LIFE AND LETTERS. (continued 2)

You seem prepared, my good friend, to receive from me somewhat of an Arminian trimming for the heretical alteration which you have ventured to propose as connected with our “Living and Perpetual Advowson Plan.” It happens, however, that I feel no such disposition at present; not that I am less anxious than before for the maintenance of sound doctrine within the walls of our churches, but because I have a good hope that in your case a caution upon these points is almost unnecessary. I trust that, notwithstanding the force of certain prejudices imbibed in the early part of your Christian life, the leaven of real unadulterated truth has been introduced into your mind, and that a time will come in which it will predominate to the leavening of the whole lump. I should be glad to find that this was the case even now; for, though the circumstances in which you are placed at present forbid the introduction of any extensive evil, yet still, I fear that some degree of evil will almost unavoidably find an entrance. For every portion of error has its corresponding portion of evil. Truth, simple, unmixed truth, is that which sanctifies, and truth alone. But as to endeavouring to lead you through all the mazes of controversy and debate to this desirable end, I have not the least intention, nor even desire. I had rather leave you in the hands of God, by prayer, begging that He, the God of Truth and the Father of Lights would, in his mercy, condescend to instruct you himself, and, guided by him, you will then be led into all truth. As to the alteration you propose, we are perfectly of your mind, that the word “Arminian” had better be omitted, and as such intend to drop it. For, though we should naturally be led to make choice of individuals the most accordant with our own views, yet neither liberality nor candour would teach us to exclude others. Besides, all the good purposes arising from the insertion of the term may certainly be answered without. It will be well known in whose hands the conduct of the affair is vested; this of itself will show the bias of our mind, and this is all we wish. Exclusion upon the general scale is certainly no part of our intention; we are thankful, therefore, for your friendly hint.

* * * * * * * *

We all unite in kindest love to you and yours, and I remain,

Your truly affectionate Friend and Brother, G. Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Wellington, Salop. May 1st, 1815.

My dear Friend,

Your last letter gave me an account of dear Mrs. A.’s indisposition. She has been much on my mind of late. I feared lest her protracted illness should be the forerunner of something worse; and my mind shrunk from the idea of the painful circumstances in which yourself would be placed, should her removal be the ultimate issue. But I have left the whole in the hands of our wise and loving God, and I have no doubt but that all will be well. To be a stranger in a strange land, oppressed with cares and surrounded with more than ordinary difficulties, and at the same time reft of his bosom friend, the sharer of his troubles, and the assuager of his griefs; this is a trial from which the mind revolts. But still, “God is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able.” He will proportion our supports to our trials, and with Christ’s strengthening us we can not only do, but bear all things; and, therefore, all that we have to do is to shut our eye, and to yield our hand, and to suffer our kind Lord to lead us whithersoever he shall please. We have nothing to do with anticipation respecting the future. Grace is indeed promised to us, not however in advance—not as a stock which we may possess beforehand, but as we need it. “As thy day, thy strength shall be.” I have found this consideration a great source of comfort to my own mind when I have been recoiling at the painful possibilities of the morrow; for, though I could not bear this and the other trial to-day with my present strength, yet to-morrow’s strength may and will be sufficient for me, provided I do but look for it. Were a martyr’s trials in reserve for me, a martyr’s grace would also be prepared for me.

With regard to myself all at present is peaceful in the extreme; my mind calmly reposing on the God of all my mercies in tranquil dependence. My wife, my children, my servants, my property, all so suitable, so calculated to administer to my comfort, and to leave me no reasonable earthly wish unfulfilled. All, my dear friend, is so well; all so mercifully regulated, that I sometimes look around me with surprise, and am almost led to suspect lest the treacherous calm should be merely the forerunner of some tremendous storm. But the consideration does not alarm me; for “God is love.”

From your truly affectionate and ever sincere Friend, George Mortimer.

In the month of May, 1815, he was invited to Madeley by many of the parishioners, a deputation from whom waited upon the rector, the Rev. H. Burton, to request he might be appointed curate; and, accordingly, he removed thither on the 8th of the ensuing month. The following letter addressed to the editor refers to the event, and enters somewhat into the particulars of it:—

Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop. June 15th, 1815.

My dear Friend,

Few things were further from my thoughts, when I last wrote to you, than that I should now be addressing a letter to you from the above-mentioned place; but, “the Lord’s ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts;” we may contrive, but he controls. I had imagined that my lot was, for some time to come, assigned to me among my dear people at Wellington, and that in my late house of mercies, surrounded by the family of my excellent vicar, and his valuable assistant, I should continue to flourish and grow like a tree planted by rivers of waters. But the Lord has seen fit to transplant me; of its being his work I feel fully assured; and, therefore, I can now expect my comforts and blessings in a different way and through other channels. Thus, goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life, and will still follow me. I do, indeed, quite wonder at the change; it seems more like a dream than otherwise, that I should be fixed in this place and parish, of which I had so often read, and which has always been associated in my mind with that wonderful and astonishing man of God, the late venerable Mr. De la Flèchere. But you will, perhaps, wish to know the steps which led me hither. Mr. Walters, the late curate (or rather the present, for he does not leave till next Tuesday) having heard of a situation which seemed, in many respects, more congenial to his views than that of Madeley, gave notice of its being his intention to leave, in the church on Sunday after divine service. The people were much surprised at the communication; but since the choice of their minister has usually been left to themselves, they immediately began to look around them; and, having fixed upon me, they begged of Mr. Eyton, that he would give me up, and of myself, that I would undertake the cure of the place. Had I been disposed to consult merely with flesh and blood, Madeley would have been the last place to which I should have consented to have gone; but, as dear Mrs. Fletcher and the people of all descriptions seemed desirous of my coming among them, I thought it would be wrong to resist the order of God, and, as such, professed a willingness to let them do anything with me which they should please. A deputation was accordingly sent to Mr. Burton, the vicar, who resides on another living a few miles off, requesting him to appoint me. He received them, in the first instance, with a degree of coolness which led them to conclude that there was but little hope. He did not even tell them that he would consider the application, but put them off with mentioning another person who, he thought, would suit him. Under such circumstances, prayer seemed the only resort, and to the prayers of the church I believe I have been given, and to these alone. In about ten days after the first application, I heard through the medium of a relation of his, that he had some intentions of appointing me, and as such I waited upon him, and was received both by himself and his wife with a degree of cordiality and attention which quite surprised me. We soon came to terms, and I have since heard, from various sources, that he is not only well disposed towards me, but quite congratulates himself upon my having undertaken his cure. Such wonderful revolutions, both in mind and in circumstances, is the Lord able to effect. All things being thus far adjusted, I began to look out for a situation for myself, and for a suitable tenant for the house I was about to leave, and in both respects have I been led most remarkably to see the hand of God. The house I now occupy has been desired by many, as it is the only one in the place at all suitable for a person in my circumstances; but a disagreement among the persons who had to let it, prevented everything like an amicable prospect, and it has been strangely left in the midst of all for me. How kind and how condescending is the care of God! How does it reach even to the minutest particulars, and much more to the commodiously and pleasantly assigning the bounds of our habitation. Our removal also has been attended with blessings. Scarcely anything, in the shape of injury, has hitherto been perceived, and what trivial matters have been noticed have only tended to increase our gratitude, by shewing us what might have been, had not God given his charge as connected with them. You will smile, perhaps, at these kind of enumerations; but I feel a pleasure in adverting to them myself, and, therefore, I must beg your indulgence. “A special and minute providence is an object of my firm belief, as well as a source of my calmest and most extensive joys. I love to dwell on such a truth as this, ‘The very hairs of your head are all numbered.’”

You have heard, perhaps, of the Honourable Mr. Ryder having been made Dean of Wells, and of his most decided and open exhibition of piety in his exalted situation. About a month ago he was made Bishop of Gloucester, an event which has filled the hearts of the pious in our Establishment with inexpressible gratitude. It may, indeed, be said by us on such an occasion, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad,” and to his name would we ascribe the praise. A lady of my acquaintance happened, at the time when his appointment was known, to be dining in a party at which Mr. Wilberforce was present, and she states, that two or three times he could not help saying in the most animated manner, “I am afraid, I am too glad at it, but it is such a great thing.”

I remain,

Your ever affectionate Friend, Geo. Mortimer.

Mr. Mortimer’s post at Madeley was, upon his entrance on the duties of it, one beset with great difficulties; but by the blessing of God upon his Christian spirit and conduct he overcame them all. This will be seen from the following extracts of three letters, the first and third directed to his sister, and the second to his friend abroad.

