TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Madeley, June 1, 1822.
My dear Friend,
It afforded me great pleasure to see, on Tuesday last, your kind friend, Colonel Arthur [now Sir George Arthur, Bart. and Governor of Bombay], who arrived at Liverpool on the preceding Friday. He was accompanied by his lady, three children, and two servants, all of them in good health, though Mrs. Arthur and the children bore the usual paleness which Europeans so readily discover in the countenances of West Indian residents. I felt much gratified by the colonel’s urbanity of manners, and had great pleasure in showing him and his lady all the lions of the place. He seemed greatly to like our neat church and rural quiet churchyard, and the very ground appeared in his view to be more than ordinarily consecrated by the residence of the venerable Fletcher. He gave me much interesting detail respecting Honduras, its church, its schools, its people, and its minister; and of the last, he forgot not to mention his difficulties, his battles, and his eventual successes. He spoke also of his health, and described him (though perhaps he would not in this respect receive any great superabundance of thanks for his pains), as being peculiarly suited to bear all the labours of his arduous post, and that a change of place, however it might recreate the spirit, was by no means necessary for the continuance of his health. Now, I need scarcely tell you that all this was very refreshing to my spirit. I am not permitted to see you, and yet such have been the singular circumstances which have brought me in contact with those who have long lived in the Bay of Honduras, that I have been favoured with details almost as lively and circumstantial as an actual visit could have afforded me. And all the accounts strengthen in me the conviction that my endeared friend is in his own real, identical, proper post—the one by Heaven’s signature stamped with appointment and approbation too. May the Saviour who has appointed and approved, still bind him to it by his constraining love!
The colonel was very kind in his inquiries respecting William; I sent to Mr. Thurgar for him, and the counsels he gave him were very affectionate and appropriate. He left with him a sovereign when he parted from us. He seemed particularly anxious for his welfare, and was very desirous of gleaning everything encouraging that he might have the satisfaction of communicating it to you—a satisfaction evidently very strong.
Last night, I received a letter from that very excellent and very pious man, Mr. Francis Hall, who resided some months in my parish, as the companion of the New Zealanders, and who went with them to New Zealand. His whole conduct, while among us, left an indelible impression of the genuine piety which so humbly but gracefully dwelt within him. Every recollection of the dear good man is refreshing to my spirit. But I wander from my point. I received from him, yesterday, a letter which ought to make us all truly thankful that we have been providentially kept here, instead of being suffered to go, as we had once intended, along with himself or others to this inhospitable shore. He begins with congratulating us on this point, and illustrates his congratulation with such a narration of discouragement, connected with the state of the mission, as would convince every unprejudiced mind that a family such as mine has no business there. A time possibly may come when the signs may become more favourable; but certainly they are most discouraging now.
I hope I am thankful to God, as the only source of our good, for the state of things in my own parish. To say there was an outpouring of the Spirit upon us, would be using language by far too strong, and yet some gracious drops have descended—the dew has been resting upon us. Our classes increase—the public means are better attended; our Sunday schools are more than doubled, and a spirit of hearing generally prevails. And I feel the more grateful for all this, as I have all along expected that a seven years’ residence among them would produce a listlessness and indifference bordering on satiety; but, though this term is now attained within a few days, yet there seems no want of attention and no diminution in interest. The hearts of the dear people are still given to me, and, as such, they still bear with and love me. And if old things are said in their hearing, they appear to come home to them with a new power, and that power I would gratefully acknowledge is from above: to the grace, therefore, of my Redeemer, I would ascribe the praise. And I do still cherish a hope that, so long as he shall be pleased to continue me here, he will graciously command that the barrel of meal shall not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail; that neither matter nor unction shall be wanting in my humble ministrations. Humble they, indeed, are and always will be: the little treasure which I bear, is in an earthen, a cracked earthen vessel. But I hope I am still content, so long as the excellency of the power may be seen of God and not of man. Here, my dear friend, is the grand point—we nothing; Christ all. Oh, blessed feeling! Never are we so truly happy as when we most fully realize it.
We all unite in kind love to yourself and Mrs. A., and I remain,
My dear Friend,
Yours ever sincerely,
G. M.
The friend to whom the following extract of a letter to the editor refers, was one whom Mr. Mortimer had strongly urged to turn his attention towards the service of the sanctuary. The extract exhibits so beautiful a picture of a good man that I cannot prevail upon myself to omit it, and yet, not to offend the retiring feelings of the excellent individual alluded to—he being yet alive—I suppress his name, though to himself and some few of his friends the name will not be unknown. I hope he will forgive me this wrong which I have committed for the sake of others. In a note which the editor received from this gentleman, forwarding to him several of the letters which he had received from Mr. Mortimer, he says,
“‘In honour preferring one another,’ seemed to be one of his (Mr. M.’s) constant rules of action. For myself, I may most unaffectedly say, that while I feel grateful to God for the affection of such a friend for so many years, I equally feel my own utter unworthiness of such a privilege and blessing.”
