From the concluding part of Fletcher’s letter, it would seem that he was not now resident in Mr. Hill’s London mansion, but had “a little hired chamber” of his own. The probability is, that, during the Easter holidays of Parliament, Mr. Hill had returned to Shropshire, and that Fletcher had remained in London to officiate for the two Wesleys in West Street chapel; and, perhaps, in the Foundery, and in the chapel at Spitalfields. Twelve months previously, the Methodist Societies connected with these three places of worship had been blessed with the unspeakably precious ministry of the never-to-be-forgotten Thomas Walsh. “Lord,” said he, when leaving them on February 19, 1758, “Lord, Thou hast given me much favour in the eyes of this people. They show it by words and deeds; their prayers and tears. Reward them a thousandfold!” Seventeen days after the date of Fletcher’s foregoing letter, Thomas Walsh departed this life in Dublin, in the twenty-eighth year of his age. During his last days on earth, he was pre-eminently “in heaviness,” _great, distressing_ “heaviness, through manifold temptations.” At length, Satan was defeated, victory came, Walsh rapturously exclaimed, “He is come! He is come! My Beloved is mine, and I am His! His for ever!” And, uttering these words, he triumphantly expired.[40] Fletcher had become acquainted with Walsh by attending his ministry in Wesley’s London chapels. On hearing of his death, he wrote the following impassioned letter to Charles Wesley:— “LONDON, _April—, 1759_. “MY DEAR SIR,—With a heart bowed down with grief, and eyes bathed with tears, occasioned by our late heavy loss—I mean the death of Mr. Walsh—I take my pen to pray you to intercede for me. What! that _sincere_, _laborious_, and _zealous_ servant of God! Was he saved only as ‘_by fire_,’ and his prayer not heard till the twelfth hour was just expiring? Oh where shall I appear! I, who am an unprofitable servant! Would to God my eyes were fountains of waters to weep for my sins! Would to God I might pass the rest of my days in crying, ‘_Lord, have mercy upon me!_’ ‘_All is vanity_’—grace, talents, labours,—if we compare them with the mighty stride we have to take from time into eternity! Lord, remember me, _now_ that Thou art in Thy kingdom!