After alluding to the difficulties referred to, he says, August, 1815:—

“I feel a power to stand still and see the salvation of God; my chief attention is directed, not to outward circumstances, but to my own spirit. I am desirous of cultivating kindness and affection, and am convinced that so long as nothing is cherished by me contrary to love, all will eventually be well. We have had a most gratifying visit from Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth, and feel truly thankful for the kind providence which brought them among us. What a stimulus to increased activity for God and our fellow-creatures does the animating example of such a character as Mr. B. afford. Such sobriety of mind, such solidity of judgment, such earnestness of endeavour: I could not help applying to him the words of my favourite Herbert,

‘Let thy mind still be bent, still plotting where, And when, and how, the business may be done.’

“Mrs. Fletcher still continues to speak once a week to her people and also to meet her class; her breathing is much affected, and she continues to break very fast. She spoke on the Monday evening, while Mr. and Mrs. B. were here, for the last time on the weekdays. The assemblage was highly gratifying. After we came home, we reckoned upwards of fifty who had come from Wellington to hear her. Such honour has this distinguished saint of God.”

Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop. Sept. 1st, 1815.

Since I last wrote to you I have had to encounter many difficulties in my parish, but I am thankful to state that they have now nearly subsided. You must understand that my parish abounds with Methodists, or at least that the greater part of the serious people are such, and of course the church, though generally attended by them once a day, is looked upon as a mere secondary concern. Now though I respect the Methodists, so long as they keep to their own place, and would gladly give to them, under such circumstances, the right hand of fellowship, yet when they leave their proper place and wish to occupy that post of pre-eminence which the Lord has given to the church, then I feel it to be my duty to step forward and to show them where they ought to remain. My predecessors here, namely, Mr. Fletcher, Melville Horne, and Mr. Walters, all of them preached at regular times in the Methodist chapels. When I came here they solicited me, and Mrs. Fletcher among others was exceedingly urgent. I felt it my duty, however, most stoutly to refuse. This, as you may suppose, gave great offence, and they imagined that instead of a friend and encourager, they had most strangely stumbled upon a most determined enemy. Time, however, has shown them that they misjudged me, and that I can be friendly and yet not go all the lengths which they, through a regard to precedents, had most unaccountably expected; and now, the sober-minded come to church as usual, and everything seems to be proceeding in a spirit of love and of kindness. It is true, that some of the more violent have seceded, but this is no more than I might reasonably have expected, and, to speak the truth, no more than what I should have wished; for I could never have felt at home, with individuals of this description. They have always been troublesome characters, and had they remained, they would doubtless have been troublesome to me. While the mouths of many were opened loudly against me, I one day met with an old Methodist of the place, who was a convert of dear Mr. Fletcher’s. In the course of conversation, I said to him, “Well Mr. P., do you think that I have been a sinner above all others, in not preaching in your chapels?” “Why, sir,” said he, “to speak truth, I must say that I think no such thing, and I have always said, that as you are our minister you ought to know your own business a great deal better than we do, and therefore that we have nothing to do but to be quiet.” I was much struck at the time with his remark, and I believe, now, that the generality think with him. My mind was at first much pained, but I endeavoured to maintain through the whole a loving demeanour and a praying spirit. I said little, took care to avoid all exaggeration, and yet, at the same time, kept steadily to my point. And God has stood by me and brought me through in a way that I could hardly have supposed. To his name be all the praise.

You will be pleased to hear that one of my younger brothers, Thomas, has recently been truly converted to God, and wishes to enter into the church. My father most cordially enters into his views, and has been urgent upon me to receive him into my house, by way of preparation for college. This I at length consented to do. And though it is somewhat of trouble to me to do my duty towards him, in point of attention—for he is quite a studious young man—yet I feel that his being with us is quite in the Lord’s order, and am truly thankful for that grace which has changed him, and that providence which has directed his steps among us. From a letter which I saw from a Methodist preacher, who attended the conference last month, I understand that no less than thirteen preachers in their connexion have left them with the intention of preparing for orders. These are the men we want in our churches! What does our excellent establishment want, but Arminian preachers and Methodist discipline! But I must forbear lest I get a second trimming. Leaving joking however, aside, I felt truly thankful to hear of this, and I hope many will follow their good example. The Church wants them, and the Methodists can well spare them.

Madeley, Sept. 26th, 1815.

You will be pleased to find that matters are proceeding with quietness and comfort in my parish. For some weeks past I have not heard the least syllable of complaint relative to my first obnoxious proceedings. The church is increasingly attended, and the spirit of God seems among us in the application of the word. I feel now at length thoroughly convinced that my coming here was of God. All I fear is lest my bodily strength should not be quite equal to my duty. My Sunday work is certainly fatiguing.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, near Shiffnal, Salop. Oct. 26th, 1815.

My dear Armstrong,

* * * * * * * *

Since I last wrote to you I have seen it my duty to give up myself wholly to the work of the Lord. I am ashamed to confess to you, that the former years of my ministry have been very partially devoted to his service. I have too frequently picked and chosen among my duties, avoided too many which seemed to promise humiliation and mortification, and entered upon others only so far as they left me an opportunity of cultivating and enjoying other more favourite pursuits. Oh, my dear friend, what a cage of unclean birds is the polluted heart of man, and how many corners of it still remain impure, even after it has been for the most part cleansed. How much selfishness, (latent, indeed, or glossed over with some speciousness of appearance,) still keeps lurking behind. The Lord, however, has very mercifully been leading me to part first with one favourite pursuit and then with another, till at last I seem to have but one business, and that is, to do the will of him who has called me to the ministry. That I perform this business in such a way as daily humbles me, and fills me with confusion of face, I need scarcely tell you; for you have long known the pride and the naughtiness of my heart, and, though I keep fighting with my spiritual enemies, and am determined by the grace of God, neither to find for them any apology, nor to give them any quarter, yet I am but an unskilful combatant, and fall under a severe wound instead of habitually conquering through him who hath loved me. As to my parish, I am very thankful to be able to state that matters are going on very comfortably. The spirit of dissent seems to be weekly abating, and all seems harmony and love. Two of the principal men among us have not only given the most cordial and unexpected support, but have discovered a degree of seriousness under the word, and a willingness to converse about it, when not actually hearing it, as encourages me to hope, that they are inquirers after the things which make for their peace. I was much struck yesterday with the very friendly conduct of a Mr. A., one of the masters of a considerable coal and iron work in the neighbourhood. I had been inquiring about a place where I might go near the Iron Bridge, one of the most populous places in the parish, to expound the Scriptures and thus prepare them, by means of this stepping stone, for an attendance upon the church, and for their meeting in one of our little classes. I soon heard of a room over the market place, which was employed as a day school, nicely accommodated with benches, and capable of holding between two and three hundred people; I was told it belonged to Mr. A., but was let by him to the person who now held it, upon the express condition, that it should never be used for any religious purpose. An application under such circumstances seemed somewhat uncertain, but when I waited upon him, he expressed not only his willingness, but his great satisfaction in having it so employed, and told me, moreover, that he would give immediate orders to his foreman to see that everything by way of whitewashing, and so on, should be done, so as to make it as comfortable as might be. I don’t know how it is, but I feel my heart peculiarly united with this amiable man. One night, after spending two or three hours in his company, I felt just the same sensation of indescribable union which I felt towards yourself the first day I knew you. O how should I rejoice to be made serviceable to his soul, and to meet him a saved character in the day of the Lord Jesus. My Iron Bridge meeting I begin to morrow evening. I feel it much upon my mind, and should be greatly obliged by your praying for a particular blessing as connected with it. The population there and within a short distance extends to some thousands. * * * *

With our kind and united regards to Mrs. A. and yourself,

Believe me, my dear Friend,

Yours, most affectionately, G. Mortimer.

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Nov. 20th, 1815.

My dear Mary,

Mrs. D. Whitmore has offered to enclose a letter for me to yourself in her frank. I have availed myself of the opportunity thus afforded me, and have the comfort of reflecting that for once, at least, my poor scrawl will not cost more than its worth.

