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21. JOHN FLETCHER.

"Is that his death-bed where the Christian lies?

No! 'tis not his. "Tis death itself there dies."-COLERIDGE.

AMONG those distinguished followers of the Lamb who have shone brightest in the Church below, it is perhaps impossible to fix on one more distinguished for piety than the subject of the following narrative.

He was born in Switzerland, in 1729, and soon displayed a peculiarly pious disposition. But notwithstanding all that was amiable in his character and deportment, he felt the infinite necessity of an inward change.

Conviction made way for unfeigned repentance, and repentance laid a solid foundation for Christian piety. His sorrow for sin was succeeded by a consciousness of the Almighty's favour, and the pangs of remorse gave way to the joys of remission. Believing on Jesus, as the Scripture hath said, he found in him a well of consolation springing up into everlasting life. All his wanderings were, at once, happily terminated, his doubts. were removed, his tears were dried up, and he began to rejoice in hope of the glory of God. His conversion was not imaginary, but real. It not only influenced his sentiments, but extended to his conduct.

From this period of his life, he became truly exemplary for Christian piety. He walked cheerfully, as well as valiantly, in the ways of God. He followed Jesus; and became a faithful preacher of the Gospel, at Madeley.

Some time before the beginning of his last sickness, he was deeply impressed with the nearness of eternity.

A few days before his dissolution, he appeared to have reached that desirable point, where the last raptu

rous discoveries are made to the souls of dying saints. Roused, as it were, with the shouts of angels, and kindled into rapture with visions of glory, he broke into a song of holy triumph, which began and ended with the praise of God's unfathomable love. He laboured to declare the secret manifestations he enjoyed, but his sensations were too powerful for utterance, and, after looking inexpressible things, he contented himself with calling upon all around him to celebrate and shout out that adorable love which can never be fully comprehended or adequately expressed. This triumphant frame of mind was not a transient feeling, but a state that he continued to enjoy with little or no discernible interruption to the moment of his death. While he possessed the power of speech, he spoke as one whose lips had been touched with a live coal from the altar; and when deprived of that power his countenance discovered that he was sweetly engaged in the contemplation of eternal things.

His last public service was affecting beyond description. He opened the reading service with apparent strength; but before he had proceeded far in it, his countenance changed, his speech began to falter, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself from fainting. Every eye was rivetted upon him, deep solicitude was painted on every face, and confused murmurs of distress ran through the whole congregation. In the midst of this affecting scene, Mrs. Fletcher was seen pressing through the crowd, and earnestly entreating her dying husband no longer to attempt what appeared to be utterly impracticable. But he, as though conscious that he was engaged in his last public work, mildly refused to be entreated. There was something in his appearance and manner that gave his word an irresistible influence upon this solemn occasion.

"After sermon he walked up to the communion table, uttering these words, 'I am going to throw myself under

the wings of the cherubim, before the mercy-seat.' Here the same distressing scene was renewed with additional solemnity. The people were deeply affected, while they beheld him offering up the last languid remains of a life that had been lavishly spent in their service. Groans and tears were on every side. In going through this last part of his duty, he was exhausted again and again; but his spiritual vigour triumphed over his bodily weakness. After several times sinking upon the sacramental table, he still resumed his sacred work, and cheerfully distributed, with his dying hand, the love-memorials of his dying Lord. In the course of this concluding office, which he performed by means of the most astonishing exertions, he gave out several verses of hymns, and delivered many affectionate exhortations to his people, calling upon them, at intervals, to celebrate the mercy of God in short songs of adoration and praise. And now, having struggled through a service of near four hours' continuance, he was supported, with blessings in his mouth, from the sacred table to his chamber, where he lay for some time in a swoon, and from whence he never walked into the world again.

"After this, he dropped into a sleep for some time, and on waking, said with a smile to Mrs. Fletcher, Now, my dear, thou seest I am no worse for doing the Lord's work. He never fails me when I trust in Him.' On Monday and Tuesday we (she adds) had a little paradise together. He lay on a couch in the study; and though often changing posture, was sweetly pleasant, and frequently slept a good while together. When he was awake, he delighted in hearing me read hymns and treatises on faith and love. He was used often to repeat, 'We are to seek a perfect conformity to the will of God; and leave him to give us pleasure or pain, as it seemeth Him good.'

"On Wednesday, he told me he had received such a

manifestation of the full meaning of those words, God is love, as he could never be able to express. It fills my heart,' said he, 'every moment. God is love! God is love! Shout, shout aloud! But it seems as if I could not speak much longer. Let us fix on a sign between ourselves. Now,' said he, (tapping me twice with his finger,) I mean, God is love.'

"On Tuesday his speech began to fail. To his friendly doctor he said, 'O sir, you take much thought for my body; permit me to take thought for your soul! When I could scarcely understand anything he said, I spoke these words, God is love. Instantly, as if all his powers were awakened, he broke out in a rapture, God is love! love! love! O for that gust of praise! I want to sound!'

"On Saturday in the afternoon, one of his friends said to him, 'Do you think the Lord will raise you up?' He strove to answer, and could just pronounce, Raise me up in the resurr'-meaning in the resurrection. To another who asked the same question, he said, 'I leave it all to God.'

"As night drew on, I perceived him dying very fast. His fingers could hardly make the sign, which he scarcely ever forgot; and his speech seemed quite gone. I said, My dear creature, I ask not for myself; I know thy soul; but for the sake of others, if Jesus be very present with thee lift up thy right hand. Immediately he did so. If the prospect of glory sweetly open before thee, repeat the sign. He instantly raised it again, and in half a minute a second time. He then threw it up, as if he would reach the top of the bed. After this his hands moved no more."

While their pastor was breathing out his soul into the hands of a faithful Creator, his people were offering up their joint supplications on his behalf in the house of God. The whole village wore an air of consternation

and sadness, and not one joyful song was heard among all its inhabitants: hasty messengers were passing to and fro with anxious inquiries and confused reports; and the members of every family sat together in silence that day, awaiting, with trembling expectation, the issue of every hour. After the conclusion of evening service, several of the poor, who came from distant parts, and who were usually entertained under Mr. Fletcher's roof, still lingered about the house, and seemed unable to tear themselves away from the place, without a sight of their expiring pastor. Secretly informed of their desire, Mr. Gilpin obtained them the permission they wished. And the door of the chamber being set open, immediately before which Mr. Fletcher was sitting upright in his bed, with the curtains undrawn, unaltered in his usual venerable appearance, they slowly moved one by one along the gallery, severally pausing as they passed by the door, and casting a look of mingled supplication and anguish. It was, indeed, an affecting sight, to behold these unfeigned mourners successively presenting themselves before the bed of their dying benefactor, with an inexpressible eagerness in their looks, and then dragging themselves away from his presence with a distressing consciousness that they should see his face no more.

"Now the hour approached, that was," says a friend, "to put a solemn termination to our hopes and fears. His weakness very perceptibly increased, but his countenance continued unaltered to the last. If there was any visible change in his feelings, he appeared more at ease, and more sweetly composed, as the moment of his dismission drew near. Our eyes were rivetted upon him in awful expectation. But, whatever we had felt before, no murmuring thought was suffered, at this interesting period, to darken the glories of so illustrious a scene. All was silence, when the last angelic messenger suddenly arrived, and performed his important commission

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