“I had only had two or three interviews with Mr. Fletcher, which were, I think, in the year 1768, when I was classical master at Kingswood school. As he occasionally made an excursion from Madeley to Bristol and Bath, in one of these excursions we invited him to preach at Kingswood. He came, and took as his text, ‘Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out.’ The people were exceedingly affected; indeed quite melted down. The tears streamed so fast from the eyes of the poor colliers that their black faces were washed by them. As to himself, he was carried out so far beyond his strength that, when he concluded, he put off his shirt, which was as wet as if it had been dipped in water. But this was nothing strange; whenever he preached it was generally the case. From this time, I conceived a particular esteem for him, chiefly on account of his piety; and wished much for a further acquaintance with him, a blessing which I soon after obtained; for through his means, and in consequence of Mr. Wesley’s recommendation to the Countess of Huntingdon, I was made head master of the academy, or, as it was commonly called, the college, at Trevecca, though I could ill be spared from Kingswood, where I had acted in that capacity about four years. Being greatly wanted at Kingswood, and having likewise a term to keep at Oxford, I could only pay them a short visit for the present, which was in January 1770; but in the spring following, I went to reside there, and for some time was well satisfied with my situation.”[197] Footnote 197: Benson’s “Life of Fletcher.” No record exists of what transpired between Fletcher and Benson at Trevecca; but the following letter, written there, and addressed to Mr. Ireland, deserves insertion:— “TREVECCA, _January 13, 1770_. “MY DEAR FRIEND,—I know not what to think of our journey. My heart frequently recoils. I have lost all hope of being able to preach in French, and I think if I could they would not permit me. I become more stupid every day; my memory fails me in a surprising manner. I am good for nothing, but to go and bury myself in my parish. I have those touches of misanthropy which make solitude my element. Judge, then, whether I am fit to go into the world. On the other hand, I fear that your journey is undertaken partly from complaisance to me, and in consequence of the engagement we made to go together. I acquit you of your promise; and, if your business does not really demand your presence in France, I beg you will not think of going there on my account. The bare idea of giving you trouble would make the journey ten times more disagreeable to me than the season of the year.