CHAPTER XIV.
Lady Huntingdon and Mr. Fletcher--Introduced to Lady Huntingdon by Mr. Wesley--Bishop of London--Letter to Mr. Charles Wesley--Mr. Fletcher preaches and celebrates the Communion at Lady Huntingdon’s--Letter to Mr. Charles Wesley--Letter to Lady Huntingdon--Mr. Fletcher appointed Vicar of Madely--Writes to Lady Huntingdon and Mr. Charles Wesley--Visits Mr. Berridge--Letters to Lady Huntingdon--Induction to Madely--Success of his Ministry--Letters to Lady Huntingdon.
In the spring of the year 1758, Lady Huntingdon first became acquainted with that singularly holy and zealous minister, the late Mr. Fletcher, vicar of Madely, near Bridgnorth, in Shropshire. In the family of Thomas Hill, Esq,, of Tern-hall, near Shrewsbury, he had spent some years in the capacity of tutor, but having been ordained the preceding year by Dr. Egerton, then Bishop of Bangor, in the Chapel Royal of St. James’s, he was at that time very popular in London and other places, preaching in Mr. Wesley’s chapels, and wherever the providence of God opened a door to proclaim the “unsearchable riches of Christ.”
“I have seen Mr. Fletcher (says Lady Huntingdon, in a letter dated March 19th, 1758), and was both pleased and refreshed by the interview. He was accompanied by Mr. Wesley, who had frequently mentioned him in terms of high commendation, as had Mr. Whitefield, Mr. Charles Wesley, and others; so that I was anxious to become acquainted with one so devoted, and who appears to glory in nothing save in the cross of our Divine Lord and Master. Hearing that he preached in French, his native language, I mentioned the case of the French prisoners at Tunbridge. May the Lord of the harvest bless his word, and send forth many such faithful ambassadors.”
At Lady Huntingdon’s request Mr. Fletcher did preach to the French prisoners on their parole at Tunbridge. They appeared deeply affected, and earnestly requested him to preach to them on every Lord’s-day, and they presented a petition to the Bishop of London for his leave. The Bishop, however, peremptorily rejected their petition! A few months afterwards he died of a cancer in his mouth.
“Perhaps (says Mr. Wesley) some may think this was a just retribution for silencing such a prophet on such an occasion! I am not ashamed to acknowledge this is my own sentiment; and I do not think it any breach of charity to suppose that an action so unworthy of a Christian Bishop had its punishment in this world.”
On this opinion of Mr. Wesley, the reader will form his own judgment.
The estimation in which the humble and devoted Fletcher held the Countess of Huntingdon, with whom, in the following spring, he had many interviews, may be gathered from the following short extract from one of his letters to Mr. Charles Wesley, dated March 22, 1759:--
“I was this morning with Lady Huntingdon, who salutes you, and unites with me in saying, that we have need of you to make one in our threefold cord, and to beg you will hasten your return, when Providence permits. Our conversation was deep, and full of the energy of faith on the part of the Countess; as to me, I sat like Paul at the feet of Gamaliel.”
When (in the November of that year) the Countess recommenced the religious assemblies in her own house, Mr. Fletcher was one of the clergymen whom she requested to preach and administer the sacrament to the elegant and pious persons whom she gathered around her. Of this invitation we find Mr. Fletcher giving the following account in another letter to Mr. Charles Wesley:--
“Your letter (he says) was not put into my hands till eight days after my arrival in London. I carried the enclosed agreeably to its address, and passed three hours with a modern prodigy--_a pious and humble Countess_! I went with trembling, and in obedience to your orders; but I soon perceived a little of what the disciples felt, when Christ said to them, ‘_It is I, be not afraid_.’ She proposed to me something of what you hinted to me in your garden; namely, to celebrate the communion sometimes at her house in a morning, and to preach when occasion offered; in such a manner, however, as not to restrain my liberty, or prevent my assisting you, or preaching to the French refugees; and that only till Providence should clearly point out the path in which I should go. Charity, politeness, and reason accompanied her offer; and I confess, in spite of the resolution which I had almost _absolutely_ formed, to fly the houses of the great, without even the exception of the Countess’s, I found myself so greatly changed that I should have accepted, on the spot, a proposal which I should have declined from any other mouth, but my engagement with you withheld me; and, thanking the Countess, I told her, when I had reflected on her obliging offer, I would do myself the honour of waiting upon her again.
