TO THE SAME.
Horfield, near Bristol, May 23, 1827.
My much-endeared Friend,
For with these appellations I must address you, though the long intervals which I suffer to transpire between my addresses may perhaps induce the suspicion that they are not the legitimate expressions of the heart. But as this is the general, not to say the universal, character of my correspondence, and as you must, by this time, have had sufficient opportunities of discovering my weak points, I will comfort myself with the hope, that though you find me tardy, yet that you will not regard me as insincere.
Your letter of the 18th of August last was conveyed, I presume, through some private hand, and did not reach me till some months after its date. It contained, as you will perhaps recollect, the painful accounts of the bereavements which you have lately been called to endure, in the loss of your two most beloved daughters; and to one of your disposition and habits—one so affectionate, and domestic, and in every sense paternal—the dispensation must have been one of no ordinary suffering; and yet so sweetly do the feelings of the true Christian combine with those of the sorrowing parent, that I almost envy you the power which you so blessedly possess; an attainment to which I look up, when I consider it in reference to yourself, with admiring gratitude; but which, when I advert to, in contrast to my own imperfect and limited experience, humbles me in the dust. Hitherto, indeed, I have had but little affliction in my family; yet that little has not been borne with that meek and patient submission—with that deadness to the world and that detachment from the creature—which ought to characterize the child of God. But if I so readily faint in the day of comparatively minor sorrows, how can I be expected to stand in the day of increased and lengthened suffering—the evil day, asked for by Satanic malignity, and rendered but too necessary in order to bring before me the latent evils of my own unsanctified heart? Still, however, the divine panoply has been mercifully provided; and what should hinder me from becoming strong in the Lord and in the power of his might? I will therefore hope in his mercy. I will expect, that should sufferings await me, such as those with which my endeared friend has been visited, I may still be enabled to glorify my God in the day of my visitations; and then all will be well. For sanctified sorrow not only loses all its pungent and corrosive, and deadly qualities, and thus leaves our neutralized minds in the possession of calm and settled peace; but it has reference also to that happy and eternal state above, where all our light and momentary afflictions shall be succeeded by that inconceivable weight of glory which shall suffer neither diminution nor end.
Mr. Mortimer’s next engagement in the duties of his sacred office, was at St. Mary le Port, Bristol, first undertaken temporarily during the serious illness of the regular minister, the Rev. Thomas Grinfield, which lasted for some months, and afterwards sharing the services with him for a year, before his going to the curacy of Hutton. He entered upon this duty for the first time, on Sunday, December 10, 1826, and continued in the discharge of it until the end of September, 1828. In this sphere he seems to have laboured with peculiar pleasure, acceptance, and usefulness; his talents as a preacher appear to have been better appreciated, and his services more valued, than in any other situation that he filled either before or afterwards; and, speaking after human judgment, I cannot help regretting that ever he felt it to be his duty to leave a field of so much promise, and one which he was so well calculated to improve and cultivate; and, if I do not greatly mistake, his own mind was not entirely free from feelings of regret on this subject. Of his adaptation to the place and of the benefits resulting from his ministry there, he was not himself insensible. He thus writes to his sister, Mrs. Holland, August 5, 1828:—
“In my ministerial duties it has pleased the Lord to give me a degree of acceptance among my present charge which I was never favoured with before. At Madeley, indeed, the attendance was good, and as much of interest was kept up and spiritual benefit conveyed, as kept my naturally anxious and misgiving mind from quite sinking; but in Bristol it has been far otherwise. The attendance at church has greatly increased; the affection of the people seems to be given me in an unusual degree; and I do hope the blessing of the Lord keeps bringing home the word with power to their hearts.”
He makes reference also to his labours at St. Mary le Port, in a letter to the Rev. John Cooper, in terms which sufficiently indicate his own feelings and sentiments, and which are plainly expressive of his own judgment upon a comparative view of his services at Bristol with those performed elsewhere.
Hutton, near Cross, Somersetshire, Feb. 4, 1829.
