LIFE AND LETTERS. (continued 3)

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Oct. 4, 1819.

My last informed you of the seeming health of our dear little Basil: on Monday last, we availed ourselves of a favourable opportunity of having him christened, and we all thought that, though a little fallen away, he was looking very well. On Wednesday, however, he was attacked with infantine cholera morbus, and on the morning of yesterday his happy spirit burst its way to God. To us, indeed, the scene was very affecting; it was the first inroad death had been permitted to make among us, and his entrance spread a degree of awe upon our minds such as we had not known before. The strong feelings of affection likewise, and numerous endearing recollections, kept making us weep till, like David and his men, we seemed to have no more power to weep, and even all the grateful expressions which kept bursting from our thankful hearts, could only be uttered amidst our quickly flowing tears. These stronger feelings, however, have now somewhat subsided, and a holy calm of gratitude has regained its seats within our breasts: our dear little one has, indeed, fled from among us, but he has fled to a far happier place—fled to the arms and bosom of his ever-to-be-adored Redeemer; and oh! how quick, as well as blessed, the transition!

“We scarce can say he’s gone, Before his happy spirit takes Its station near the throne.”

To-morrow, we think of committing his dear remains to the silent tomb. I have been selecting and marking out a suitable spot to be employed, should we continue here, for the successive members of our family, as they may be called from among us, and my prayer has been ascending to my blessed Redeemer that we may every one of us leave as firm a persuasion behind us of the safety of our eternal state, as our dear little Basil has. And, indeed, his removal has given me an increased confidence that this will be the case; for our united prayers for our dear children have ever been, that they might either live a holy life, or die an early death. My dear wife, though weak, is very mercifully supported in the season of our trial; she feels, and that at times very sensibly, but peaceful gratitude is still her constant companion: I say gratitude; for it is not mere submission, it is the peaceful grateful adoration of that gracious God who is too wise to err, too good to be unkind; and I am very thankful for all the support and consolation which our kind Saviour so mercifully affords her. I think of having a small head stone for my little boy, mentioning his name, the day of his death and his age, and, underneath, the following lines which I put down in my pocket book when you and I were at Enfield, little, indeed, imagining at the time that I should ever have a dear child of my own over whose grave they would be inscribed:—

“On Life’s wide Ocean sorrowful and pained, How many Voyagers their course perform; This little bark a kinder fate obtained, It reached the Haven ere it met the storm.”

Mr. Mortimer very kindly received the writer’s son William (now a clergyman, and British chaplain at Valparaiso, in South America) into his family, to be educated with his own children, and it is to this child that allusion is made in the following letter addressed to him.

Madeley, February 28, 1820.

My dear Armstrong,

I have entered into these details, conceiving that no communication can be more interesting to a father than those which concern an endeared child; and happy shall I be if all my future communications be equally pleasing. Of this, however, I have but little expectations. Many and very painful fluctuations have I witnessed in my own children, and have heard of the children of others, and therefore my dear friend must not be surprised if my little charge should at times disappoint our expectations or our wishes. Oh what lovely, what heavenly blossoms have I sometimes delightfully discovered in my eldest little boy! He has seemed even ripening for glory, and that also so rapidly, that we have almost imagined that his stay would not be long among us. Tears of gratitude have stood in our eyes while we have seen the gracious evidences, or while we have been relating them to each other. In a few weeks, however, the blossoms and the fruit have almost totally disappeared, and have left us to sorrow in temporary disappointment, or to find comfort only in the cheering exhilaration of hope. Then, again, the winter has passed, and lovely spring has once more appeared. But it is all well; the harvest of none of our labours is to be expected here; it is in that blessed world above that we shall reap, provided that we faint not; and what greater stimulus can we need to keep urging us forward even in the midst of every species of discouragement?

William told me a few evenings ago that Mrs. Armstrong had received a letter from you, which kept her in doubt as to whether you would join her, or she you. I know so little of what would be for the best, that I would not attempt to influence you in one way or other. The greatest benefit which I can confer on my endeared friend is, to bring him and his concerns to One who loves him infinitely more than I can do, and whose infallible direction is promised in his holy word to the inquiring soul. It was the prayer of my kind friends, I am persuaded, which kept me in England when I had felt it my duty to take even most decided measures for leaving it. When they objected to my step, I almost invariably requested them to pray for providential hindrances, if my intentions were not in the divine order; and I told them, if I knew anything of myself, I should not attempt either to break through the hedge, or to overleap the wall. The kind Saviour heard their prayer, and I have never been so fully persuaded of anything as of this, that my being detained in England was completely of the Lord. Should my dear Armstrong be projecting that which is not in the will and order of his God, may the same merciful Saviour hedge up his way, and plant the piercing thorn at every step, to render his progress painful, and eventually to deter him! But should his removal be from God, then may all difficulties and impediments vanish completely from before him!

