Poor human nature at best goes on crutches; and one infirmity he had to struggle with when young, Mr. Benson tells us, “was temper. He was a man of strong passions, and prone to anger in particular, insomuch that he has frequently thrown himself on the floor, and laid there most of the night, bathed in tears, imploring victory over his spirit.” He obtained it, and by the means employed—by earnest wrestling, by prayer articulate at times—voiceless, waiting prayer at others. Holiness to be realised in man—holiness incarnate on earth, eternal in the heavens—and the annihilation of all that would bar it out from the soul was his motto. But the man that would tremble before the suspicion of a fault, on the other hand, could beard a gamester armed, and pour an avalanche of indignation upon his head—aye, while the infuriated duellist held a pistol to his breast. There was a combination of earnestness, sincerity, and, withal, humiliation, about the man that won its way and fused all before it. There was a primitive simplicity and singleness of purpose, an enthusiasm unmixed with bitterness, and that heavenly temper about Mr. Fletcher which reminds one of the sublimated virtues and graces of the early Christians. Like the old fathers, he accommodated himself to his hearers, suiting his exhortations to their modes of thought, and seizing opportunities for imparting instruction and advice, so as to secure for both the most favourable reception. His parishioners soon began not only to perceive but to appreciate these excellent features of his character. Unmoved by storm and tumult, actuated by the purest motives, with a grace and sweetness that shone through every look and gave value to every action, his visits, wherever he went, brought with them influences like the reviving breath of spring. If he overtook on the road a poor woman, wearied with a load, he assisted her to carry it, meanwhile taking care to exhort her to relieve herself of that more intolerable one of sin. If he saw a man fetch down a bird with his gun, he complimented him upon his aim and called his attention to the mark for the prize of his high calling—thus tempering and interweaving with things and pursuits of this life those relating to that which is to come. A very atmosphere of good surrounded him, from whence distilled heavenly and refreshing dew. To meet the objections of his parishioners to early Sunday morning meetings, on the ground of their being unable to rise so early, he was accustomed to go round the village himself, tinkling a bell; “thus, though free from all men,” as the Apostle said to the Corinthians, he made himself the servant of all, giving himself up to the work as practically and devotedly as though each particular department had been his special duty. If a poor man was ill and lacked attendance he sat by the sickbed and tended him; if he needed clothes to keep him warm he stripped himself; if