My much-endeared Friend,
I am quite ready to acknowledge my faults; and lest, through forgetfulness, I should in a similar manner offend in this instance also, I am determined to despatch my communication at once. You kindly allude to gratification received from this source in time past. Such hints coming even from an indifferent quarter, always frighten me; they make me fancy that something will of course be expected for the future; and knowing so fully the mere business-like strain in which I am generally accustomed to write, and my want of spirituality when I touch upon serious subjects, I have such a shrinking, not to say horror and dread of letters of mere friendship, that while intending to pay my just and lawful debts in this department, I keep insensibly postponing their discharge, till I fancy my answers would be out of date, and would fain sit down with a quiet and contented mind. Creditors, however, are those merciless kind of beings that it is no easy matter to escape out of their hands, and ever and anon some upbraiding or threatening communication appears in due form before me. Not, however, that I could be so wanting in urbane feelings, as to speak in such terms of Madeley despatches; they are, of course, the merest and most gentle of all mementos—all lapses of time are so graciously overlooked, and the most unblushing halts on the part of the most notorious offender are rather implied than expressed. You will therefore be kindly pleased to accept my most humble and grateful acknowledgments for such unmerited mercy; and hoping for ever to profit by such benignity, I now beg leave to conclude my lengthened exordium.
As you appear to have seen my good friend Y—, you have no doubt heard from him most of the particulars connected with my recent change. I do, indeed, most fully believe, that I am in the spot to which I have been most evidently directed of the Lord; and in respect to outward comfort and suitableness of employment, I suppose I should hardly find another situation equally eligible; but, after all, I cannot help regretting the termination of my Mary le Port engagements. Much kindness have I received in various forms from my Madeley people—much also, and most strongly expressed, from my temporary charge at Yardley; but I never seemed to live so fully in the hearts of any of my people as those, from whom unavoidable circumstances have so recently separated me. I am persuaded, however, that all is right both for me and for them; and if developing circumstances should not reveal this to the eye of sense, yet that faith which brings its luminous atmosphere around the results of cautious procedure and humble dependence will cheer the mind with its present assurance, till it shall conduct us to that world where, without the least shadow of a misgiving, we shall acknowledge that our guiding and gracious Saviour “hath done all things well.” My outward path has indeed, for some time past, been in many respects somewhat mysterious and painfully perplexing; but such are frequently the movements even of those who not only have the cloudy pillar to guide them, but who also are careful to follow its guidance. And, even allowing that ourselves have not thus followed with this undeviating step, still we have the privilege of penitent return; and, from whatever point we may retrace our wandering step, we see the same heavenly guidance before us, waiting to conduct us onward in the unerring way.
I feel much obliged for your interesting allusion to Madeley procedures; your dispensary, infant-school, and clerical meeting, have all of them, not only the approval of my judgment, but of my heart. . . . And therefore I do, in all respects, most sincerely rejoice that the kind and gratifying permission of which you speak was ever given to me. My fear, however, is, lest you should be doing too much, encouraged by that half-untrue and sadly delusive maxim, “Better to wear away than to rust away.” I would rather have you patronise that far more prudential substitute suggested by the biographer of Leigh Richmond, “I labour less that I may labour longer.”
I do indeed most sincerely rejoice with you in the blessed testimony afforded to you by your endeared and dying sister, to the faithfulness of our gracious and Omnipotent Redeemer. How few are the families where the leavening influence of true religion has been more extensively or more blessedly experienced!
We had not heard of the arrival of our Ceylon friends till your last reached us. Most truly rejoiced shall we be to be permitted to meet them; but the notorious offender has some draw-back to his anticipated pleasure—a four or five years’ halt keeps haunting his perturbed mind. Nor let your gifted men of punctuality smile, as they read these compunctious movements—these reiterated confessions,—lest our insulted spirits spring from beneath the ignominious tread, and, elate with all the consciousness of our newly acquired powers, hold ourselves in readiness to repel the charge and to retaliate the affront.
You have heard, I suppose, of my having taken three pupils to instruct with my own children; my time, as you can readily imagine, is far from sluggishly employed; my health, however, is, and has been for some time past, through God’s blessing, unusually good. Within the last three weeks, I have been a little threatened with a return of Madeley feelings, but this has been through attempting too much.
