousands do; let it help us to struggle and wait till he come. Let us habituate ourselves to live inwardly. This will solemnize us, and prevent our trifling with the things of God. We may be thankful for what we have, without resting in it. We may strive, and yet not trust in our striving; but expect all from divine grace.’

“Four or five years after, he says, ‘I send this to inquire after your welfare, and to let you know, that though I am pretty well in body, yet I break fast. But I want to break faster in my spirit than I do. Yet, blessed be God, I have been in such pinching, grinding circumstances, for near a year, by a series of providential and domestic trials, as have given me some deadly blows. I am not without hope of setting my eyes on you once more. Mr. Wesley kindly invites me to travel with him, and visit some of the societies. I feel an inclination to break one of my chains, parochial retirement, which may be a nest for self-indulgence. I leave the matter entirely to the Lord.’

“Meantime, he mourned, not only for himself and his friends, but also for the Church of God. ‘The few professors,’ says he, ‘which I see in these parts, are so far from what I wish them to be, that I cannot but cry out, Lord, how long wilt thou give thy heritage up to desolation? How long shall the Heathen say, Where is now their indwelling God?’ In another letter he writes, (dated May 8, 1776,) ‘I see so little fruit in these parts, that I am almost disheartened. I am closely followed with the thought, that faith in the dispensation of the Spirit is at a very low ebb. But it may be better in other places. I shall be glad to travel a little, to see the goodness of the land. May God make and keep us humble, loving, disinterested, and zealous!’

“These quotations give us not only an example of holy mourning, but likewise of hungering and thirsting after righteousness. In this he was peculiarly worth our imitation. He never rested in anything he had either experienced or done in spiritual matters. But this one thing he did: ‘Forgetting those things that were behind, and reaching forth unto those things which were before,’ he ‘pressed toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus;’ he was a true Christian racer, always on the stretch for higher and better things. Though his attainments, both in experience and usefulness, were above the common standard, yet the language of his conversation and behavior always was, ‘Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfected; but I follow after, if by any means I may apprehend that for which I am apprehended of Christ Jesus.’ He had his eye upon a full conformity to the Son of God; or what the Apostle terms, ‘the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.’ Nor could he be satisfied with anything less.

“And he was meek, like his Master, as well as lowly in heart. Not that he was so by nature, but of a fiery, passionate spirit. But so thoroughly had grace subdued nature, so fully was he renewed in the spirit of his mind, that, for many years before his death, I believe he was never observed by anyone, friend or foe, to be out of temper. And yet he did not want provocation, and that sometimes in a high degree; especially from those whose religious sentiments he thought it his duty to oppose. One of these, who once loved him so well, as to be ready to pull out his eyes for him, was so exasperated on reading his Second Check, that he wrote to him in the most bitter terms. But none of these things moved him; no, not in the least degree. The keenest word he used upon the occasion was, ‘What a world, what a religious world we live in!’

“Hence arose his readiness to bear with the weaknesses, and forgive the faults of others; the more remarkable, considering his flaming zeal against sin, and deep concern for the glory of God. Such hatred to sin, and such love to the sinner, I never saw joined together before. This very circumstance convinced me of the height of his grace, bearing so much of his Master’s image, whose hatred to sin and love to sinners are equally infinite. He took all possible pains to detect what was evil in any of those that were under his care; pursuing it through all its turnings and windings, and stripping it of all its disguises. Yet none so ready to excuse when it was confessed, and to conceal it even from his most intimate friends. “He never mentioned the faults of an absent person, unless absolute duty required it: And then he spoke with the utmost tenderness, extenuating, rather than aggravating. None could draw his picture more exactly than St. Paul has done, in the thirteenth of the first Epistle to the Corinthians. Every feature in that masterly piece of apostolic painting was found in him. Let all that knew him, especially his intimate friends, recollect the spirit and behavior of this servant of the God of love; and then let them judge whether I exaggerate, when I say, He ‘suffered long and was kind; he envied not; acted not rashly; was not puffed up; did not behave himself unseemly; sought not his own; was not easily provoked. He thought no evil, rejoiced not in iniquity, but rejoiced in the truth. He covered all things, believed all things, hoped all things, and endured all things.’ It would be easy to enlarge on all these particulars, and show how they were exemplified in him. But waving this, I would only observe, that, with regard to two of them, — kindness to others, and not seeking his own, — he had few equals. His kindness to others was such, that he bestowed his all upon them; his time, his talents, his substance. His knowledge, his eloquence, his health, his money, were employed, day by day, for the good of mankind. He prayed, he wrote, he preached, he visited the sick and well, he conversed, he gave, he labored, he suffered, winter and summer, night and day; he endangered, nay, destroyed, his health, and, in the end, gave his life also for the profit of his neighbors, that they might be saved from everlasting death. He denied himself even such food as was necessary for him, that he might have to give to them that had none. And when he was constrained to change his manner of living, still his diet was plain and simple; and so were his clothing and furniture, that he might save all that was possible for his poor neighbors.

“He sought not his own in any sense; not his own honor, but the honor of God in all he said or did: He sought not his own interest, but the interest of his Lord; spreading knowledge, holiness, and happiness as far as he possibly could. He sought not his own pleasure, but studied to ‘please all men, for their good to edification;’ and to please Him that had called him to his kingdom and glory. And yet it is certain, he found the greatest pleasure in pleasing God and his neighbor. For nothing could give an higher delight than this to his pious and benevolent mind.

“In the mean time, he was a man of peace, and spared no pains to restore it where it was broken. He gave numberless proofs of this amiable disposition. When we were at Trevecka, (to mention but one instance,) two of the students were bitterly prejudiced against each other. He took them into a room by themselves, reasoned with them, wept over them, and at last prevailed. Their hearts were broken; they were melted down; they fell upon each other’s necks and wept aloud.

“The pains which he took to make peace at the Leeds Conference will not easily be forgotten. And although he could not prevail so far as might have been desired, yet his labor was not in vain.

“But I do not attempt his full character: I will only add, what the Apostle recommends to the Philippians was exactly copied by him. He was ‘blameless and harmless, a son of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation; shining among them as a light in the world.’”

I think one talent wherewith God had endued Mr. Fletcher his not been sufficiently noted yet: I mean his courtesy; in which there was not the least touch either of art or affectation. It was pure and genuine, and sweetly constrained him to behave to everyone (although particularly to inferiors) in a manner not to be described, with so inexpressible a mixture of humility, love, and respect. This directed his words, the tone of his voice, his looks, his whole attitude, his every motion. This seems to be intended by St. Paul, in those words, ouk aschmonei; not so well expressed in our translation by, “behaveth not itself unseemly.” Do not the words literally mean, “is not ill bred?” — behaves on all occasions with decency and good breeding? Certainly, so did Mr. Fletcher. Never did any man more perfectly suit his whole behavior to the persons and the occasion: So that one might apply to him, with great propriety, the words of the ancient poet: —

Illum quicquid agit, quoguo vestigia tendit

Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor.

38

I cannot translate this; but I can give the English reader a parallel, and more than a parallel: —

Grace was in all his steps, heaven in his eye,

In all his gestures sanctity and love.