“The memory of the just is” indeed “blessed”; and I wish that the last remembrances of my beloved father could have been traced for you by a more able hand than mine. His memory is, I am sure, treasured in the hearts of very many here who knew him. I wish it may incite them to follow him as he followed Christ.
The last year of my beloved father’s life was marked by an entire devotion to his ministerial work; for when he came to the determination of resuming the entire charge of his parish, it was accompanied by a resolution to abandon every other pursuit, and to devote all his time and powers to the one object of winning souls to Christ. As if to confirm this purpose, he put away from his study library all the geological and other scientific and literary books with which it was furnished, and replenished it with theological works. It was to him an act of great self-denial thus entirely to give up the studies and pursuits which had previously so engaged and captivated his attention; but they were relinquished with cheerfulness, because for his Redeemer’s sake; for he observed at the time that he made this sacrifice, “Oh! it is a very little thing to do for my Saviour.” He was fully recompensed for this devotion to his Heavenly Father’s cause, as appears from his having expressed to mamma the great comfort and peace of mind which he afterwards enjoyed in his clerical avocations. From that time a change was apparent in his conversation; for although he was always accustomed to introduce religious subjects in conversation with his family, especially in the evening, when he would sit with us for a short time after family prayers, still, during the last year, his conversation, partaking of the exclusive nature of his studies, was more uniformly serious than it had been previously. I was frequently much struck with the beauty and spirituality of his observations, and, once or twice, while listening to his conversation, the idea presented itself, that the sentiments and feelings he expressed were those of one who was ripening for the garner. This, however, was merely a passing thought, and never at all realized or dwelt upon; for my dear father was, at that time, particularly well, and he frequently told us that he never felt his ministerial duties less burdensome. One of his remarks, which made an impression on my mind at the time, has since struck me the more from the coincidence of the following text being written in one of the blank leaves of the Bible that he was accustomed to use, until within the last two or three years of his life: “When I am old and grey-headed, O God, forsake me not.” Psalm lxxi. 18. The remark which he made in conversation was this: “He has been my God from my youth up, but I never felt that he was so near to me as now in my old age.” These are not, I think, quite the expressions he made use of, for I quote from memory, and although I attempted to write them down the same day, I could not even then recall the words that he used. Often similar attempts that I made failed also, and I then relinquished the idea that I had entertained, of preserving in writing some of my endeared father’s religious observations. During one of our drives to the station at the German Mills, speaking of the ministering of angels, a subject of which he was very fond, he remarked, that the dispensation of faith under which we are placed made it necessary that an unseen agency should be employed for our protection and deliverance, as otherwise faith would be lost in sight; and also that, had these ministering spirits been made visible to us, we should have been very prone to place our reliance upon them, instead of putting our trust simply in God. He pursued the conversation as we ascended a very steep hill, and said, “I think we are little aware how constantly angels are employed on our behalf; perhaps now, an angel is leading that horse by the bridle, and encouraging it onwards.” One of the horses, a fine animal, was then exerting itself to the utmost; for the roads were very bad at the time, and the hill was therefore very difficult of ascent. I think the following anecdote will be interesting to you, as it is one which made a strong impression on my dear father’s mind, and, as it is short, I am tempted to copy it for you: “As one said to Philip J. Jenks just before he expired, ‘How hard it is to die,’ he replied, ‘Oh, no, easy dying, blessed dying, glorious dying.’ Looking up at the clock, he said, ‘I have experienced more happiness in dying this day, than in my whole life. It is worth living for, it is worth a whole life, to have such an end as this. I have long desired that I might glorify God in my death; but oh! I never thought that such a poor worm as I could have come to such a glorious death.’” I believe this account of “happiness experienced in death,” contributed very much to weaken his apprehension of the pains of death, which he afterwards entirely lost. It had, however, long been his own practice, and one which he recommended to others from the pulpit, to make death a daily subject of prayer, particularly as regarded its time and manner; and I believe one of these daily petitions was, that he might have an easy death, if consistent with the will of God. This petition was answered by his Heavenly Father in a striking manner, for our kind friend and physician assured us, that he suffered no pain, not even so much as a person experiences in fainting. It is also remarkable, as Dr. Paget mentioned to us, that in no other way could his existence have been terminated with this absence of pain, except by a stroke of lightning. The doctor also considered it remarkable that he survived so long after the fatal accident, as instant death frequently occurs under such circumstances. That such was not his case was an unspeakable comfort to us; and he himself expressed his satisfaction at being brought home to his own comfortable bed. He also stated his thankfulness for the circumstance of no bone being broken, or even dislocated, and quoted that passage of Scripture, “He keepeth all his bones, not one of them is broken.” This was before he was aware of the fatal nature of the accident. He expressed a wish to be left alone that he might be quiet, and we all left the room in consequence, except Arthur and Dr. Paget. We had no idea that any danger was to be apprehended, till a few moments before he expired, when he sent for us, asking for each by name, and for the servants also. He said he thought he was dying, and added, “Do not be surprised if I should struggle at the last.” Immediately after he said, “What a salvation is that which Christ has purchased for us; what a blessing that I have nothing to do now! My dear flock, may the Lord bless them all, and provide for them!” Then seeing us all around him, he said to each, “May the Lord bless you.” These were his last words, except the expression of his wish to lie down. I supported his head on my arm, and thought that he was falling asleep—but no, it was the sleep of death.
