I think you must have heard of the distressing nervous attack which my dear father had about four years since, and which, for a time, entirely incapacitated him for the discharge of his ministerial duties, and obliged him to engage the services of a curate. When he had partially recovered, but, at the same time, felt unequal to the resumption of his ministrations at Thornhill, he undertook a service in a retired place, nearly four miles distant, where no church service had been before held. He felt very much interested in this self-imposed charge, which he termed, in speaking of it to me, the nursling of his old age. Many of the members of this congregation, which consisted entirely of farmers, mechanics, and labourers, have frequently spoken in strong terms of gratitude for his attention to them, and I hope that his labours there were in some measure appreciated. When he afterwards gave Mr. Townley some assistance in Thornhill Church, [252] he still continued his exposition, as he was accustomed to call it, at the German Mills, but then went only once a fortnight, and my youngest brother, with the consent of the bishop, officiated as lay-reader, on the alternate Sundays. At the end of June, in last year, my dear father having felt very anxious to resume his charge at Thornhill, at length came to the determination of dismissing his curate, notwithstanding the fears of his family that he would be unequal to bear the sole burden of the then greatly increased parochial duties. Connected with this determination, was a resolution to devote himself entirely to his ministerial work, and he re-entered upon it with renewed zeal and ardour. At the same time he entirely gave up all his literary pursuits, and, as if to confirm his purpose, removed from his study all the geological and other scientific works, which had previously engaged and captivated his attention. This was an evident and great sacrifice, but it was made with cheerfulness for the sake of his Divine Redeemer; and the comfort and great peace of mind which he enjoyed in doing his Master’s work, fully recompensed him for this act of self-devotion. Our fears respecting his health proved to have been groundless, for he frequently said that he never felt his ministerial duties less oppressive than he then did. The good health which he enjoyed was greatly promoted by the practice which he had adopted of driving out regularly every day, and which he then continued both for the benefit of the exercise, and also for the purpose of visiting his parishioners, very many of whom lived at a distance of many miles. His visits have been frequently alluded to, and they appear to have been prized by many, as marks of kindness and condescension, when they could not appreciate their spiritual advantage. During this last year of my dear father’s life, owing perhaps to the exclusively religious nature of his studies, his conversation much more frequently than before took a serious turn. I was frequently much struck with the beauty of his observations, and at times the thought occurred that his remarks were those of one ripening for glory. At the end of last May, Arthur and his bride came to visit us, and we then effected a family meeting, every member being present excepting Maria. During the next week, my dear father was present at the bishop’s triennial visitation, and at the annual meeting of our Diocesan Church Society; and his apparent good health was generally remarked by his clerical and other friends. The ceremony of opening a church in our neighbourhood, occurring in the following week, he thought it his duty to attend; but these exertions, combined with the excitement of an enlarged family circle, affected his health, and on that account, during the three last days he spent the whole of his time in parochial visiting. The man-servant spoke with much feeling of his conversation during their drives, and mentioned his having said, each day, when they reached home, “Once more, Stephen, God has brought us home in safety.” Some of the persons that he visited on those days remarked to a young friend, that their minister spoke to them particularly of preparation for death. On Saturday, the 15th of June, having heard that his bookseller in Toronto had received a supply of new books, he determined upon going there to select some theological works. While he was waiting for the carriage, he returned to the dining-room, and talked in a very lively manner till it was ready. He had only proceeded about a mile on his journey, when the fatal accident occurred. The newspapers gave a correct account of the accident, which perhaps you have heard—that the horse ran away; that one rein broke suddenly, though nearly new, which caused the horse to make so sudden and violent a turn, that the carriage was overturned, and that the man, though thrown out as well as his master, was only slightly injured, while the latter received his deathblow on the chest, by being thrown with violence against the stump of a tree. It had long been the practice of my endeared father, and one which he recommended from the pulpit, to make death a daily subject of prayer, and a part of that, I believe, daily petition, was that he might, if consistent with the will of God, have an easy death. The testimony of his kind and skilful medical attendant, is a decisive evidence to the striking fulfilment of this prayer; for he told us that no other death was so easy, excepting when occasioned by lightning, as that which terminated the existence of my dear father, who, he assured us, suffered no pain. He also mentioned that he considered it a very remarkable circumstance, that he should have survived so long a time as four hours: for that two hours was deemed the utmost length of time that life could be prolonged, under such circumstances, and that instant death was the frequent result of such a blow. That such was not the case in this instance, we felt very thankful, and he himself expressed his satisfaction at being brought home to his own bed, and his thankfulness that none of his bones were broken; not knowing then the fatal nature of his accident. He expressed a desire that some of his family should leave the room, that he might be quiet, and we all therefore quitted his room, excepting Dr. Paget and Arthur. He was perfectly composed, and resigned to the will of God, whatever that might be, but expressed a wish that he might fall asleep in Jesus. When he became aware, or rather suspected, that his end was approaching, he sent for all the members of his family who were then at home, mentioning us by name, and we received in succession his last blessing. He was then perfectly calm, and in a peaceful state of mind. Almost his last words were expressive of his admiration of, and thankfulness for, the wonderful plan of redemption: his words I do not remember accurately enough to quote, but his last petition was for his beloved flock! Dr. Paget, though his affectionate heart felt deep sorrow, said, that it was a privilege to witness such a death. The testimony which has been borne by all ranks to the esteem in which he was held, is very gratifying. The bishop came from Toronto, though with great inconvenience, to pay the last mark of respect to the dear remains of one whom, to the credit of both parties, he greatly respected, though differing from him in many points. The church was greatly crowded on the mournful occasion, and a deep feeling appeared to pervade the assembly. The pulpit, &c. were hung with black cloth, and all the genteel residents in the neighbourhood put on mourning. These are the consolations which the world has in its power to offer to mourning relatives, and very many have we received, nor were they by any means undervalued by us, but, added to them, we had far higher sources of comfort, in the perfect assurance that he whom we mourned had entered into his rest, and in the full assurance that the event, deeply afflicting as it was to us, was ordered by an allwise and gracious God.
Mamma desires her Christian respects to yourself and your dear sister, of whose very afflictive state of deprivation of almost every outward comfort, she was truly grieved to hear.
My dear father was much affected when he heard, through Miss B—, the sad intelligence, and he more than once alluded to your dear sister’s blindness with tears of sympathy.
Believe me, dear Madam,
Very sincerely and respectfully yours,
Phebe Mortimer.
The following letter, written by the same hand, repeats so much of what was said in the foregoing, that at first the writer of these memoirs determined, on the omission of one of them: but, upon consideration that, though there was repetition, there was also so much variety of expression, as well as of additional matter, he judged it best to insert both—a judgment which he doubts not will be approved by his readers.
TO MRS. HOLLAND.
Thornhill, Feb. 8, 1845.
My dear Aunt,
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