“Nevertheless, two difficulties stand in my way. Will it be consistent with that poverty of spirit which I seek? Can I accept an office for which I have such small talents? And shall I not dishonour the cause of God, by stammering out the mysteries of the Gospel in a place where the most approved ministers of the Lord have preached with so much power and so much success? I suspect that my own vanity gives more weight to this second objection than it ought to have; what think you?”
Mr. Wesley’s answer was no doubt encouraging, and the invitation of the Countess was accepted.
Neither exalted by the grace he had received, nor elated with his previous success in the ministry, he opened his commission amongst the great and honourable in the drawing-rooms of the Countess, in the lowly manner of the apostle--“Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach the unsearchable riches of Christ.” On this, as on many subsequent occasions, the affectionate and fervent manner in which he addressed his hearers, and the earnestness and zeal with which he delivered his message, were affecting proofs of the interest he took in their spiritual concerns; and there is much reason to believe that his labours in this way were not “in vain in the Lord.”
During the winter Lady Huntingdon continued to be useful in every possible way, endeavouring, with the most ardent zeal and unwearied diligence, to advance the honour and interest of her Divine Master. At home and abroad, in company and alone, in public and in private, she ceased not to keep in view and prosecute, with the most intense application, her great and important design; suffering no talent to remain unoccupied, nor any moment to pass unimproved. In Mr. Fletcher she found a powerful auxiliary, and one every way calculated to fan the inextinguishable flame of holy zeal which burned upon the altar of her heart.
He continued in London during four months, assisting the Messrs. Wesley, and preaching alternately with them and others at the houses of Lady Huntingdon, Lady Gertrude Hotham, and Lady Frances Shirley, generally once, and frequently twice in every week.
In 1760 he employed himself in working in the field of usefulness he found at Brighton, after which he returned to London: but Mr. Venn, who had been with him at Brighton, having accompanied the Countess of Huntingdon to Aberford, in Yorkshire, Mr. Fletcher went down to Tern-hall, where he had few opportunities of preaching, partly owing to the shyness of the neighbouring clergy, and partly to the fears which Mr. Hill entertained, lest his interest at Shrewsbury should be lessened at the approaching election, if Mr. Fletcher delivered his sentiments with unrestrained freedom. He speaks of this in a letter written about this period to Lady Huntingdon, dated Tern, September 6, 1760, and addressed to her Ladyship “At Lady Margaret Ingham’s, at Aberford, near Tadcaster, in Yorkshire.” We make a short extract from this letter:--
“I am greatly indebted to your Ladyship for what light I have into the nature of the foundation of Christianity; and, although I have great reason to be ashamed of the little use I have made of it, I hope it will work its way, by the power of Christ’s Spirit, through the thick darkness of my self-righteous, unbelieving heart, and then to be a closer follower of you, as you are of Christ.
“The fear Mr. Hill has lest I should lessen his interest at Shrewsbury against the next election, the shyness of the neighbouring clergy, and the want I feel of an ordination from the great Shepherd and Bishop of my soul, will probably prevent my preaching at all in the country. O may the Spirit of God preach in the meantime the Gospel to my heart!
“Generous as you are, Madam, I believe you would have saved me the shame of receiving the present you made me at Paddington, had you foreseen what uneasy thoughts it raised in my heart. ‘Is not this making godliness a gain? Can I in conscience receive what is devoted to the poor, and when I am not in actual want?’ I am not ashamed of living upon charity, but to receive it without being an immediate object is what gives me more uneasiness than want could possibly do. And now I am deprived of many months of the unspeakable advantage of living upon Providence, and must live upon a stock, as well as the rich of this world! Is not this a lesson? And does not your generosity, Madam, bid me look to Jesus for _poverty of spirit_, without which all outward acts are nothing but pride, sin, misery, and lies?
