TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.
Thornhill, Toronto, Upper Canada,
July 14, 1835.
My much-endeared Brother,
We were in some measure prepared for the communication conveyed to us by your letter of the 20th of April, and which reached us yesterday evening; for our Shropshire friend had heard the report of our beloved mother’s departure, and had made allusion to it in communications received some weeks since. Well, her happy, holy spirit, is at length released. Fulness of days has been granted to her, and, though they have not been unattended with labour and sorrow, yet has her kind Saviour been with her, and as much of outward alleviation and inward serenity and peace have been experienced by her as her circumstances and state of body would admit of. And now has she entered into the fulness of her gracious reward, and her sainted name must ever be inhaled as the precious perfumed ointment, by all who know how to estimate her deep, consistent, and exalted piety. And where shall we now look for her fellow? For the race of the distinguished and peculiar few seems now to have become extinct. In vain shall we look for a Cooper, a Rogers, a Fletcher, a Lefevre, or one like our equally distinguished mother. A prophet indeed is no where so little esteemed as among his own kindred. And yet I am persuaded that there is that in the heart of my endeared brother, which will fully respond to the encomiums which have thus unintentionally escaped me. * * *
Your letter bears the goodly inscription of “Thornhill Parsonage;” but, alas! it is a sound without locality. It exists in my kind brother’s imagination, but nowhere else. A house indeed has long been talked of, and was at length erected, but a mere laical abode. But I am happy to say that matters are now likely to be on a proper footing. I have purchased four acres of land (at £50 an acre!!) near the church, for which the Lieutenant-Governor in Council has consented to allow me an equivalent in wild land, as well as for a sum not exceeding £500 for the erection of a parsonage. And operations have commenced, but when they shall be terminated I know not. The lumber must be sawn and seasoned, and continue seasoning till next spring, and we are told that a finished habitation will be ready for us in the fall of the next year, October the 1st, 1836. But what a distant period! my hand misgives me while I write it; for my whitened locks and weakly frame point to a far different abode. May my affection combine with my judgment, and may my short residue of days be so numbered by me, that wisdom’s lessons may both diligently and effectually be learnt!
When I sat down I was purposing a tolerably close imitation of your own very lengthy (eleven-lined!) epistle, and was about to find some convincing, or at least plausible, reason for my shabbiness. Happily, however, my pen has kept sliding on; and finding myself so near the conclusion of the third side of my closely written sheet, I may assure you with a tolerably fair and unblushing front, of our unabated and most affectionate regards to yourself and all your endeared family, and not least, those of your sincerely devoted brother,
George Mortimer.
P.S. Our kindest love also to all our endeared relatives.