Mary joins me in kind love to yourself and Mr. Ditcher, and I remain,

My ever dear Friend,

Yours very affectionately, G. Mortimer.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Madeley, Dec. 22, 1820.

My dear Brother,

We have named our little boy Herbert, after our old and mutual friend; and happy, indeed, should we think ourselves were he even in some small degree to resemble that saintly man. I give you his name, with the hope of its being inserted in your list of those whom you remember in your hours of intercession; and in the hope, likewise, that he will not be forgotten by your dear wife. He seems unusually well at present, better, we think, than any of our children have been at his age. The suddenness, however, both of the indisposition and removal of our little Basil, has made us consider the health and life of an infant as exceedingly uncertain in its tenure; and we hope we are enabled to leave him completely in the best of hands. You may perhaps have heard, through Eliza, of the removal of dear Mr. Purton: you know his worth, his strong attachment to myself, and the right hand he was to me in everything in which I could in any way use him, and, therefore, are prepared to suppose what a loss has been sustained by myself and others. I do not like funeral sermons in general, but I thought I ought to take up my cross on such an occasion, and endeavour to hold up his uncommon, unobtrusive, and retiring excellence to the view of others, and then, at the same time, pay my own tribute of friendship which I felt I myself owed to him.

In parochial matters, and in my ministerial concerns, we go on much as usual. Mr. Purton’s removal has put some extra burdens upon me, but they are not as yet too oppressive, and, if they should become so, the Lord, I doubt not, will give me some one who will share them with me. Attendance on church classes and expositions, nearly in statu quo; and this, considering the tendency in everything to deteriorate, I consider as rather encouraging than otherwise. Our good friends and fellow-helpers, the Methodists, however, seem to be more prosperous than ourselves. The chapel at the Green has just been considerably enlarged, and there is some talk of its being opened in church hours, morning as well as evening, and some rumours of sacraments and christenings are now and then reaching my ears. As to myself, I dare say nothing: I am rather disposed to think that the morning service would be a benefit to the parish in inducing many poor to attend, who, through shame or idleness, would not come so far as to the church; and, as they are my parishioners, I hope I should rejoice in their good, though this good should not be conveyed through myself. The sacrament and christenings, in the present state of Methodism, follow almost as a matter of course, and therefore I am equally silent on this subject. All these things were not the original intention of the founder; but were I a Methodist myself, I do not know but that I should consider them as expedient, and almost as necessary parts of present Methodism: why then should I feel on these accounts? They are doing a great work. I find them most important auxiliaries in my own parish, and do sincerely wish them all that prosperity which, for their works’ sake, they deserve. A few months ago, I began to pray for them, and have continued at stated times ever since; and though I never reckoned myself exceedingly stiff in my Churchmanship, I am certainly less so now than before. God permits, and, not only so, he most evidently owns and blesses; and why should we feel the spirit of Joshua, and pettishly, or enviously, or selfishly wish to forbid them?

TO THE REV. J. ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Dec. 27, 1820.

My dear Friend,

* * * * * * * *

I was very glad to hear, through my sister, of your servant Lucy, who came over for Mrs. A— —, whom she saw at Mrs. W. A.—’s; she spoke of you in the most affectionate terms, and described, in her simple but strong manner, the change which had been effected in the settlement through your ministry among them. “Before massa came, many very bad; now, good, and love great Massa,” and so on. Oh, my dear friend, amidst all the discouraging feelings arising from your not being able to do all you would, you should not forget what has already been done. We are most of us too sanguine in our expectations, not suspecting that what exceeds the cool and sober calculation of tried and well-disciplined faith has too much to do with self, arises from self-confidence, and ends in self-humiliation. We are too apt, in imagination, to seize the magic wand of Harlequin, and suppose that every touch will effect wonders; but, to change the wilderness into the garden of the Lord, requires the enduring spirit of the toilsome labourer, the stones must be cleared, and the soil must again and again be turned: and even when the precious seed is safely deposited, the patience of our hope must succeed to the labour of our love. How long does it usually lie beneath the surface, and when the tender blade appears, how much longer the interval before the perfection of the fruit! so long, that my endeared friend may never live to see it in his own case: though he may sow, yet others may enter into his labours; yet will both he that sows and they that reap, rejoice together in that glorious and eternal harvest.