“J. FLETCHER.”
While living at Tern-hall,[132] Mr. Fletcher was often requested to do duty for Mr. Chambers, vicar of Madely, which being ten miles distant, a groom was ordered to get a horse ready for him every Sunday morning; but so great was his aversion to giving trouble, that if the groom did not wake at the time, he seldom suffered him to be called, but prepared the horse himself.
On the 26th of September, Mr. Fletcher wrote again to Lady Huntingdon, giving an account of his call to Madely, to the following effect:--
“The light I expected from our friend at Bristol is come, though from a different quarter. A fortnight ago the minister of the parish, with whom I have had no connexion for these two years, sent me word (I know not why) that his pulpit should be at my service at any time, and seems now very friendly. Some days after, I ventured, without design, a visit of civility to the vicar of a neighbouring parish, who fell out with me three years ago for preaching faith in his church: he received me with the greatest kindness, and said often he should have me take care of souls somewhere or other. Last Sunday the vicar of Madely, to whom I was formerly curate, coming to pay a visit here, expressed great regard for me, seemed to be quite reconciled, and assured me that he would do all that was in his power to serve me; of which he yesterday gave me a proof, by sending me a testimonial unasked. He was no sooner gone than news was brought that the old clergyman I mentioned to your Ladyship died suddenly the day before; and that same day, before I heard it, Mr. Hill, meeting at the races his nephew, who is patron of Madely, told him, that if he would present me to that cure, he would give the vicar of that parish the living vacated by the old clergyman’s death. This was immediately agreed to, as Mr. Hill himself informed me in the evening, wishing me joy.[133] This new promise, the manner in which Mr. Hill forced me from London to be here at this time, and the kindness of the three ministers I mentioned, whose hearts seemed to be turned at this juncture to sign my testimonials for institution, are so many orders to be still, and wait till the door is quite open or shut. I beg, therefore, your Ladyship would present my respects and thanks to Lady Margaret and Mr. Ingham, and acquaint them with the necessity which these circumstances lay me under to follow the leadings of Providence.”
To Mr. Charles Wesley he says:--
“My heart revolts at the idea of being here alone, opposed by my superiors, hated by my neighbours, and despised by all the world. Without piety, without talents, without resolution, how shall I repel the assaults and surmount the obstacles which I foresee, if I discharge my duty at Madely with fidelity? On the other hand, to reject this presentation, to burn the certificate, and to leave in the desert the sheep whom the Lord has evidently brought me into the world to feed, appears to me nothing but obstinacy and refined self-love. I will hold a middle course between these extremes: I will be wholly _passive_, in the steps I must take, and _active_ in praying the Lord to deliver me from the evil one, and to conduct me in the way he would have me go.
“If you can see anything better, inform me of it speedily; and, at the same time, remember me in all your prayers, that, if this matter be not of the Lord, the enmity of the Bishop of Lichfield, who must countersign my testimonials; the threats of the chaplain of the Bishop of Hereford, who was a witness to my preaching at West-street; the objections drawn from my not being naturalized, or some other obstacle, may prevent the kind intentions of Mr. Hill.”
Having occasion, about this period, to accompany his pupils to London,[134] he determined to avail himself of that opportunity to call upon Mr. Berridge, vicar of Everton. He accordingly introduced himself as a raw convert, who had taken the liberty to wait upon him for the benefit of his instruction and advice. From his accent and manners, Mr. Berridge perceived that he was a foreigner, and enquired what countryman he was. “A Swiss, from the canton of Berne,” was the reply. “From Berne! then, probably, you can give me some account of a young countryman of yours, one John Fletcher, who has lately preached a few times for the Messrs. Wesley, and of whose talents, learning, and piety, they both speak in terms of high eulogy. Do you know him?” “Yes, sir, I know him intimately; and, did those gentlemen know him as well, they would not speak of him in such terms, for which he is more obliged to their partial friendship than to his own merits.” “You surprise me (said Mr. Berridge) in speaking so coldly of a countryman in whose praise they are so warm.” “I have the best reason (he rejoined) for speaking of him as I do--I am John Fletcher!” “If you be John Fletcher (replied his host) you must do me the favour to take my pulpit to-morrow; and when we are better acquainted, without implicitly receiving your statement, or that of your friends, I shall be able to judge for myself.” Thus commenced an intimacy with Mr. Berridge, which controversy could not interrupt.