Mrs. D. and Miss Whitmore have lately been spending a few days with us, and they have left us with a pleasing and powerful conviction of the blessedness resulting from the society of those who live near to God. We felt, in the first instance, somewhat of reluctance in inviting them; but, being persuaded that the law of love required that we should seek our pleasure in the endeavour to communicate pleasure to others, we thought it right to break through our cozy habits of retirement, and to welcome them under our roof. I need not tell you that we have been abundantly repaid. Christian intercourse, when sought and conducted on Christian principles, must be productive of good, and I would gratefully adore the goodness of the Lord for all the refreshment of spirit, and the improvement of mind, which have been conveyed to me through them as channels. How clearly, my dear Mary, would the Lord be teaching us, provided that we would learn of him that the faithful taking up of the cross, even in those matters which appear but trivial and insignificant, is the most effectual way of procuring present peace and future blessedness. In short, that the spirit of surrender is the one thing needful, the grand preparative for happiness and holiness here, and for eternal glory hereafter. I do not know how you feel on this point; but I must, with humiliation, confess to you, that this yoke of Christ does not sit so gracefully and so easily upon me as it ought. I would, however, be thankful that I am endeavouring to bear it. I am comforted with the thought, and I may say with the experience, that the effort to accommodate it to my stubborn neck is the most effectual way of making it natural and easy. I have been much helped to this endeavour by a persuasion that the bearing of the cross is not the end, but the way; that humiliations, mortifications, trials, and so on, are only so many means which God is obliged to have recourse to in order to communicate blessings; that he does not wish to harass, pain, and mortify us, but to promote our comfort, and that the moment we are ready to take up the cross, and begin to submit to the only terms on which it is safe in God to bless us, then he cheerfully avails himself of the opportunity of conveying to us, not the pain which we anticipated, but some gracious token of his love. “For the Lord taketh pleasure in the prosperity of his servants.” His name, His nature, is love. In my last, I think, I stated to you that matters were going on pretty comfortably in my parish. I did not, however, enlarge, lest I should be conveying to you a more favourable idea than contingent circumstances would authorize. I now feel that gratitude towards God ought to lead me to speak to his praise. Many persons in the place have, to say the least, been very favourably impressed, both among the higher, as well as the lower orders, and show a considerable change in the whole of their demeanour. The congregation in the church, both morning and evening, continues to increase; and the expositions, both in the town and the outskirts of the parish, are fully attended. If there is one thing more than another which seems to encourage me, it is that of witnessing on all occasions, that the Lord has graciously given to me what I have all along been led more particularly to pray for—the heart and affections of my dear people. They not only tolerate—they evidently love me. I seem to myself the same poor blundering stutterer as ever, and yet they meet me with pleasure, and go from my ministrations with profit. The Lord make and keep me humble and thankful! I sometimes think that all this is too good to last, that the peaceful calm is but the harbinger of the treacherous storm; I feel, however, that this is no necessary conclusion. Could humility and gratitude be the predominating feeling of our mind, we then might be safely trusted with success. But this is the grand difficulty—pride and self-congratulation are ever apt to insinuate themselves into our minds, and then adversity is necessary. “It is difficult,” as the pious Leighton observes, “to carry a full cup even.” Pray for me, my dear sister, that all the will of the Lord may be done in me, and by me, and that no evils on my part may put any impediment to the free course and glorification of God’s blessed word.

The following letter to his friend, Mr., now the Rev. John Cooper, will show how much Mr. Mortimer was in advance of the time in which he wrote on the subject of lay-agency—a kind of help which, at that time, was considered of very questionable propriety; but which has now come to be admitted very generally, as expedient to meet the pressing wants of a rapidly increasing population. These wants, indeed, the editor believes can never be effectually supplied by any means less than an extensive augmentation of the number of clerical labourers. To supply these means, he regrets much that the Lord Primate, together with the Episcopal Bench, should not see it to be their duty to admit to deacon’s orders upon a lower standard of literary attainments than is now required; keeping persons so ordained, if it be thought good, in that order, until they possess the usual portion of literary and theological knowledge, as well as the ordinary title for priest’s orders. On this subject also, as will be seen from the same letter, Mr. Mortimer appears to have been equally in advance of his brethren; for, at that time, the notion of such an augmentation of the number of the clergy was little thought of, and would have been in most quarters, as it is still in many, very generally condemned. His opinion is, I think, a just one—viz. that the stability and true respectability of the church is more effectually promoted by sound piety, than by a certain portion of Latin and Greek. “The union of sound learning with genuine piety, is what every one must admire and desire in a Christian pastor; but a man may do immense good with nothing more than an unlearned familiarity with the Scriptures, with sound practical sense and activity, taking part in all the business of the parish, and devoting himself to intercourse with men rather than with books. I honour such men in the highest degree, and think that they are among the most valuable ministers that the church possesses.” [69] In the meantime, however, until the clergy shall hear some proportion to the population, we must have recourse to lay-assistants to supply, in some small measure, the much to be deplored deficiency. “For myself, I will openly declare, that I see not how we can dare for any of those small professional objections, which may be urged, if they are sought for, against every comprehensive scheme of good, to refuse such aid in this our great necessity. It might be well enough for men, sitting calmly in their closets, and forgetting all these mighty issues, to cavil and to speculate, to raise difficulties as to the exact mission of the lay-reader, and to wish (as which of us does not wish?) that bands of zealous, well-timed, devoted deacons ministered instead among these crowds; but it will not do for us, my reverend brethren, who know that souls are thus perishing around us, to bring upon ourselves the guilt of their blood; to let them be unwarned, and drag us with them into their destruction, because, through blinding prejudice, or the widely comprehensive sin of omission, we have, for a whole generation, shut out of a parish the light which might have streamed into it.” [70]

Madeley, Dec. 4th, 1815.

My dear Friend,

On the evening previous to my receiving your very kind and truly acceptable letter, I had been speaking in the town from those words of our Lord, “Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest, that he would send [or rather thrust] forth labourers into his harvest;” and we all seemed to find it a profitable season, especially when, in conclusion, we were praying that this important blessing might be realized. When your kind favour arrived, I saw more than ever, the propriety of beseeching God to “thrust” them out; for surely nothing but main force can compel desirable labourers. Others come at a moment’s bidding—no useful employments detain them—no endeared relatives or friends hang about them, conscientiously and feelingly pressing their continuance among them. But when a prepared labourer, one whom “the Lord of the harvest” has previously been fitting for his ministerial work; when such a one is fixed on, none but the Lord himself can bring him out. I have, therefore, only one resource, and that is prayer; this, however, I am privileged to use, and this I must still hope will eventually prevail. I assure you it would prove a source of no small joy to myself to welcome you among us for your initiatory work; for, independent of the personal gratification and profit which I must promise myself, your help in various ways would be exceedingly acceptable to the people. The most populous parts of the parish greatly want help, and most gladly avail themselves of the little which I and T— are able to give them. At present I feel as though I could do but little more: I have, indeed, one leisure evening during the week; but even this they have been asking from me, and I fear to deny them. My good friend need not, therefore, be afraid of eating the bread of idleness, by secluding himself for a short season among us; and with regard to his future employment, a single month’s actual residence in a place tolerably populous will fully convince him how much work of the highest importance will call for his daily and even hourly attention. And are there not hundreds of places of this description opening to our wishes? “Truly the harvest is plenteous,” but with pain I must still add, that “the labourers are few.”

I felt very thankful to hear of the determination of your friend B—, relative to entering into orders, and of the kind and judicious conduct of the bishop—a conduct, however, but seldom adopted. The determination of many on the bench to admit those only into orders who have previously been at college, is, indeed, calculated to secure a certain portion of Latin and Greek in the Establishment; but, at the same time, to exclude from it, in many instances, that which it more needs and which would more effectually conduce to its stability and true respectability; I mean, vital, genuine piety. What a mercy it is, however, that their determination has been in so many cases made void, and that there is not an instance to be found in which a pious young man has eventually been excluded. I think, I hinted to you, when you kindly visited us in the summer, that I am too sensible of the dismal forebodings of kind friends to let slip an opportunity of putting you again in remembrance. But, my dear friend, with all our zeal for the progress of the Lord’s work around us, we must not forget its progress within us. I know not how you may feel, but, with regard to myself, I am constrained to acknowledge, that while I am endeavouring to mind the vineyards of others, I too frequently neglect my own. I get more and more of the habit of thinking spiritually—speaking spiritually—and even acting spiritually; but there seems in my own experience a great deficiency in point of feeling. Spiritual things are not brought home to my own mind by an immediate and constant self-application. I seem like a spiritual purveyor who is convinced that nothing but spirituality will do, and, therefore, my constant endeavour is to convey, and to exhibit it. But still, I fear, at times, lest all this is more in reference to others than to myself. I hope, however, that the act of conveying and exhibiting it, is not altogether unattended with good to myself; for the channel imbibes some of the water which passes through it; and, as Leighton observes, “The boxes in which our perfumes are kept for garments and other uses, are themselves perfumed by keeping them.”

