Intensity was his dominating quality.  He wrote verses, and whatever they may have lacked of the subtle element that marks poetical genius, they were full of his ardent personality and devotional abandon.  He compounded medicines whose virtues, backed by his own unwavering faith, wrought wondrous cures.  On several occasions he accepted challenge to polemic battle, and his opponents found in him a fearless warrior, whose onset was next to irresistible.  In these discussions it was no uncommon thing for his arguments to close with such bursts of spiritual power that the doctrinal duel would end in a great religious excitement, bearing disputants and hearers away on mighty tides of feeling that none could resist.

I saw in the Texas Christian Advocate an incident, related by Dr. F. A. Mood, that gives a good idea of what Fisher’s eloquence was when in full tide: 

“About ten years ago,” says Dr. M., “when the train from Houston, on the Central Railroad, on one occasion reached Hempstead, it was peremptorily brought to a halt.  There was a strike among the employees of the road, on what was significantly called by the strikers ‘The Death-warrant.’  The road, it seems, had required all of their employees to sign a paper renouncing all claims to moneyed reparation in case of their bodily injury while in the service of the road.  The excitement incident to a strike was at its height at Hempstead when our train reached there.  The tracks were blocked with trains that had been stopped as they arrived from the different branches of the road, and the employees were gathered about in groups, discussing the situation—­the passengers peering around with hopeless curiosity.  When our train stopped, the conductor told us that we would have to lie over all night, and many of the passengers left to find accommodations in the hotels of the town.  It was now night, when a man came into the car and exclaimed, ’The strikers are tarring and feathering a poor wretch out here, who has taken sides with the road—­come out and see it!’ Nearly every one in the car hastened out.  I had risen, when a gentleman behind me gently pulled my coat, and said to me, ‘Sit down a moment.’  He went on to say:  ’I judge, sir, you are a clergyman; and I advise you to remain here.  You may be put to much inconvenience by having to appear as a witness; in a mob of that sort, too, there is no telling what may follow.’  I thanked him, and resumed my seat.  He then asked me to what denomination I belonged, and upon my telling him I was a Methodist preacher, he asked eagerly and promptly if I had ever met a Methodist preacher in Texas by the name of Fisher, describing accurately the appearance of our glorified brother.  Upon my telling him I knew him well, he proceeded to give the following incident.  I give it as nearly as I can in his own words.  Said he: