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.”