Mr. Osier preached a most excellent funeral sermon from this appropriate text, “Blessed are those servants, whom their Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching.” My dear father was employed to the very last in doing his Lord’s work: his three last days were spent entirely in parochial visiting, contrary to his usual practice of spending the greater portion of each day in his study, and two or three hours in his drives and in visiting his people. Some of those whom he visited on these days, afterwards told a young friend, that he talked to them principally about preparation for death. The man-servant also has spoken with much feeling of his conversation during those drives, and he mentioned also, that each day, when they reached home, he said, “Once more, Stephen, God has brought us home in safety.” My beloved father’s consistency of conduct won for him the respect and esteem of all who knew him, even of those who differed from him, sometimes widely, in religious opinions. Such was the case with the bishop, who however not only respected him, but entertained very kind feelings towards him, which he evinced by coming from Toronto, though with great inconvenience, and unsolicited, to pay the last mark of respect to his remains. The public testimony which was borne to the excellence of my dear father’s character, in a resolution of the Central Board of the Church Society, of which body he was a member, was so gratifying, that I cannot refrain from copying a part of it. He is spoken of in the resolution as one “who for warm yet humble piety, enlarged and Christian charity, a self-denying course of life, and a holy devotedness to his Heavenly Master’s cause, was surpassed by none of those who have been commissioned to feed the flock of Christ in this diocese.”
One of the features of character alluded to in this resolution had been especially observed by a young clerical friend, who, when speaking with much warmth of the high estimation he entertained of my dear father’s character, particularly mentioned his great humility. As an instance of this, he told us, that, when he had gone with my father into the vestry after preaching what Mr. D. considered a most excellent sermon, he had spoken of it as furnishing cause for fresh humiliation, and a stimulus to greater exertions and more earnest prayers for the future. Mr. D., on the same occasion, alluded to the peculiar facility with which he constantly introduced religious remarks in conversation, which, he said, he had particularly noticed on the few occasions on which he had met him in company. In answer to an observation, that my dear father had often deplored the want of this very gift, Mr. D. remarked, that this circumstance afforded a fresh proof of his humility.
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Believe me, my dear Aunt,
Your ever-affectionate Niece,
Phebe Mortimer.
PREACHING.
Mr. Mortimer, says one of his friends [262] (well fitted to form a correct estimate of him), was “a rarely gifted person.” As a preacher, he possessed very considerable excellence. His extemporaneous discourses were of a very finished kind, lucid in order, striking in illustration, and powerful in application. These discourses were not the mere effusions of thoughts unprepared and of matter undigested, but the result of diligent reading, close study, and fervent prayer, which alone can enable even the competent extempore speaker to address a Christian congregation with any good effect. He was eminently a practical preacher, and signally excelled in pourtraying the unfair arts so often practised by men of business with a view to their worldly gain: and, as his hearers were mostly tradesmen, his graphic delineations were sometimes keenly felt in the consciences of individuals, who were ready to say, “Art thou come to call our sins to our remembrance?” More than one of his mercantile hearers has asked him, in private intercourse, by what means he had acquired so exact and extraordinary an acquaintance with the varieties of fraud, which, however familiar in the busy walks of trade, might be supposed little known to a minister of the gospel. To such a question he has replied, that he had derived his knowledge, partly from the habitual study of his own heart, partly from his personal experience of a busy life in his earlier years; as he had been apprenticed to an eminent London bookseller, previously to his collegiate preparation for the ministry.
So searchingly did he probe the consciences of his hearers, that it was not unfrequent with some among them to visit him for the purpose of private conference, counsel, and consolation. He well knew how to “speak a word in season to the weary,” with a peculiar sympathy and kindness. Yet quite as well he knew how to apply “the terror of the Lord:” and I remember his telling me, that one of the most effective sermons (as he had reason to believe) which he had ever preached, was of terrific character, and founded on those words of overwhelming horror; “In Hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torments.” That sermon (he had reason to hope) had been used by the Lord as an instrument for rescuing “a brand from the burning,” which the preacher aimed to represent. Another of his most striking sermons, divided between the morning and evening of the same Sabbath, was formed on a theme contrasted with the preceding, the conduct and the reward of the faithful Christian, as exemplified in St. Paul: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day.” [264]