_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 (L400 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 L20, 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 sagittae_, 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.