* * * * * * * *

What a world of instruction is conveyed to us in that beautiful passage of the prophet, “In returning and in rest ye shall be saved!” Now when I fail, or when I wander, too often, instead of quietly returning and resuming my endeavours, I am apt to sink into myself, and be discouraged. In short, I seem rather to brood over my failures than to get pardon for them, and to set about their amendment. My paper tells me that I cannot enlarge; I must, therefore, conclude, with the assurance that the best wishes of Mrs. M. and myself continue to attend yourself and all your circle.

I remain,

Your truly affectionate and sincere Friend, George Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Dec. 29th, 1815.

My dear Armstrong,

* * * * * * * *

On the 9th instant, dear Mrs. Fletcher was removed from the church militant to the church triumphant, from a sorrowing church below to a glorious one above. The last few months of her life were attended with much pain, but how sweetly did the Christian beam through all! In her former years she seems to have been called more particularly to glorify God by an unusual degree of activity and usefulness. Latterly, she has been called to bear and suffer; but all in the spirit of her Divine Master. O my dear friend, how gladly would I join her glorified spirit by making my escape from a world of sin and sorrow! Do not, however, mistake me; I do, indeed, love home, and strange would it be were it otherwise, but still I would not run away to get there. I see that there is much for me still, both to do and to suffer; and as such, rather than pettishly desiring to depart, I would calmly and quietly wish to wait—wait till all my discipline is over, till I am better fitted and prepared for my inheritance among the saints in light.

* * * *

While my Mary’s letter lies before me, I feel disposed to copy another part of it, relative to the management of school children. “I was much pleased a few weeks since at the national school. Dr. Bell’s arrangements are well made, and the mistress he has appointed is an uncommonly clever woman, just fit for that situation, and apparently for none else. I asked her how she managed with the children when any of them used improper language, having myself been much troubled with this at our Shoreditch school? She said such a case rarely occurred, but when it did, she found it better to convince the understanding of the evil, than merely to correct for the individual fault; and as she was particular in explaining the catechism, commandments, &c., she had in general little trouble in bringing such faults home. For example, she said, ‘A few days since, about twenty of the girls came to me, and said, “O Governess! little Chambers has said a very wicked word.” I lifted up my hands, and said, “Blessed are the peace makers.” If twenty of you had come to tell me of a good deed, I would gladly have listened, but go away and be ashamed at being so pleased to publish the faults of a school-fellow. I thought it right, however, not to let it go unnoticed; and therefore called to me privately the monitor of the class. She said, “Indeed, governess, it was a very naughty word, it was O God.” I said, “Very well, that is enough.” I then went round to the different classes, who were saying the catechism; after a while I came to this class, and after having asked several children the commandments, I said (pointing the fore finger,) “Little Chambers, do you say the third.” She immediately burst into tears, and said, “O Governess! I did say a naughty word, but I will never do so again, if you will forgive me this once.”’ This is not according to the plan of correction generally pursued at schools, but it appears to me much more judicious and more likely to produce lasting benefit.”

* * * * * * * *

My Mary joins me in kindest and most Christian regards to yourself and dear Mrs. A., and in love to all your family, and I remain,

Yours ever affectionately, G. Mortimer.

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Jan. 26th, 1816.

My dear Mary,

I have been much struck of late with the forcible manner in which the providence of God has been co-operating with his word in the endeavour to teach me a lesson, which, of all others, I find so exceedingly difficult to learn; I mean that of so numbering my days as to apply my heart unto wisdom. The removal of my dear mother-in-law, the unusual number of deaths among all descriptions of persons in my own immediate neighbourhood, and especially that of Mrs. Fletcher; all these conspiring circumstances loudly enforce the necessity of being sober and watching unto prayer, of having my loins girt and my lamp burning, of being in a prepared posture of expectation, waiting for the coming of my Lord. These effects, I am thankful to state, have in some measure been gratefully traced by me in my recent experience. One thing seems to me more than ever to be truly needful, not indeed the obtaining and the securing of inheritances below, but the getting prepared for my inheritance above—an inheritance to which every day and every hour spent for God is adding some increase of comfort, and which, when once possessed, will be found to be worth the possessing—an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. O my dear Mary, how does the grand enemy of our souls destroy by deluding! how does he infatuate the world at large! how gross also the deception which he practises even upon believers themselves, making then live nine-tenths of their time, if not sinfully, at least uselessly for themselves, or for the world, instead of for God and eternity, as a matter of course, instead of with a pure and single aim. But, alas! what is any action when stripped of its proper motive, I mean the glory of God. A man may give liberally to the poor, he may carefully regulate his household, bring up his children decently and even morally, and restrain his domestics from immoralities and inconsistencies. But if our liberality is connected with our own reputation, if our children be merely educated that they may bring credit and comfort to us, or if our dependents are restrained and their good consulted, because it would reflect dishonour upon us to pursue a contrary course; if these be our motives, what are they after all but mere selfishness? There is no reference to God in all these actions, and, of course, no eternal reward can be expected from them. Their reference is to ourselves and that also in our present state, but the future is left entirely out of the question. I grant, indeed, that a present reward is obtained, but this is all, and, in fact, it is all which in most cases is sought for. The benevolent man has the reputation for benevolence, which he seeks; the moral educator of his children has the satisfaction of seeing them orderly and decent, and they bring to him the temporal comfort which he desired; the strict and moral master has in the same way the present fruit of his labours. But if God’s glory, if a sincere desire of pleasing him, has not been combined with the motives of these respective individuals, no eternal fruit will be found from them. They die with this present world. How uselessly, then, if not sinfully, are the generality of persons employed, and what need have we all to strive to live more completely under the influence of unseen celestial realities! I feel these truths while I am writing them, and the earnest prayer of my soul is, that, as a consequence of them, my inheritance may rather be in reserve than in immediate possession.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Salop. March 4th, 1816.

My dear Armstrong,

* * * * * * * *

You may perhaps recollect that in one of my former letters I mentioned — as a violent opposer of everything which had the least appearance of real godliness. He also has been called from among us, and that in a manner which of all others seemed most likely to excite attention, and lead to serious inquiry. O, my dear friend, what a mercy is it that our feet have not been treading in the same unhallowed paths! We see in him what we ourselves should have been, had we been left to ourselves. To the grace of God—Arminian as you conceive me to be—I am fully convinced the reason should be ascribed. Dear Mr. — bears the afflictive stroke with a union of acute feelings and perfect resignation, such as is seldom seen. I should have imagined the stroke would have almost overwhelmed him; but what cannot the grace of God enable us to bear?

You imagine that now I am fixed at Madeley, I have become more a Methodist than ever. If by the term you mean an attachment to their peculiar doctrines, I must confess that you are not very far from the mark; for I feel more than ever persuaded that with some slight modification, they are the truth. The more I pray, and study, and experience, and preach, the more do I see of their accordancy with the whole revealed will of God. All seems intelligible, all in unison. But though more decided than ever, I trust that I am no bigot. I exclude, I would deal out contemptuous pity to, no one; and, therefore, God forbid, that I should at any time lay that stress upon disputed points which should lead my dear friend to imagine, that because we do not quite see alike, that, therefore, I feel the least atom of diminution in point of affection. I can from my heart assure him that it is no such thing. Should you, however, fancy that by my coming to Madeley, I am more of a Methodist, because I am less of a Churchman; in this respect, I feel, then, I can altogether clear myself. The fact is, the more I see of Methodism, the less do I admire it. There is that party spirit, that uncommon wish to proselyte, that settled jealousy against those who are more successful in their endeavours—in short, that spirit which, if suffered to proceed, would completely undermine our most excellent Establishment, and erect itself in its stead, that though I cannot but greatly love and admire some of its members, as a body I dare not give them that countenance or support which I should do were their doctrines the only point in consideration. I therefore have adopted all that strikes me as good in their system, but at the same time keep myself and people perfectly distinct. By this means, I have ill-will and opposition to an extent which you would hardly conceive; but I go quietly and lovingly forward, and I thank God my plans have hitherto well succeeded, and I feel quite convinced that all will eventually be well. What provokes most opposition, is my using the same weapons which have so successfully been employed by themselves, and that with the increased advantage of their being combined with all the weight of influence connected with the Establishment. I wish my dear friend would try the same weapons, and he would soon see the most beneficial effects. * * * *

Believe me, with kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. A.,

Your truly affectionate Friend, G. Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Salop. Aug. 5, 1816.

My dear Armstrong,

* * * * *

Your two or three last letters, but more particularly the last of all, seem written under a degree of depression which I am greatly concerned to observe. While engaged in doing a great work, while filling an important post, and that with no small measure of patient perseverance, you suffer yourself to suppose that you are doing almost nothing. While your friends which you have left behind you are admiring the zeal and the love which have enabled you to tear yourself from the comforts of civilized and refined society, and thus to forget, as it were, your own people and your father’s house, while they are thankful for the grace of God within you, you are so discouragingly comparing yourself with a Schwartz and a Van der Kemp, as to request of your unworthy friend that he would pray for you, lest, after all, you should prove a castaway. Now, my dear Armstrong, what must I say to such feelings and requests? Must I sympathise with my dear desponding friend? I do so from my heart; but I must also chide with him: you overlook the tender mercies of God towards you; you keep your eye not on the bright side, but on that which is dark, gloomy, and foreboding; and thus faith and confidence in your loving and omnipotent Redeemer seem dormant and inactive principles. But what is the language of the Saviour under such circumstances of discouragement? It is that which he addressed to Martha at the grave of Lazarus: “Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?” It is that also which he used towards the afflicted father, who with tears requested that, if he could do anything, he would have compassion on him, and help him: “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” Believe then, my dear friend, through all your difficulties and discouragements, and your temporary darkness will be succeeded by glorious and abiding light. The clouds which for a season overspread your horizon will be dispelled, and your glistening eye will be cheered with a bright and resplendent day. Perhaps, however, you may tell me, that faith is the gift of God, and that we must wait till this hinging blessing be bestowed. But are not all the gifts of God to be obtained upon the simple condition of asking? and were you to ask for this gift, or for its increase, would the blessed God deny it? I have often found it exceedingly useful to my own mind, after having fallen upon my knees to pray to that God who has promised to give to us all that we ask in faith,—I have found it profitable to ask previously, that the Lord would give me faith to believe, that the petitions which I should present before his throne of grace, would be answered by him, and, as a consequence, my faith has been strengthened far beyond its usual exercise. And with regard to discouraging circumstances, my constant prayer has been that my faith might not fail. Since I came into this parish, I have had difficulties to encounter, such as some of my dearest friends and fellow-labourers have confessed that they should not have dared to meet, and I must acknowledge, that, at times, I have sighed, and wept, and groaned, being burdened; and have had many a thought of leaving my arduous post to some more intrepid and persevering spirit. But something seemed continually to be whispering to my dejected mind, “only believe,” “let not your faith fail you,” and I blessed God that through all I was enabled, in some sort, to believe, though not without many a tremulous assertion, and equally trembling prayer, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” And it is with unfeigned gratitude towards the blessed God, that I feel it my duty to add, that all my storms have, for the present at least, completely blown over, and that success has been vouchsafed to my poor mean insignificant labours, such as my most sanguine expectations could in no wise have imagined. Should I not say, then, to my dear friend, as an experimental result “from believing verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,”—“O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure, be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart;” “Wait, I say, on the Lord”? But here I feel, as usual, that I must check myself. I forget to whom I am writing, and likewise what I am inditing: I forget that I am addressing one who has that anointing from above which teacheth all things, and that I am not composing a sermon, but scribbling a letter.

I know not whether you were acquainted with S—, of our college, and B—, of Trinity. The former I used occasionally to meet, and was accustomed to consider him as one of the very holiest men at college. Since my last letter, however, he, B—, and two others, have left the Church, because they could not read the ten commandments, and are now preaching all the heights and depths of eternal election, eternal justification, and eternal sanctification: they have likewise begun to ordain others, and R— K—, the member for L—, has vacated his seat, and received ordination from them. The moderate Calvinists are endeavouring to stop the growing evil, but I am sorry to say, that among many it is sadly spreading. It has had one good effect, however; it has made many of the high men, as they are termed, much more guarded and circumspect. * * * *

Mary and my brother unite with me in very kindest love to yourself, and most respectful and affectionate remembrances to Mrs. A., and I may likewise add, in very best wishes and earnest prayers for your dear children.

I remain your very sincere Friend,

George Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Sept. 30, 1816.

My dear Armstrong,

I suppose that you are aware, that, as resident curate, I am entitled to the use of the vicarage-house. During Mrs. Fletcher’s life, I waved my claim in her favour: but after her decease, I applied to the vicar, and now that it has been put into pretty extensive repair, we have taken up our abode in it, and a most holy happy spot we do indeed find it. In the room where I am now writing, some of my older parishioners state, that they have frequently taken their tea with both Mr. and Mrs. F., and well remember the happy seasons they enjoyed. In the room in which we commonly sit, they both of them departed in the Lord. In a third chamber, Mr. F was accustomed to retire for more private and wrestling prayer, and, as we read in his life, the wall of which was stained with his breath while importunately pleading. Another room has the bureau at which he was accustomed to write, and which, with many other things, he left in his will for the use of his successors, that the house might not be the worse for his having had it. In a word, almost every spot and fixture reminds us pleasingly of those exalted characters who have preceded us, and call forth many an earnest prayer, and many a private ejaculation, that those who follow them may drink deeper and deeper into their blessed spirit, and tread more and more closely in their pious and spiritual steps.

Dear Mrs. Fletcher once mentioned to us, that one day, shortly after her coming to Madeley, she remarked to Mr. F., as they were entering upon their premises, that she did not know how it was, but that she always felt a measure of divine influence whenever she entered within the gate. The holy man answered that he was not surprised to hear her say so, for that there was not a single brick or a stone in the whole premises which had not been sanctified by prayer. I feel somewhat in the same way with Mrs. F—, and though I am aware that God is everywhere present, and that all spots may equally share in this his glorious presence, yet I cannot but think that some places are privileged beyond others, and though, perhaps, my Honduras friend may smile at his Madeley enthusiast, yet I must frankly confess to you, that I consider it as no small privilege that I dwell in the house, as well as labour in the parish, of one so peculiarly devoted to God. The days I have already spent here have been, without any exception, the happiest I have spent upon earth. Week after week has rolled round in the peaceful enjoyment of the presence of the blessed God. My most painful and laborious duties have been not only easy, but a source of thankfulness and joy far beyond any of my former experience. In a word, I seem to have known some little, at least, of what is so beautifully described in one of my favourite hymns:—

“Far above all earthly things, While yet my hands are here employed; Sees my soul the King of kings And freely talks with God.”

Pray for me, my dear Armstrong, that these feelings may not be transitory, but abiding and ever increasing. I too often rest contented with the mere husks of religion, instead of feeding on the substantial and the nourishing corn. I am too generally satisfied with the outward life of the Christian, the regulation of my conduct, temper, disposition, pursuits, and so on; while that inward life of God within the soul, that communion with the Father of spirits and the Son of his love, is too commonly overlooked. I want a deep work of his grace within my soul, and this I am now endeavouring in my poor feeble way to pray for, if so be that I may eventually obtain; but my unbelieving heart tells me, that I never was cut out for anything like spirituality. One text of Scripture, however, still encourages me, “This is the will of God even your sanctification;” and therefore though faint, I would still be persevering.

To-morrow evening, being the first Tuesday after quarter-day, our church classes hold their quarterly meetings for the second time. The first time of their meeting was a season which will long be remembered by me with gratitude. My heart quite melted to hear so many declare, that, under God, they owned their first religious good to my poor feeble ministrations, and when in the fulness of their hearts they could not refrain from thanking the good Lord who had brought me among them. And I felt the more astonished and thankful inasmuch as I never had a fourth part of the like success in all the former years put together in which I had been labouring elsewhere. Oh, what shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits conferred upon me? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord—still call upon him for his future help and blessing, for without this I feel I can do nothing. Our little classes, I am thankful to state, are gradually increasing. I think we reckon sixty-seven in all. As to one or two, I feel constrained to stand in doubt, but the rest I trust are sincere souls. But, while I thus number my little flock, I feel that there is necessity to guard against the spirit of David: I endeavour to do this, and to sink down before God under a continual sense of my own nothingness; but pride is a subtle enemy, and, as Dr. Watts so correctly observes,

“We cannot make his glories known, But self-applause creeps in.”

* * * * * * * *

I remain yours very truly, G. M.

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, May 24, 1817.

My dear Mary,

In the course of Mr. Bailey’s attendance upon Mary, we had frequent opportunities of conversation, and, as I feel desirous of turning the conversation to those points on which persons feel most capable, as well as most desirous of talking, we frequently touched upon medical subjects. One day I told him my fears that both Mary and myself were consumptive, and that we had often talked about the possibility of our being removed in this way. He said, in reply, that Mrs. M— was not a consumptive subject, at least he had discovered nothing as yet which led him to suppose it; and that, with regard to myself, whatever predisposition I might have had towards it in early life, it had since taken another course. I wished to know what he meant by its having gone off in a different channel, even supposing that the predisposition once existed, when he told me the following anecdote:—His father was a medical man and accustomed to speak his mind without reserve. He used to visit the C—s in the place where they then lived, and knowing their constitutions pretty accurately he used to say, the B—s (meaning his own family) will go off into livers, and the C—s into lungs, intimating that these disorders would carry them off. Fanny, however (who was one of the C—s, and similarly deformed with myself), he thought, owing to her form would out-live them all, and escape the family disease. The B—s removed from the place, and Mr. B— having occasion to go there again after about twenty years’ absence, was naturally led to inquire after his old friends, when he found that all of them, excepting Fanny, had been removed by consumption, and that she, feeling her spirits affected by living in the place where all her family had died, had gone either to London, or some such place, for society, but was otherwise quite well. Mr. B— then told me, that he had no doubt that this was the case with myself also, and that very many similar cases had occurred. I had often thought that I could trace much spiritual benefit as resulting from my bodily form; nay, I have even been led to thank God for it, conceiving it very probable that it had been the saving of my soul; but little did I imagine that it conduced in any way to my bodily comfort, and that it has probably been the saving of my life. O my dear sister, how little do we know of the goodness of the Lord towards the children of men; and how little, with our present imperfect powers, shall we ever be able to know in this present world; but what we do know tends to show us in characters written as it were with a sunbeam, “He doeth all things well.”

Extracted from a letter to his sister, dated May 17, 1817:—

“Happy in married life.

“Should your union, my beloved sister, with Mr. H. prove to you what mine has with Mary, you will be disposed to consider with myself that this ordinance is not merely divine, but to be ranked amongst the foremost of God’s gifts to man.”

Extract of a letter, dated June 2, 1817:—

“As to myself, I feel that I have increasing cause for gratitude in all that concerns me. I think I never felt so truly blessed in any former period of my life. I really have no earthly desire unfulfilled; my cup literally runs over. God is also very graciously pleased to prosper me in my ministerial labours. I have the satisfaction of seeing fresh trophies of the Redeemer’s power to save; and my heart is rejoiced in seeing those whom the Lord has gathered around me, walking, in some measure at least, as becometh the Gospel of Christ. To these, indeed, there are, as there is reason to fear there ever will be, some painful exceptions; but, upon the whole, I have abundant cause for thanksgiving and praise. In the midst of all these causes for joy, I have many a memento that the excellence of the power is of God, and not of men; the cracked earthen vessel is but too apparent. For this, however, I hope I feel grateful; for what is so great a blessing to a poor, proud, selfish being, such as I am constrained to acknowledge myself, as occasional humiliations? They are the very medicine of my soul.”

After referring to two cases of affliction in his family, he writes to his friend abroad, dated August 4, 1817:—

“But out of all the Lord has most graciously delivered us; and I can look back upon the whole with real gratitude to God. There was not a stroke or a drop too much; all was merciful in the design, and I hope the benefits still remain. Tribulation working ‘patience,’ a calm waiting upon God. Patience an ‘experience’ of his divine support at the time, and an experience of his eventual deliverance. Experience ‘hope,’ an expectation of future help and future deliverance; and this hope will not make me ashamed. There were times in which I felt this to be a weary land; but still I found the shadow of a great Rock, and this shade was truly refreshing to my soul. Oh, that I could ever there abide!

“I think I mentioned to you that our mutual friend Cox had the living of Bridgenorth presented to him. He has been there now some months, but he labours under very great discouragement, owing to the little effect resulting from his ministrations. A few weeks ago he wished that we should exchange duties, hoping that my Methodistical zeal might arouse them. After an enumeration of the probable consequences to which he must make up his mind, I at length consented, and, as I supposed, the stir has been great; rascal, villain, ranter, field preacher, are the usual epithets attached to my opprobrious name. A petition has been drawn up, with many signatures attached, requesting Cox to forbid me his pulpit; in short, the whole place has been in a hubbub. Inquiry, however, begins to take place, the stagnant waters are moved, and after the working off of the scum and the grosser particles, we may expect to see purer and even living waters. Cox answered their petition with becoming spirit, united with pleasing conciliation. It has, I find, given great offence, notwithstanding all; but we wait for the issue in a spirit of prayer. It is somewhat remarkable that Bridgenorth was the place in which Richard Baxter, author of the “Saint’s Rest,” met with such decided opposition, that as he went out of the town, he shook off the dust of his feet as a testimony against them; and, since that time, no preached gospel has prospered among them. The Dissenters and even the warm-hearted Methodists have hitherto laboured almost in vain. But who knows how soon the curse may be removed? We keep encouraging Cox all that we possibly can, but he seems determined at present to leave. Unite your prayers, my dear friend, with ours, that he may not be permitted to desert this wilderness and solitary place, but that he may patiently wait till he rejoices over it as a peculiarly verdant spot in the garden of our Lord.”

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, 21st Nov. 1817.

My dear Mary,

The case of conscience with which your letter begins is such as would puzzle a much more expert casuist than I ever expect to be; and, therefore, after reading all that you have written upon the subject, as explanatory of your views and feelings, I feel more disposed to commend you in prayer to the teachings of God’s most Holy Spirit, than attempt to darken counsel by words without knowledge. I am sensible, however, that this may originate in an unwillingness to meet a difficulty from a consciousness of the scantiness of my spiritual information, and from a fear of the consequent poor opinion you might entertain of me for my want of success, I will, therefore, hazard a few remarks. It has always struck me that the creature occupies an improper place when we consider it in any way essential to our good, when we fancy that there is any absolute and positive necessity for the presence of any one thing in order to constitute us happy. It was God’s declaration to Abraham, “I am the Almighty [the all-sufficient] God; walk before me, and be thou perfect.” And St. Paul so fully realized this, that he lived, as it were, completely independent of the creature; he found his God an all-sufficient portion, quite adequate of himself to satisfy the largest desires of his soul. He could, therefore, take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, &c.; for he experimentally found that, as his afflictions abounded, his consolations did much more abound. In a word, he discovered in his God a happiness which was not merely independent of the creature, but which flourished and abounded under circumstances most likely to interrupt or destroy it. The fact is, that the creature is only an arbitrary channel, the pipe, if I may so speak, which a God of love has been pleased to choose, in order to convey his benefits. The pipe is neither the benefit, nor the source; and, of course, though it is conducive to our comfort, though it may in many respects be subservient to our welfare, yet it is by no means essentially necessary, for God is the God of all consolation, whether intermediately or immediately conveyed, and should He, on any occasion, see fit to remove the medium, the same and even more abounding happiness may be received immediately from Himself; and since God is infinite in his wisdom and in his love, this will be so, provided it be for our good. And if we need not the former quantum of happiness, if it would prove injurious to us, is it not a mercy that it should be denied? But perhaps you will ask, How are we to know whether we love the creature too much or not? How is it to be ascertained whether we regard it as essential to our good, or merely subservient to it? This may be ascertained in two ways—1st, How do we feel when our channels are removed? Does it seem as though our all were gone? If after a prop has been removed from under us, we immediately fall, it is evident that our whole weight has been placed upon it; if we stagger and stumble, though by dexterity we may recover ourselves, and not actually fall, yet we show that too much of our weight was resting on it; but if, after its removal, we stand upright as before, it is manifest, as Archbishop Leighton observes, that we have been leaning not on our prop, but on an invisible arm for support. The application is easy. But I suggested another means of ascertaining the same point. What are our feelings under any probable expectations of the removal of our channel? This, however, is so closely allied with the former that it needs no separate enlargement or elucidation. It is evident that the man who is filled with alarm at the bare idea of the removal of his gold, is too much in love with it, and, more or less, is making it his god. And he who, with more specious refinement of taste, dreads the interruption of his social pleasures, or the removal of some of his wonted sources of good, follows but too closely in the same steps. God must be owned and felt as our all in all. He must be regarded, not merely as our supreme good, but as our only good, as that which is alone necessary. In a word, all I have to say is summed up in those two expressive lines in the Methodist hymn-book,

“Lead me where I my heaven may find, The heaven of loving Thee alone.”

About the end of the year 1817, Mr. Mortimer entertained serious thoughts of going out to New Zealand as a missionary, and for this end corresponded with the secretary of the “Church Missionary Society” on the subject; and it so happened that about this time also two New Zealand chiefs, Tooi and Teterree, arrived in England, and it was proposed that they should abide for awhile at Madeley, which they accordingly did. The providence of God, however, did not seem to open his way for removing to a far-distant land, and he acquiesced in the result with his usual loving submission to the will of God. The following letter to the writer gives some account of the way by which he was led to contemplate the step referred to:—

Madeley, Nov. 26th, 1817.

My dear Armstrong,

Many incidents have occurred since it has pleased God to separate us, in which I should have regarded it as an exceedingly great comfort to my mind could I have consulted you, and obtained from you either your veto or procedas; but I think that I never felt the want of it more than at present. I hardly know whether I ought to puzzle you with a long detail, pro and con., of what has of late been passing in my mind, or to wait till I come to some conclusion. But as I feel that I should unbosom my mind to you in the fullest freest manner, were you now sitting by my side, I will use the same freedom, though you are at a distance. You must know, then, that I have lately been exerting myself among my parishioners on behalf of the Church Missionary Society, have read in my different exposition-rooms the very interesting accounts published in their quarterly papers and missionary registers, and, to make myself somewhat master of the matters upon which I spoke, I began to go regularly through the whole of the volumes which they have hitherto published. A great sensation has been excited among my people. I thought we should do exceedingly little; but God has opened the hearts of my people, and I rejoice in the event. This, however, is not the only effect which has been produced. My own heart has been so completely won over to the missionary cause that I am inclined to think, I shall not easily be persuaded to remain quietly and cozily at home, while so much remains to be done abroad. The call to continue here must be much stronger than it has hitherto been, or my struggling spirit will be found to burst its ties and make its escape to more needed labours. I trust I shall not force my way; this, under no circumstances, can be desirable, but I think that hitherto my mind has leaned too much one way, and has been too ready to interpret the suggestions of some, and the oppositions of others, into providential intimations of its being the will of God, to hesitate and eventually to abandon my object; but now I feel very differently. In the spirit of sacrifice, with our lives in our hands, and almost our all of earthly good at stake, we shall hold ourselves ready to proceed whenever we can with any consistency make our escape. You will ask, perhaps, what are our plans? I have often thought of joining my very very dear friends at Honduras, but the unhealthiness of the climate, and the stings of your musquitos quite deter my good wife, and she shrinks from your shore with feelings which I dare not any further attempt to correct. To speak honestly, I fear your climate would soon bring her to her grave, and therefore I should not think myself at all authorized to press the point further than I have already done. New Zealand is the place which we have in our minds, and though the inhabitants are cannibals, and though the ill treatment of the Europeans has exasperated them to a degree of determined retaliation, which might deter the mere worldly calculators from venturing to settle among them; yet as we trust that the spirit of love and kindness will ever actuate us in our intercourse with them, we trust likewise that our gracious God will become a wall of fire round about us to keep them from injuring us. A very amiable, interesting, and truly pious young man, who has lately been through college, and is now waiting till he becomes of age for orders, has fully made up his mind to join us so soon as his friends can be persuaded to part with him. Ever since I have been in the parish the Lord has been pleased to knit his heart to me in a very singular way. His mind has been turned to New Zealand for nearly three years.

The whole circle of my friends, together with myself, feel much obliged to you for your communications to Mr. Pratt, which he has published in the last Missionary Register, October, 1817. They greatly interested us, and we could not help rejoicing in all the good which the good Lord is effecting through you. May all this be only the promise of a more abundant shower.

Letters passed at sea some time about the beginning of this year, between Mr. Mortimer and the editor, each asking, without knowing the intention of the other, that his friend would become sponsor for his next-born child—a circumstance which explains the allusions made to the subject, in the three following extracts:—

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, June 1, 1818.

The honour which my dear friends have conferred upon my unworthy name affected me greatly, and the more so, as within three or four weeks of the time your letter reached me, two other similar instances of the very great affection of my friends here had occurred. Unknown to me, many of them put their contributions together, and forwarded them to the Church Missionary Society, for the support of two African children, to be named after myself and my dear Mary; and a young man among the Quakers, to whom the Lord has made me (his most unworthy servant) a channel of good, has likewise taken my name. What shall I say to these tokens of love? I know not what to say—but that I am ashamed and confounded before God, to think that any mark of love and respect should be shown to me whom He sees as so abject and polluted; and as to my dear friends, all I can say is, the Lord reward them a thousand fold for all that their hearts contrive, and their loving conduct so fully expresses.

TO THE REV. THOS. MORTIMER.

Madeley, near Shiffnal, July 20, 1818.

My dear Thomas,

We think of naming the dear little one Phœbe, a name much endeared to us, as borne by one dear relation now no more, and by another still reserved to us, whom we sincerely love. It is a name likewise which has not as yet been introduced among us. We were thinking of joy and gladness, but this we have left to be, as we hope, long enjoyed by one already in our family, and to be in reserve in case it should be wanted for another, on whom we should rejoice to see even an equal portion of her parents’ spirit. A servant of the church is what we claim for our little one, and may the claim be abundantly realized!

If Mrs. T. M. would not object to become one of the sponsors for our little girl, and would permit us to employ some one as her proxy, we should feel ourselves much obliged by her compliance. My dear Honduras friend has kindly consented to take upon him this charge for one, and we purpose applying to Mr. John Eyton, as the third. Perhaps you will be so good as drop me an early line, and thus set me an example I so much need.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Aug. 3, 1818.

With regard to myself I have nothing to write to you but a continued series of failure and disappointment; and, if I might speak of the future from the present, I should say, that the Lord is calling me to remain at home rather than to go anywhere abroad. The state of the case is simply this:—When first I proposed myself as the servant of the Missionary Society, I did not apprehend anything like difficulty with regard to a supply for Madeley—the vicar, who is not resident, had always consulted the wishes of the people, and had given them the choice of their minister. No sooner, however, was it known by him that I had some thoughts of leaving, than he declared, in the most positive terms, that he would not admit to a curacy a person of my recommending, and he quite wondered that I should ever think he would, or, in other words, he did not intend to have a person of my stamp. It soon, however, occurred to me, that if an application were made in behalf of my young but very dear friend, — —, the vicar would, for the sake of his father, permit him to succeed me: this he in fact promised, but when he found out that the son was of a different stamp from the father, and that the wrong kind of person was thus most unintentionally selected, he drew back and would not take another step; and Mr. —, hurt at the whole procedure, declares that he will not, upon any consideration whatever, make another application, and thus matters are completely in statu quo. I dare not leave my people to an ungodly successor, and therefore the present intimation seems to be, “stand still.” I feel it a time of suspense, but I am quite persuaded that all is in the very best hands, and of course that all will be sweetly ordered for good. I need not request you to pray for us; I am assured of your love, and love will necessarily lead you to a throne of grace on our behalf.

About a fortnight ago my dear Mary was confined, and safely delivered of a little girl, whom we purpose naming Phœbe, and may God grant she may prove a servant of the church, as that honoured individual whose name stands prominently distinguished in the Word of God—not, indeed, by becoming a lady preacher, as you designated Mrs. F—, in one of your letters, but in such a way as is becoming her sex; and in how many blessed ways this is possible we shall neither of us be at a loss to determine. We purpose availing ourselves of your kind permission to employ you as one of the sponsors, and we feel ourselves much, very much obliged by your compliance with our wishes. Indeed, everything which seems like bringing us nearer together affords us a degree of pleasure we cannot easily express.

The humility of my beloved friend was not only deep but uniform, and it was also most unfeigned. I believe no sentiments conveyed in his letters with regard to himself were more sincerely the utterance of his heart, than such as appear in the two following extracts; and a savour of which, indeed, runs more or less, through all his correspondence.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Oct. 5, 1818.

My dear Armstrong,

Yours of the 8th of August reached me yesterday evening, and afforded me much refreshment of spirit after the labours of the day, as your kind and interesting communications almost invariably do; but if they sometimes may fail in imparting refreshment, they are never wanting in interest and in solid instruction. The only effect sometimes produced, is in deeply humbling me, in abasing me before my friends, and in the presence of my God. I feel myself so wretched a sinner, and so completely unworthy of your least notice. Indeed, I sometimes think that if you could but see me instead of hearing from me—could we but renew our personal acquaintance—you would detect in me such evils as would almost make you ashamed of acknowledging me. In my letters, hurried as they generally are, you see me under assumed appearances. I step a little out of myself, sentiments are expressed, prayers and wishes are breathed forth, and statements likewise made, which are so very very far from being habitual, that you can know but little of me in this way. Were you actually to know me, even all the joy of meeting an old friend would soon give way to some such exclamation as that uttered by Æneas at the sight of Hector, “Oh quantum mutatus ab illo.” I thus write in consequence of the first paragraph in your letter, in which you speak of having looked over some old letters of mine. The reflections in which this re-perusal made you indulge quite startled me as I read them, and I cannot but still think that no small measure of hypocrisy must attach to my character, if my communications do really convey such sentiments to your mind as those which you express; for I dare not withhold from you the humbling confession that, gratified and thankful as I should be for the discovery, I cannot perceive the impress of truth on any of them. But I fear I shall tire as well as disgust you with so much about self, and therefore turn to some other subject.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, December 29, 1818.

My dear Armstrong,

With respect to myself, I can say but little, excepting what must tend to humble me in the dust before the Lord and my fellow men. I am still stationary here, and from all that has transpired, both within and without, I feel now convinced that whatever the duty of others may be, mine is to remain at home; and, I think, I shall not easily be induced to make any further effort to make my escape. I am now quite content to remain quiet here, and while set aside by the Lord, as an instrument in whom he has no such pleasure, can adore him for the greatness of his tender compassions, which intervened as an effectual barrier, and kept me from bringing chastisement upon myself and my family for my presumptuous folly, in thinking of stretching out my unhallowed hand in supporting a cause, which, perhaps, I should only have touched, to have impressed on it a mark of indelible disgrace.

But amidst these feelings which humble me in the dust, and even confound me before the Lord, I still find him most graciously condescending to visit me, and still perceive abundant tokens of his love in my parish, and in my family. All seems to wear a cheerful and exhilarating smile, and if ever I was convinced that my being hindered in my plans was from the Lord, I think it is now. The affection manifested by all classes among my dear people, when it was known that I had given up the idea of leaving them, was such as will long be remembered by me with gratitude towards my kind and loving God: for it is He, and He alone, who can thus give us the hearts of our people. O, may I serve in the Gospel of his Son more faithfully than I have hitherto done!

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, February 26, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

If I recollect right, I just alluded in my last to the very striking and unexpected change which has taken place in my brother —. The more I think of it the more am I filled with astonishment and gratitude. Had I been required to select an individual, which, in my estimation, was the least likely to become a trophy to the powerful grace of our Redeemer, — would have been the person upon whom I should have fixed. The grace, however, of his so long despised Lord has at length triumphed, and he now delights to build up the faith which he once so malignantly endeavoured to destroy.

You will readily conceive that I have derived no small encouragement from these dealings of my gracious God with my dear brother. But the encouragement has been greatly increased by the change which has recently passed upon dear Tooi, one of my New Zealand guests. After they had set sail for New South Wales, in the Baring, the ship struck against a brake, and they were obliged to put again into port. During this interval, Tooi was taken dangerously ill, and, in the estimation of all who saw him, had not the least probability of recovery. This painful visitation, however, to his poor body, seems to have been the means of salvation to his soul. All the pious friends who surround him, speak of the change as most unequivocal; and Mr. Hall, who attended them while with me, and who is as far, as any one I know, from attempting to colour, speaks in decided terms of the divine change which he has experienced. Among other things in one of his letters, writing of Tooi, he says, “I cannot help mentioning one of his simple speeches, which I think will please you. ‘When I in New South Wales my heart no good: I come to England, and hear the word of God, and, I think, O dear me, I want a new heart; I begin to pray to Jesus to give me a new heart. In my own country, I sin very much, and, when in South seaman, the sailors teach me to curse and swear—miserable work. But the blood of Jesus runs down my heart, and washes away my sins, and my heart feel comfortable and happy, and I no fear to die. Believe in Jesus is the way to go up to heaven, and be happy for ever with Jesus, and all Christian friends; (naming many, and you and your’s amongst the number).’” O, my dear friend, how blessed is true religion, and how touching is this simple account, which shows, I think, that dear Tooi has become possessed of it.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, May 3, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

Since I last wrote to you, I have been called to pass through some painful and unexpected scenes. About twelve months ago my dear father began to decline very rapidly in his health, owing to some serious reverses which he experienced in his temporal concerns, and which preyed very much upon his mind; the full extent we are none of us able to determine, but one of my uncles and his son who were privy to many of his transactions, can distinctly reckon up £75,000 which came under their own observation. All these losses had their measure of effect upon his spirits; but, there was a lawsuit pending, and which had been commenced some months since, which, if determined against him, threatened to sweep away all that remained, and even to leave him insolvent. Of this he informed no one, but kept it working secretly within, till, at length, it proved too much for him, and his constitution irrecoverably gave way. On the day of his removal, indeed, he was unusually well; was out in the garden a great part of the forenoon, and very cheerful while taking his tea, but about seven in the evening he was seized with a fit of apoplexy, and he was a corpse by a little after nine. His death much affected me, and especially as I had my fears lest it should have been produced by a mere sorrow of the world; but when I joined my dear mother, I was much comforted by finding that the Lord’s gracious intentions in all this apparently severe discipline, were mercifully answered; that they produced in him a gradual weaning from the world, and an increased esteem and relish for the things which concerned his soul. And in this effect, I hope, that we are all, at least most of us, enabled to rejoice, though, in order to produce it, it was necessary that he should suffer the loss of almost all things. To think of his departed spirit, as happy with the Lord, affords to us a balm of consolation which thousands upon thousands could not effect without it.

But amidst all this wreck and ruin of property which I have gradually been called to witness, what abundant cause have I for gratitude that it has not come nigh me. How graciously has God been pleased to provide for me and mine! For though my family is large, and its wants are continually increasing, yet I have all and abound. I have ever yet had enough, and a little annually to spare; and I have no doubt but that, with a little frugality, I shall be able to put by a little more towards the settling of my dear children when they shall come of age. Had I known of the present posture of affairs, I might have done a little more for them, but I am very thankful that I have done what I have. And may the God of love so regulate my conduct for the future, that I may never, in any instance, unnecessarily encroach upon their due; for I feel the force of the apostolic observation: “He that provideth not for his own,” &c.

The following is a deeply affecting letter; but, like many of David’s Psalms, if it begins in complainings, it ends in praises.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, July 3, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

As to myself, I can say but little: I seem to be more of a loitering formalist than anything else. Many things which I began when I first entered upon my charge here have gradually dwindled into the merest nothings, and these have at length been given up. And most of those which are still continued seem to have lost that interest and power with which they were once accompanied. As to my own feelings and conduct in the midst of all, they are my shame and constant humiliation. I am so accustomed to see this gradual deterioration in many instances, that I almost invariably expect it in all others, and this makes me less earnest in prayer and less zealous in action. In all the coldness of apathy, I seem anticipating nothing but eventual failure in everything; and then, when nothing further is to be done here, I as coldly anticipate a removal to some other scene, where similar efforts will be productive of similar results. These, my dear A., have been my general feelings for some months past. I have often paused to analyze my spirit and my conduct: sometimes I have been ready to imagine that my indifference argued a deadness to popularity and applause, and that while I was so content that others should see that I was nothing, I was gaining some increase of humility, and, of course, was making some little advancement in the Divine life. But within these few days, I have been awakened from my sleep of carnal security, and have been deeply humbled before my God on account of it. I see that, instead of stemming the torrent, I have too criminally suffered it to spread, till it has threatened ruin to all the plain below. Instead of propping I have rather undermined the tottering fabric, and thus aided the natural decay from time and seasons. Had spirituality been cherished in my own soul—had patient self-denying labours been uniformly pursued—had ardent believing prayer been constantly offered—who can tell how much this tendency to deteriorate might have been counteracted? Who can tell, rather, what increase of prosperity might have now called forth my grateful praise? My motto, therefore, has now become that of the cheerful, believing and animated Apostle St. Paul. It is said of him, “He thanked God and took courage.” Instead of dejectedly witnessing this natural process, and as despondingly anticipating still more and more, I feel, through the grace of my Saviour, enabled thankfully to adore him for all the good which yet remains; and, with a measure of cheerful courage, to devote myself to my future work. And I cannot tell you the sweet peace which has been imparted to my distrusting mind, and the animated glow which has been diffused through my cold and apathetical heart; but to think that this blessed peace and love should have so long been strangers within my breast, is cause of my humiliation before my compassionate Redeemer. May my endeared friend never have similar cause of complaint!