Fletcher of Madeley | Page 8

all his
leisure to prayer and meditation, living on vegetables, bread, milk and
water, that he might be able to save time from the long courses of
dinner, many a day lunching in the garden from a piece of bread and a
few bunches of currants; also making it a rule to do without sleep two
nights of each week in order to pray.
This extremely rigid rule of life was a mistake. Lack of proper rest and
food at this period undoubtedly laid the foundation of his subsequent
delicacy. Most men attend to the cravings of the body to the expense of
the lightly-fed soul; all his life Fletcher gave less heed to physical
needs than his not-too-robust frame required, and he paid the penalty.
As a natural gift, Fletcher possessed a very sweet and gentle spirit.
Companionship with Christ grafted upon this an unusual humility, as
simple as it was sincere. An instance of this is found in the fact that
when the clergyman of Atcham Church (which Fletcher attended while
at Tern Hall) invited adults who required instruction to join the
children's catechumen class, gifted scholar though he was, he stepped
out and took his place by the little ones as a matter of course, unmoved
by the fact that he was the only adult who did not despise the proffered
instruction.
Prayer, with Fletcher, was not a duty but a refreshment and an
inspiration. Every Sunday morning, between four and five, and two or
three nights in the week, after his pupils were asleep, he used to go out
into the meadows, or on to the banks of the Severn, to meet an Excise
Officer, a servant, and a poor widow. These four would pour out their
whole souls to God in prayer, and wonderful were the manifestations of
Divine love and grace vouchsafed to them.
The poor of Atcham village and its neighbourhood grew well
accustomed to the fine, pure face of the Tern Hall tutor; sickness
always drew him, and were there none at hand to nurse them as they
needed he was quick to give help.

Thus continually brought face to face with the needs of ignorant and
uncared-for men, it was no wonder that Fletcher should return to the
thought (suggested to him many times previously) of devoting himself
altogether to ministering the gospel of the grace of God. Before taking
any step towards such a life, however, he asked the advice of John
Wesley, whom he already looked upon as his spiritual guide.
Apparently the answer he received was encouraging, for less than four
months after he put the question, John Fletcher was ordained as a
clergyman of the Church of England.
Straight from his ordination service in the Chapel Royal at St. James's,
Fletcher hurried to Snowsfields Methodist Chapel to assist Wesley in a
service there--a sufficiently unusual commencement of a clergyman's
career!
CHAPTER VII.
TURNED FROM HOME.

Mary Bosanquet's determination to lay aside the ordinary pleasures of
girlhood, and live a life of waiting upon God for the revelation of His
will, came just two months after John Fletcher's ordination. Little
enough happened to her for a couple of years, save that she succeeded
in increasingly impressing those around her that it was useless to invite
her into paths of worldliness and frivolity. When a girl of nineteen she
stayed for seven weeks in Bristol, renewing there her friendship with
Miss Sarah Ryan--to whom Fletcher wrote some of his famous
letters--through whom, and through Mrs. Crosby, Mary was introduced
to her future husband.
When she came of age Mary Bosanquet found herself mistress of her
personal fortune, and more strongly than ever was she assured that she
might do better work for God if she left her own home. Always afraid
of moving before the Guiding Pillar, however, she feared exceedingly
to take this step unless the express command were laid upon her.

One day her father asked for her solemn promise that she would not try
to persuade her brothers to follow Christ.
"I am afraid I cannot promise that, father," she replied.
"Then you will force me to put you out of the house," was his rejoinder.
In preparation for whatever might follow, Mary took a lodging, and
waited until she should be told to go, which quickly happened.
It was a pathetic departure. Before dinner a message reached her by a
servant that she had better go to her lodging that night. During the meal
no word was said, and Mary's heart was wrung by sorrowful
questionings. "How shall I go, if they say no more to me? How shall I
bear it, if they never invite me to see them again?"
Dinner being at last concluded, and the carriage announced, Mrs.
Bosanquet swept out into the