Since I began my letter, I have had a visit from our mutual friend, Mr. Cox. Since his residence in Shropshire, I have frequently had opportunities of seeing him, and it is with unfeigned pleasure that I have seen him evidently advancing in the best of things. I think, however, that I never saw him to so great advantage as now—the truly Christian minister and the warm and steady friend. He still continues at Bridgenorth, and has apparently lived through all the hostility and prejudice which his preaching and residence among them once excited. He begins also to see some important fruits of his labours. How cheering is all this! Well, my dear friend, let us catch the animating glow, and strive to live more for our loving Saviour and the great glory of his name.

Kind faithfulness towards our friends is a truly Christian grace—this grace the subject of this memoir eminently possessed, of which the following letter is a proof:—

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, April 28, 1821.

My much endeared Friend,

Though circumstances certainly appear against me, and give you just reason to suspect that no very overwhelming tide of affection flows towards my expatriated brother and fellow-labourer; though I seem to have lost all the ardent, or the softer feelings of the friend, in the cold and apathetical conclusions of the mere calculator; though like the callous brethren of the afflicted Joseph, I seem unconscious of your grief, and can, like them, selfishly sit down to eat and to drink, or rise up to consult with others, to decide your fate, and fix you in sorrow;—though, I say, all these things appear against me, and though my friend is constrained to number me among the annoying trio, yet still I feel within me a pleasing conviction of real genuine affection, which enables me to rise above appearances, and which persuades me that I am not quite a stranger to that love which many waters cannot quench, and which the floods cannot drown. The fact is, my dear friend, that the decision to which you allude in your last was my painful and not my pleasant duty. I felt, I hope, something like the surgeon who has been called to perform some operation on the most beloved of his friends; were he to hesitate, or were he to decline, how justly would he be answerable for all the painful consequences which might result: but while he proceeds, though steady to his point, though the fixedness of his eye seems to proclaim him devoid of pity, though his unshaking hand seems to indicate no shrinking from his work of torture; yet still the tenderest emotions may exist within, and to the discriminating eye may be seen in a thousand varying turns. I do not, indeed, wish you to give me credit for a perfect similarity to all this, and yet I do hope that when time has a little more sobered down the strength, and perhaps intensity, of feeling, you will feel more disposed to thank me for the thankless duty which my friendship for you enabled me to perform.

My sister and brother Holland are with me at present and have been here for some weeks past. Many, indeed, are the pleasures of endeared and social intercourse, and I feel truly thankful that we have been permitted to enjoy them. We have never met as a family since my sister was married, and, though there has been all along an interchange of thought and feeling through letters, yet we have found how far short all this comes of vivâ voce and personal communications and endearments. I have no doubt but that a similar result would be experienced, could you and I occasionally meet together. And when we consider the almost insuperable impediments which lie in the way of such a meeting, some feeling, perhaps, steals into the mind which would have us think somewhat hardly of the divine appointments. Let us, however, be thankful that, though we have not all the sweets of friendship, yet that so many are still reserved to us. And who can tell but that these may be increased, if we are only more faithful in bringing each other, with our mutually known concerns, to our compassionate God and Saviour?

After speaking of the arduous duties of his parish, as oppressive to the flesh, the mind, and the spirits, he adds, in his usual heavenly strain, to the same friend:—

“It is still very blessed to be engaged in any way for the blessed Saviour. This is, indeed, a work which pays in the doing. I pray God I may love it even more and more. But, were it otherwise, were every step toilsome and thorny, were there no brook to drink of by the way to enable us to lift up our heads, were the yoke galling and the burden heavy, were the cross, instead of concealing a latent good, only cruciating, were the cup of sorrows divested of all sweets and only filled with strongest bitters; still we have enough of stimulus arising from the glorious prospect of that blessedness above to inspirit our souls, and to enable us to toil up the most arduous ascent, and not only to drag on our wearied feet, but to lift them up with all the alacrity of cheerful obedience; for the joy which is set before us, we may well endure the cross, and, like our blessed Master, despise the shame. O, my dear Armstrong, may we both of us live more with heaven in our eye, and with a lively feeling of our Saviour’s love in our hearts! And then every murmur will be hushed, and nothing be heard from our joyful lips but the language of thanksgiving and praise.”