On the 3rd of October, Mr. Fletcher, in a letter to the Countess of Huntingdon, thus refers to his induction at Madely:--
“Were I to have my choice, I would prefer waiting at the pool under your roof, or that of those who think like you, to any other way of life; and I will own to your Ladyship, that the thought of giving this up is one of the chief difficulties I have now to encounter. But I seem to be the prisoner of Providence, who is going, in all probability, to cast my lot among the colliers and forgemen of Madely; the two thousand souls of that parish, for whom I was called into the ministry, are many sheep in the wilderness, which, after all, I cannot sacrifice to my own private choice. When I was suffered to attend them for a few days, some began to return to the Shepherd of their souls, and I found it then in my heart to spend and be spent for them; when I was sent away from them, that zeal, it is true, cooled to such a degree, that I have wished a thousand times they might never be committed to my care; but the impression of the tears of those who, when I left them, ran after me, crying, ‘Who shall now show us the way to heaven’? never wore quite off from the bottom of my heart, and, upon second thoughts, I always concluded that if the Lord made my way plain to their church, I could not run away from it without disobeying the order of Providence. That time is come--the church is vacated--the presentation to it brought, unasked for, into my hands--the difficulty of getting proper testimonials, which I looked upon as insurmountable, vanishes at once--the three clergymen that had opposed me with most bitterness signed them--and the Bishop of Lichfield countersigns them without the least objection--the lord of the manor, my great opposer, leaves the parish--and the very man (the vicar) who told me I should never preach in that church, now recommends me to it, and tells me he will induct me himself. Are not these intimations of the will of God? It seems so to me. What does your Ladyship think of it? I long to go and consult you in Yorkshire, but cannot do it now, without giving up the point on which I want your advice.”
Again, on the 28th of October, 1760, he thus addresses the Countess:--
“Since I had the honour to write last to your Ladyship, all the little circumstances of my institution and induction have taken such an easy turn, that I question whether any clergyman noted for good fellowship ever got over them with less trouble. 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 Madely, but who will remove about the same time.
“Among many little providences I have seen the finger of God in lately, I shall mention one to your Ladyship. The Bishop having unexpectedly sent me word to go to him for institution without delay, if I would not be at the trouble of following him to London, I set out in haste for Hereford, where I arrived the day before his Lordship’s departure. As I went along, I thought that if my going to Madely was from the Lord, it was providential that I should be thus called to be instituted in the country, for were it to be in London, Sir Peter Rivers, the Bishop’s chaplain, who examined me for orders, and last summer made so much noise in West-street Chapel, where he found me preaching, would infallibly defeat the end of my journey, according to his threatenings. Thus did worldly wisdom work in my heart; but no divination can stand against the God of Jacob, who is a jealous God, and does not give his glory to another. A clergyman, named Sir Dutton Colt, came to see the Bishop just as I entered the palace, and the secretary coming to him, said, in my hearing, ‘Sir Peter is just come from London to take possession of a prebend, which the Bishop has given him; he is now in the palace--how do you rank with him?’--My surprise was great for a moment, and my first thought was to ride away without institution: but having gone too far to retreat, I had an instant strength from on high to be still and see the salvation of the Lord. My second thought was to thank God for sending this man from London in that point of time to defeat Mr. Hill’s design; and easily throwing up Madely, I cried for strength to make a good confession before the High-priest and the Scribe; and I felt I had it, but was not called to use it, for the Bishop was alone, the ceremony was over in ten minutes, and Sir Peter did not come in till after. I met him at the door of the Bishop’s room, and a wig I had on that day prevented his recollecting who I was. Your Ladyship cannot conceive how thankful I was for this little incident, not because I was disappointed of a living, but because I saw and felt that, had I been disappointed, it would have been no manner of disappointment to me.