“Two evenings ago, I received a letter from my excellent friend, —, late of —. He has at length applied for orders, and was admitted deacon, two Sundays since, by the venerable Bishop of Norwich. Mr. Horne of Christ Church, Newgate-street, whose work on the Scriptures you have no doubt seen reviewed, was admitted by the Bishop of London three years since, and these two together with myself were a trio of friends meeting in Mr. Butterworth’s class. Orders were at one time the furthest from all our thoughts, and yet have we been gradually led forward, and the third has at length joined us in the blessed and honourable employ. I much regret that he did not break through his snares and impediments when, about seven years ago, I strongly urged him to the point; for he would then have not only spent seven more years in the more immediate work of the sanctuary, but would have saved himself many painful exercises and many severe losses.
* * * * *
“But oh, how I admire the man! If he shone in prosperity, how much more in adversity! No murmur ever escapes him. He does, indeed, glorify his God in the fires. His altered circumstances make no alteration in the man, unless, indeed, they have induced greater spirituality of mind, more complete deadness to the world, and more unreserved surrender of all his affections and powers to the service of his God. But here I am backward to speak; for he shone so conspicuously before, that I find it difficult to determine which is stronger of the two lights, both so strong that few could bear with them a momentary comparison. Oh, may our lights, my dear friend, so shine in every alteration of our circumstances, that we also may, like him, bring glory to our God!”
At the beginning of the year 1823, it pleased God to deprive the church of the valuable labours’ of the Rev. John Eyton, Vicar of Wellington, to whom Mr. Mortimer was exceedingly attached. About seven weeks before his removal, he left home with the intention of wintering at the Isle of Wight, but the weather becoming very cold he was obliged to remain at Portsmouth. The children being all at home, he did not wish Mrs. Eyton to accompany him; but a few days before his death, she received an intimation that he wished to see her, and though she set off the very day she received this information, she did not arrive till some hours after his departure. In reference to this painful event, Mr. Mortimer, in a letter to his sister, says,
“The death of Mr. Eyton has filled us with a degree of consternation and surprise which I find it difficult to express. In what a changing world do we live, and how many evils does that part of our punishment “death” introduce among us. Prayer seems at present our only refuge, especially with regard to his bereaved people. The delicate and very difficult duty of preaching the funeral sermon has been assigned to me: the flesh would dispose me to decline were I to attend to its dictates; but I dare not listen. I owe so much to my endeared and highly honoured friend, that I feel I must proceed. Let me, however, entreat the assistance of your prayers.”
Some time during last year Mr. Mortimer was induced to undertake the editorship of a monthly publication for young persons. He refers to this engagement in the following letter:—
TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.
Madeley, Feb. 13, 1823.
My dear Brother,
I am obliged to you for thinking of me in reference to my monthly engagements. I can hardly expect that you should enter with any very lively interest into this matter, though, I can assure you, your kind assistance would prove a very acceptable service both to myself and my readers; nor would the time be altogether lost, if the matter were considered in sole reference to yourself; at least I should so conclude, from what I have observed with respect to my own mind and habits, and I very greatly regret that, for so many years, I suffered my feelings to prevail over my better judgment, and cause me to neglect the throwing in of my mite into some channel of usefulness. But I do not blame others, knowing how very unwillingly I was pressed into the service myself. I do not expect that my friends should, by any touch of my poor leaden wand, start into active and willing contributors. Had I Orpheus-like powers, the trees and stones might follow me; but I possess none of these magical or touchingly persuasive means, and therefore, though, as a point of duty, I every now and then turn an entreating eye, and raise a feeble supplicating voice, both the priest and the Levite are afraid of messing themselves in my poor concerns, and prudently pass over to the other side. I would not, however, ungratefully involve all in this sweeping and indiscriminate crimination. A Samaritan or two have kindly pitied me, and for their equally unexpected and unwearied act of friendship, I feel myself peculiarly indebted. But why all this enumeration? Should I not honestly confess that it is not altogether without reference to yourself? I am not a stranger to my good brother’s Samaritan-like feelings, and a distant hope is cherished by me, that he will yet pour in of his truly welcome supplies.
T. L., I should think, would at present pass quite as good an examination as his brother B., but I would not recommend him to be over hasty in applying for orders, nor indeed does he feel thus disposed himself. Young men, I think, sadly err in this matter; they hasten into the ministry far too soon, and repent of their haste all through their subsequent years. But perhaps it is hardly fair to ascribe all the blame to them: it originates, in great part, with those who bear the expense of their education, and who are glad of the first opportunity which presents itself of getting them off. But T. L. supports himself, and, therefore, the burden and the advantage both fall, as they ought, upon the same individual, and he so feels the desirableness of improving the present time, that he prefers waiting a little longer. Another pupil who is reading with me, a very nice young man, supports himself in a similar way; and I do not intend, for the future, to superintend the studies of any who do not, in some way or other, pursue the same method. And
I remain, my dear Brother,
Yours very affectionately,
G. M.