I hope the children of my late endeared friend will forgive the following little notice of a father’s practice and of the habits of his children in their juvenile days:—

“Your letter, received yesterday evening, speaks somewhat at large on pocket money. I think it probable, from what you there say, that threepence a week will be less than you would choose; if so, I will alter, though I think that threepence altogether unearned is quite sufficient. I do not give a single penny to my own altogether gratuitously—i.e., independent of their own conduct and exertions; but still, while William was with me, I gave most liberal inducements to him and them, that they might readily gain sixpence each weekly, and have sometimes gone as far as a shilling, and even more. Two of my children have some of their earnings in the Savings’ Bank; one has a guinea and another has £1 3s. Indeed, my — boy is always scheming so largely that he has only a few shillings in hand, and these are devoted towards making a present of the new Life of Mr. Fletcher to a poor lad, who, a few weeks since, had behaved generously to him. But this his excess of generosity arises, I think, more from his ability to acquire, than anything else. “Oh,” he says, “I will soon earn it;” and in earnest he begins, and soon does. But then, he is always poor, and unless I can snare him into something like saving habits, I fear he will always be so. —, who has a guinea in the bank, is as generous as —, nay, has the greater appearance of generosity; for he has always something by him, and brings it out whenever anything benevolent is proposed; while —, being always behind hand, has to gain his before he can give it. But all my children have habits of giving; some are careful, but none are penurious, and I hope never will become so.”

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, June 1, 1822.

My dear Friend,

It afforded me great pleasure to see, on Tuesday last, your kind friend, Colonel Arthur [now Sir George Arthur, Bart. and Governor of Bombay], who arrived at Liverpool on the preceding Friday. He was accompanied by his lady, three children, and two servants, all of them in good health, though Mrs. Arthur and the children bore the usual paleness which Europeans so readily discover in the countenances of West Indian residents. I felt much gratified by the colonel’s urbanity of manners, and had great pleasure in showing him and his lady all the lions of the place. He seemed greatly to like our neat church and rural quiet churchyard, and the very ground appeared in his view to be more than ordinarily consecrated by the residence of the venerable Fletcher. He gave me much interesting detail respecting Honduras, its church, its schools, its people, and its minister; and of the last, he forgot not to mention his difficulties, his battles, and his eventual successes. He spoke also of his health, and described him (though perhaps he would not in this respect receive any great superabundance of thanks for his pains), as being peculiarly suited to bear all the labours of his arduous post, and that a change of place, however it might recreate the spirit, was by no means necessary for the continuance of his health. Now, I need scarcely tell you that all this was very refreshing to my spirit. I am not permitted to see you, and yet such have been the singular circumstances which have brought me in contact with those who have long lived in the Bay of Honduras, that I have been favoured with details almost as lively and circumstantial as an actual visit could have afforded me. And all the accounts strengthen in me the conviction that my endeared friend is in his own real, identical, proper post—the one by Heaven’s signature stamped with appointment and approbation too. May the Saviour who has appointed and approved, still bind him to it by his constraining love!

The colonel was very kind in his inquiries respecting William; I sent to Mr. Thurgar for him, and the counsels he gave him were very affectionate and appropriate. He left with him a sovereign when he parted from us. He seemed particularly anxious for his welfare, and was very desirous of gleaning everything encouraging that he might have the satisfaction of communicating it to you—a satisfaction evidently very strong.

Last night, I received a letter from that very excellent and very pious man, Mr. Francis Hall, who resided some months in my parish, as the companion of the New Zealanders, and who went with them to New Zealand. His whole conduct, while among us, left an indelible impression of the genuine piety which so humbly but gracefully dwelt within him. Every recollection of the dear good man is refreshing to my spirit. But I wander from my point. I received from him, yesterday, a letter which ought to make us all truly thankful that we have been providentially kept here, instead of being suffered to go, as we had once intended, along with himself or others to this inhospitable shore. He begins with congratulating us on this point, and illustrates his congratulation with such a narration of discouragement, connected with the state of the mission, as would convince every unprejudiced mind that a family such as mine has no business there. A time possibly may come when the signs may become more favourable; but certainly they are most discouraging now.