Our united and very kindest love attends Mrs. C. yourself, and family, and
I remain, my dear Friend,
Yours, ever affectionately,
G. Mortimer.
The next step in the life of my endeared friend, which comes under our notice, is one which filled all his friends with surprise—one which they could not contemplate without much concern—one, the expediency of which, they could none of them fully perceive—one, indeed, which they could not but consider as uncalled for and unnecessary. I refer to his leaving England, and proceeding with his family to settle in Canada. At an earlier period of his life he appears to have been animated with a pure and holy zeal for the cause of missions to the heathen, and would, if his way had been open, most gladly have entered upon that self-denying service. But now he was not stimulated by such a motive; indeed, he can hardly be said to have made even ministerial duties his chief object: it was not to seek a new fortune in the vineyard of Christ, but to improve his worldly fortune for the temporal benefit of his children. I do not presume to censure Mr. Mortimer for this step, though I agree with many of his friends in considering it a very questionable measure. He was not like a man in needy circumstances; Providence had supplied him with a very comfortable independent income; one perfectly adequate to provide for all the reasonable wants of his family, and to enable him to place out his children in suitable situations, as they grew up; much more so, if I do not greatly mistake, and with much greater satisfaction, too, than he has been able to do in Canada. Where the object is the cause of God, I should be among the first to recommend a man to leave his home, his friends, and his country, and go to the very ends of the earth, if called to such a service; and I see no reason why men of business, if their disposition lead to it, though they possess even good properties, should not expatriate themselves for the purpose of commerce, or the increase of their fortune; but I hesitate as to granting the same liberty to the minister of Jesus Christ, especially where it has pleased his heavenly Father to furnish him with the necessary supplies of life in a tolerably competent measure. It is clearly the duty of a clergyman, as it is that of a layman, to make such provision for his family, in the event of his removal from them, as his circumstances will permit; but to make this the first object of consideration in determining upon an important movement in life—in leaving one’s own country and settling in another—does seem to me not very warrantable. Upon these considerations, I cannot, I confess, perfectly concur with my late beloved friend in the measure under contemplation. No doubt he was fully satisfied in his own mind of the propriety of the step on which he had determined, and that the accomplishment of it was in accordance with the path of duty and the order of Providence.
But let Mr. Mortimer speak for himself. Four, out of the five following letters, touch more or less upon the subject, and explain his views of the measure and of the desirableness of it. In the dark view taken in some of these letters of the prospects of his native country, the writer of them by no means stood alone; and though commerce seems to have recovered itself, and the prosperity of the nation has assumed a more promising aspect, yet the encouragement given to Popery by the State on the one hand, and the movement in the church towards the increase of its ranks, and the augmentation of its influence on the other; the unmanageable state of pauperism, and the ungovernable, and, I fear, to any considerable extent, the unimprovable condition of the peasantry and the poor of our great cities, cannot be contemplated by the Christian patriot without fear, alarm, and consternation. We are evidently in the state of a volcano, and everything seems to indicate a no very distant eruption, which may rase the foundations of the Church and State, and scatter misery and wretchedness, rapine and bloodshed, murder and destruction, over the face of the land. The elements of some general convulsion are preparing with a rapid progress; and awful, it is to be feared, will be the catastrophe, if, by timely repentance, the blow which threatens us, and which undoubtedly we deserve, be not averted. [164]
TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.
Hutton, near Cross, Somersetshire,
Nov. 1830.
My dear Armstrong,
I do indeed feel myself much obliged to you for kindly breaking through the impediments which my lengthened silence put in the way of our renewed intercourse. I often reproached myself for not writing; and yet there seemed such an awkwardness in recommencing, that I fear I should never have had courage to combat with it. But your truly welcome letter has opened my way, and I most gladly avail myself of the unexpected facility. But before I proceed to other matters, I ought to assure you that yours is not any personal or any peculiar or isolated case. All my friends, and even relatives, are successively neglected; and if it were not that so many of them are touched with a similar feeling of kindness with yourself, and ever and anon renew the needful impulse, I should soon be forsaken by them all, and find myself, what I so richly deserve, “a desolate old man.”
All your topics of communication cheer me. I truly rejoice with you in the erection of the church. It was a noble emprise, characteristic of my endeared friend, and peculiarly owned and blessed of his God; of its extent of good, eternity will alone unfold. Your account also of your dear children was read by me with much interest, and with real gratitude. How faithful is God. In the spirit of the Levite you have thrown up your inheritance among your brethren. And some of us, not sufficiently aware of the nature or extent of your faith, and but little called to tread in similar paths, were inwardly dreading some disastrous shock. But the whirlwind, the earthquake, and the fire, were only the creatures of our own imagination; while all that is real is “the still small voice” of our God, proclaiming, as is usual with him, to those who can trust him, his goodness, and his love. May the same goodness attend all the other branches of your dear family. And may you and your beloved wife be long spared to them, to the church, and the world.
I know your friendly feeling would prompt you to enquire respecting our several movements. But where shall I begin? All is and all has been well with us; and yet much has been transpiring which we little anticipated. The calls of our family have induced struggling and self-denial. My curate could not be retained. The tutor for my children, when he left for college, has not been replaced. First, his duties devolved on me; then the extra care of three pupils. Removing, too, has been attended with loss. And various other matters have all been tending toward the same point. But still I would reiterate the declaration—all is and has been well with us. To some spirits, struggling and difficulty is absolutely necessary. Like stagnant waters, they must be shaken, or they will acquire the evils consequent on inactivity.
I have for some years past been endeavouring to feel my way as to a settlement in one of our colonies; having little expectation of being able to settle my children at all advantageously in England. All I wished for was something in the shape of ministerial duty, without much regard to the emolument, but as a kind of satisfaction that I was not going out of the way of usefulness. But my inquiries were fruitless. Indeed my friends were not over anxious about my success. They mostly inclined to my remaining in England; and therefore did not, I believe, at all exert themselves. Now I begin to fancy that I am getting too old for such an experiment. Though possibly should anything desirable present itself, I should not wonder at my old feelings reviving. But I should not now be tempted, I think, with anything short of a chaplaincy; and these are so far from being come-at-able, that I consider my emigrating schemes as at an end. My views, however, with regard to my own country are still the same. I was never a national croaker; and have, I think, always been disposed to look at the bright side. Still I can anticipate nothing but rapidly increasing distress, and not very far distant ruin. And this has almost invariably been the case with great commercial nations. The influx of extraneous wealth, producing such increase of population, and such extent of luxury, and when these arrive at a certain point, other countries, other markets, successfully compete, and eventually surpass. At one of these points we are already arrived, and the retrograde impulse is beginning to be most painfully felt. All classes, indeed, are much suffering at present; and had it not pleased God to have given us a popular king and a most plenteous harvest, it is most generally believed that a revolution would ere this have taken place. Many, I know, are still dreading it. A letter which I received but a few days since from a General, a father of one of my pupils, is strongly expressive of the feelings which still prevail in the metropolis. To add to other causes of apprehension, we have just received the account of the resignation of the Wellington ministry. All is indeed perplexity. But still the Lord Omnipotent reigneth; all is in his hands. And possibly what we are dreading is only the small cloud of needless apprehension, which will either soon blow over, or only discharge itself in unexpected and undeserved mercies. But why should I allude to public events; for, with letters from your friends, you receive, no doubt, a budget of the public papers, which bring all these matters before you in all their diversified aspects and bearings.
As to my ministerial employments, I feel on the whole comfortably engaged. My sphere is but small; and my success not very apparent; and yet circumstances seem to require my continuance; nor does any moving of the cloud point out any other place. I therefore go labouring on; and should it please God to fix me eventually in some other situation, I shall find all the benefit from my past exertion; for I make a point of preparing one new sermon every week.
Mrs. G. M. unites with me in very kindest remembrance to yourself and dear Mrs. A.
And I remain, my much endeared Friend,
Yours, ever sincerely,
G. M.