“If I know anything of myself, I shall be much more ready to resign my benefice, when I have had a fair trial of my unprofitableness to the people committed to my care, than I was to accept it. Mr. John Wesley bids me do it without a trial. He will have me ‘see the devil’s snare, and fly from it at the peril of my soul.’ I answer, I cannot see it in that light. He adds, ‘others may do well in a living--you _can_ not, it is not your calling.’ I tell him 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 Madely, where I was first sent into the ministry, and where a chain of providences I could not break has again fastened me; and that though I should be as unsuccessful as Noah, yet I am determined to try to be there a preacher of Christ’s righteousness; and that, notwithstanding my universal inability, I am not quite without hopes that he who reproved a prophet’s madness by the mouth of an ass, may reprove a collier’s profaneness even by my mouth. I reserve for another letter an account of my own soul, and what begins to be as dear to me as my own soul--_my parish_. In the mean time, I earnestly recommend both to your Ladyship’s prayers.”
His next letter to the Countess is dated Tern, Nov. 19th, 1760; it is written in a somewhat desponding tone, as the following extract shows:--
“I have hitherto wrote my sermons, but am carried so far beyond my notes, when in the pulpit, that I propose 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. Some begin to come from the adjacent parishes, and some more (as they say) _threaten_ to come when the season permits it. 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 a centre of a work, as it lies just among the most populous, profane, and ignorant. But it is well if, after all, there is any work in my parish. I despair even of this when I look at myself, and fall in quite with Mr. John Wesley’s opinion about me; though sometimes, too, I hope the Lord hath not sent me here for nothing; and I beg for strength to stand still and see the salvation of the Lord. Nevertheless, I am still fully determined to resign my living after a while, if the Lord does not think me worthy to be his instrument. If your Ladyship could at any time spare a minute, I should be glad to know whether you do not think that I shall _then_ be at full liberty to do it before God. I abhor the title of a living for a living’s sake--it is death to me.
“There are three meetings in my parish--a Papist, Quaker, and Baptist--and they begin to call the fourth _the Methodist one_--I mean the church. But the bulk of the inhabitants are stupid heathens, who seem past all curiosity, as well as all sense of godliness. I am ready to run after them into their pits and forges, and I only wait for Providence to show me the way. I am often reduced to great perplexity, but the end of it is sweet. I am driven to the Lord, and he comforts, encourages, and teaches me. I sometimes feel that zeal which forced Paul to wish to be accursed for his brethren’s sake; but I want to feel it without interruption. The devil, my friends, and my heart, have pushed at me to make me fall into worldly cares and creature snares--first, by the thoughts of marrying, then by the offers of several boarders, one of whom offered me sixty pounds a year (and he is a Christian youth), but I have been enabled to cry, ‘_Nothing but Jesus_, and the service of his people,’ and I trust the Lord will keep me in the same mind.
“Wherever this finds your Ladyship, may the angel of the Lord’s presence prevent, accompany, and follow all your steps, which is and will always be the prayer of your Ladyship’s unworthy servant,
“J. FLETCHER.”
Again, in a letter of the 6th January, 1761, he says:--
“I had a secret expectation to be the instrument of a work in this part of our Church, and I did not despair of being soon a _little Berridge_; and thus warmed with sparks of my own kindling, I looked out to see the rocks broke in pieces, and the waters flowing out; but, to the great disappointment of my hopes, I am now forced to look within, and see the need I have of being broken, and of relenting myself. If my being stationed in this howling wilderness is to answer no public end as to the Gospel of Christ, I will not give up the hopes that it may answer a private end as to myself, in humbling me under a sense of universal unprofitableness. If I preach the Gospel ten years here (suppose I live so long), and see no fruits of my labours, in either case I promise to praise God, if I can but say from my heart, ‘_I am nothing--I have nothing--I can do nothing_.’ * * * I complained secretly a month ago of my want of concern, and my stupidity, at my solemn times of waiting upon God; and the Lord, in answer to my prayers, I believe, let loose upon me, for some moments every evening, the enemy of my soul. I might call him the dog of the good Shepherd; for a straying loitering sheep that hears a bull-dog barking, and sees him ready to devour, cannot fly into the sheepfold with more speed than those odd visits made me betake myself to the stronghold of my soul. But to my shame, the pressure was no sooner removed but I returned to my stupid state. Where I am, and what the Lord will do with me, or by me, I know not. If I can but once truly hold him, I shall not care, for then I shall follow him, though blindfold, whithersoever he goeth.