I hope I am thankful to God, as the only source of our good, for the state of things in my own parish. To say there was an outpouring of the Spirit upon us, would be using language by far too strong, and yet some gracious drops have descended—the dew has been resting upon us. Our classes increase—the public means are better attended; our Sunday schools are more than doubled, and a spirit of hearing generally prevails. And I feel the more grateful for all this, as I have all along expected that a seven years’ residence among them would produce a listlessness and indifference bordering on satiety; but, though this term is now attained within a few days, yet there seems no want of attention and no diminution in interest. The hearts of the dear people are still given to me, and, as such, they still bear with and love me. And if old things are said in their hearing, they appear to come home to them with a new power, and that power I would gratefully acknowledge is from above: to the grace, therefore, of my Redeemer, I would ascribe the praise. And I do still cherish a hope that, so long as he shall be pleased to continue me here, he will graciously command that the barrel of meal shall not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail; that neither matter nor unction shall be wanting in my humble ministrations. Humble they, indeed, are and always will be: the little treasure which I bear, is in an earthen, a cracked earthen vessel. But I hope I am still content, so long as the excellency of the power may be seen of God and not of man. Here, my dear friend, is the grand point—we nothing; Christ all. Oh, blessed feeling! Never are we so truly happy as when we most fully realize it.

We all unite in kind love to yourself and Mrs. A., and I remain,

My dear Friend,

Yours ever sincerely, G. M.

The friend to whom the following extract of a letter to the editor refers, was one whom Mr. Mortimer had strongly urged to turn his attention towards the service of the sanctuary. The extract exhibits so beautiful a picture of a good man that I cannot prevail upon myself to omit it, and yet, not to offend the retiring feelings of the excellent individual alluded to—he being yet alive—I suppress his name, though to himself and some few of his friends the name will not be unknown. I hope he will forgive me this wrong which I have committed for the sake of others. In a note which the editor received from this gentleman, forwarding to him several of the letters which he had received from Mr. Mortimer, he says,

“‘In honour preferring one another,’ seemed to be one of his (Mr. M.’s) constant rules of action. For myself, I may most unaffectedly say, that while I feel grateful to God for the affection of such a friend for so many years, I equally feel my own utter unworthiness of such a privilege and blessing.”

“Two evenings ago, I received a letter from my excellent friend, —, late of —. He has at length applied for orders, and was admitted deacon, two Sundays since, by the venerable Bishop of Norwich. Mr. Horne of Christ Church, Newgate-street, whose work on the Scriptures you have no doubt seen reviewed, was admitted by the Bishop of London three years since, and these two together with myself were a trio of friends meeting in Mr. Butterworth’s class. Orders were at one time the furthest from all our thoughts, and yet have we been gradually led forward, and the third has at length joined us in the blessed and honourable employ. I much regret that he did not break through his snares and impediments when, about seven years ago, I strongly urged him to the point; for he would then have not only spent seven more years in the more immediate work of the sanctuary, but would have saved himself many painful exercises and many severe losses.

* * * * *

“But oh, how I admire the man! If he shone in prosperity, how much more in adversity! No murmur ever escapes him. He does, indeed, glorify his God in the fires. His altered circumstances make no alteration in the man, unless, indeed, they have induced greater spirituality of mind, more complete deadness to the world, and more unreserved surrender of all his affections and powers to the service of his God. But here I am backward to speak; for he shone so conspicuously before, that I find it difficult to determine which is stronger of the two lights, both so strong that few could bear with them a momentary comparison. Oh, may our lights, my dear friend, so shine in every alteration of our circumstances, that we also may, like him, bring glory to our God!”

At the beginning of the year 1823, it pleased God to deprive the church of the valuable labours’ of the Rev. John Eyton, Vicar of Wellington, to whom Mr. Mortimer was exceedingly attached. About seven weeks before his removal, he left home with the intention of wintering at the Isle of Wight, but the weather becoming very cold he was obliged to remain at Portsmouth. The children being all at home, he did not wish Mrs. Eyton to accompany him; but a few days before his death, she received an intimation that he wished to see her, and though she set off the very day she received this information, she did not arrive till some hours after his departure. In reference to this painful event, Mr. Mortimer, in a letter to his sister, says,

“The death of Mr. Eyton has filled us with a degree of consternation and surprise which I find it difficult to express. In what a changing world do we live, and how many evils does that part of our punishment “death” introduce among us. Prayer seems at present our only refuge, especially with regard to his bereaved people. The delicate and very difficult duty of preaching the funeral sermon has been assigned to me: the flesh would dispose me to decline were I to attend to its dictates; but I dare not listen. I owe so much to my endeared and highly honoured friend, that I feel I must proceed. Let me, however, entreat the assistance of your prayers.”

