He determined, while in the south of France, to visit the Protestants in the Cevennes mountains, whose fathers had suffered so severely in the cause of Christ; “the heretics of the Cevennes, those accursed remainders of the old Albigenses,” as the Bull of Clement XI., dated 1703, designated them. The journey was long and difficult, but no argument could prevail with him to abandon his resolution of attempting it on foot. “Shall I,” said he to his friend Ireland, “make a visit on horseback and at ease, to those poor cottagers, whose fathers were hunted along the rocks, like partridges upon the mountains? No: I will visit them under the plainest appearance, with my staff in my hand.” Accordingly, he set out alone, and, after travelling till it was nearly dark, he entered a small house, and begged the favour of being allowed to sit in a chair till morning. The master of the cottage, after some hesitation, consented. Conversation followed; the host and hostess were charmed; the best provisions in their humble dwelling were given to the traveller; and, before they retired to rest, prayer was proposed and offered. Early on the morrow, the strange visitant renewed his conversation and his prayers; father, mother, and children were melted into tears; and the poor man himself told his neighbours that he had nearly refused to admit a stranger into his house, who was more an angel than a man. The family were papists. Continuing his journey, Fletcher reached a small town, where he was entertained by a pious minister, to whom he had been recommended. The Protestants received him with open arms. He conversed with their elders; admonished their youth; visited their sick; and preached with freedom and success. Many among them were comforted, and many built up in their most holy faith. Footnote 201: Benson’s “Life of Fletcher.” As he travelled over the mountains, he, one day, put up in a small dwelling, whose master could hardly speak without uttering an oath. Of course, Fletcher, in his own peculiar way, reproved the swearer; and, with such effect, that the man confessed his sin; and ever afterwards, when in danger of falling into his old habit, nothing more was necessary to restrain him than to remember the saintly stranger who had once obtained a lodging beneath his humble roof.[202] Footnote 202: Gilpin’s “Notes to Portrait of St. Paul.”