“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 is 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; and spread about such stories as your Ladyship may guess at, without my writing them. My Friday lecture took better than I expected, and I propose to continue it till the congregation desert me. The number of hearers at that time is generally larger than that which my predecessor had on Sunday. The number of communicants is increased from thirty to above a hundred; and a few seem to seek grace in the means. May they do it in sincerity! * * I thank your Ladyship for mentioning Mr. Jones as a curate. There is little probability of my ever wanting one. My oath obliges me to residence, and when I am here I can easily manage all the business, and only wait for some opportunities of bearing oftener witness to the truth.”
One more extract from this interesting correspondence shall conclude this chapter. The letter we are about to quote is dated Madely, April 27, 1761:--
“Conscious that few people can sympathize with me in so feeling a manner as your Ladyship, I shall make no apology for pouring out my complaints before you in this letter.
“I learn, by slow experience, that in me dwelleth no good thing. This, I find, cannot be learned of man, nor by man--it is a lesson that grace alone teaches effectually in the furnace of affliction; I am still at the first line, but I think I read it and understand it in a manner quite different from what I did before. Surely the Saviour speaks as no man ever spake, and he teaches with authority, not as the scribes; his words are riveted in the heart--those of man only graze the surface of the understanding. I have met with several trials since Providence has cast me (I shall not say in this part of the Lord’s vineyard, but) into this part of our spiritual Sodom; nevertheless, they did not work upon me as they ought to have done: I stood out against them in a kind of _self-resolution_, supported by human fortitude, rather than divine humility, and so they did not bring down the strength of nature, but rather increased it; for the old man, if he cannot have his own food, will live quietly and comfortably on spiritual food too. Yea, he is often pampered by what the natural mind supposes will poison him. But of late I have met a trial that, by God’s infinite mercy, has found its way to my heart. O may the wound be deep enough to let in the mind of Jesus!
“A young woman, 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. I could bear patiently enough before the reports that went about that I drove people mad; but the fear of having this laid to my charge, backed with so glaring an instance, has thrown me into some agonies of soul, in which, through very great storms, I got into a very great calm; and the Lord, in compassion to my infirmity, perhaps also for the honour of his cause, seems to hear me in that which I feared, and I believe there is some hope that the snare will be broken.
“Why God permits these offences to arise has not a little staggered me. Once I was for taking to my heels, and, hireling-like, for flying at the first approach of the wolf. But, thanks be to the divine grace, I now try to commit to the Lord the keeping of his own ark, and cry for a blind faith in him who calls light out of darkness. Had not this trial staggered me, I should have great hopes that a few living stones may be gathered here for the temple of the Lord. There is a considerable stir about religion in the neighbourhood; and though most people rise up against it, yet some begin to enquire in earnest what they must do to be saved, and some get a sight of the way. My church is full, notwithstanding the oaths that some of my parishioners have sworn never to hear me again. I am insensibly led into exhorting sometimes in my house, and elsewhere. I preach Sunday morning and Friday evening; and Sunday evening, after catechizing or preaching to the children, I read one of the homilies, or a sermon of Archbishop Usher’s, insisting on all that confirms what I advanced in the morning, which greatly stops the mouths of the gainsayers, till God shall turn their hearts.
“I beg your Ladyship (when the blessed Spirit blows) would remember my poor flock and their poor shepherd at the throne of grace. I propose writing soon to Mr. Charles Hotham and Mrs. Carteret; nevertheless, should take it kindly if, Madam, you would, in the meantime, present my respects, without forgetting Lady Gertrude, Mrs. Cavendish, and Mrs. Leighton.
“I am, my Lady, with the truest regard and gratitude,
Your Ladyship’s unworthy servant,
“J. FLETCHER.”