While in Paris he was sent for to visit a sick woman. Information having been given to a magistrate which ascribed to him wrong motives, a garbled case was got up, and an order of apprehension was issued from the King. An officer called at the house where the friends were staying to serve the order. Mr. Ireland stepped out and, without mentioning his name, said quietly, "Sir, have you an order for me?" "I have," responded the officer, taking him for Fletcher. They went off together, and Mr. Fletcher was well out of the city before the magistrate disgustedly discovered the mistake. When in the south of France, Fletcher determined to visit the Protestants of the Cevennes Mountains, and nothing would serve him but that he should perform the long and difficult journey on foot, with but a staff in his hand. He disdained to appear well cared for, and on horseback, at the doors of those whose fathers were hunted for their faith from rock to rock. He set out in his own fashion, therefore; on the first night of his travels begging the use of a chair in some humble cottage until morning. The peasant was reluctant to admit his strange guest, but when he had heard him talk and pray, himself, no less than his wife and children, were affected to tears. "I nearly refused to let a stranger into my house," related the peasant to his neighbours, "but when he came I found more angel than man." Nor was this the only person who held such an opinion. Wesley tells of another visit paid by the Vicar upon his way to call upon a minister of the district. A little crowd was assembled at the door of a house where a mother and her newly-born child were dying. The room was also filled with neighbours. Fletcher went in, spoke gently to the people present of the effects of the sin of our first parent, and pointed them to Jesus. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, "He is able to raise the dead, to save you all from sin, to save these from death. Come, let us ask Him!" In prayer he had wondrous liberty. The child's convulsions ceased, the mother became easy, and strength flowed into her as he prayed. The neighbours gazed astonished, and silently withdrew, whispering to one another when without the house, "_Certainly it was an angel!_" On their journey from France to Italy the travellers arrived at the Appian Way. Fletcher stopped the carriage and descended, remarking to his friend, "I cannot _ride_ over ground where the Apostle Paul once _walked,_ chained to a soldier;" and taking off his hat he walked up the old Roman road praising God for the glorious Gospel preached by His servant of long ago. Nor was this affectation upon Fletcher's part. Nothing was further from his thoughts at any time than to _make an impression_ upon those around him. Perhaps for this very reason the mark he did make was indelible. No man ever spent an hour with the Vicar of Madeley without being spiritually better for it.