Some time during last year Mr. Mortimer was induced to undertake the editorship of a monthly publication for young persons. He refers to this engagement in the following letter:—

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Madeley, Feb. 13, 1823.

My dear Brother,

I am obliged to you for thinking of me in reference to my monthly engagements. I can hardly expect that you should enter with any very lively interest into this matter, though, I can assure you, your kind assistance would prove a very acceptable service both to myself and my readers; nor would the time be altogether lost, if the matter were considered in sole reference to yourself; at least I should so conclude, from what I have observed with respect to my own mind and habits, and I very greatly regret that, for so many years, I suffered my feelings to prevail over my better judgment, and cause me to neglect the throwing in of my mite into some channel of usefulness. But I do not blame others, knowing how very unwillingly I was pressed into the service myself. I do not expect that my friends should, by any touch of my poor leaden wand, start into active and willing contributors. Had I Orpheus-like powers, the trees and stones might follow me; but I possess none of these magical or touchingly persuasive means, and therefore, though, as a point of duty, I every now and then turn an entreating eye, and raise a feeble supplicating voice, both the priest and the Levite are afraid of messing themselves in my poor concerns, and prudently pass over to the other side. I would not, however, ungratefully involve all in this sweeping and indiscriminate crimination. A Samaritan or two have kindly pitied me, and for their equally unexpected and unwearied act of friendship, I feel myself peculiarly indebted. But why all this enumeration? Should I not honestly confess that it is not altogether without reference to yourself? I am not a stranger to my good brother’s Samaritan-like feelings, and a distant hope is cherished by me, that he will yet pour in of his truly welcome supplies.

T. L., I should think, would at present pass quite as good an examination as his brother B., but I would not recommend him to be over hasty in applying for orders, nor indeed does he feel thus disposed himself. Young men, I think, sadly err in this matter; they hasten into the ministry far too soon, and repent of their haste all through their subsequent years. But perhaps it is hardly fair to ascribe all the blame to them: it originates, in great part, with those who bear the expense of their education, and who are glad of the first opportunity which presents itself of getting them off. But T. L. supports himself, and, therefore, the burden and the advantage both fall, as they ought, upon the same individual, and he so feels the desirableness of improving the present time, that he prefers waiting a little longer. Another pupil who is reading with me, a very nice young man, supports himself in a similar way; and I do not intend, for the future, to superintend the studies of any who do not, in some way or other, pursue the same method. And

I remain, my dear Brother,

Yours very affectionately, G. M.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Madeley, Feb. 5, 1824.

My dear Thomas,

*******

Matters proceed among us pretty much as usual. My people are kind, our congregations good, classes very fair, and attendance on the weekly expositions pleasingly increasing. As to myself, I can say but little; sometimes I am enabled to live in the spirit of the petition,

“Each moment draw from earth away My heart, which lowly waits thy call;”

and then my peace flows smooth and tranquil as a river; then all my affections take their proper channel, and are directed to a holy spiritual end. But, alas! too generally I find my feelings and conduct better characterized by complaint than exultation, and have too much reason to say,

“Yet hind’rances strew all the way; I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.”

But I still keep fixing my eye upon the beauteous light, even when furthest from it, and most ardently do I sigh after its most blessed repose. Well, perhaps, after all my failures, I may still become habitually possessed of it; and indeed without it, I feel that I shall never enjoy anything like true and substantial rest. A minister without the inward grace, and that also in a more than usual measure, is of all others a character most to be pitied—I mean of all other Christians; for in order to instruct others, he must of course be more advanced in knowledge, and consequently will be called to a far stricter account. Besides, the whole routine of his employments, carrying with them the exterior of sanctity, are apt to impress, not only others, but himself also, with fallacious hopes respecting the safety of his state. The constant repetition also of his duties has a strong tendency to render the spiritual impression on himself less and less vivid, till at length the pious feeling, in many instances, is entirely absent, and he detects himself half hypocritically acting or performing a part, attempting to raise emotion in others to which he is so much a stranger himself. These, my dear brother, are our snares—at least they are mine; but I hope I not only perceive them, but am watching against them. And my comfort is, that amidst all my consciousness of weakness, it is still my privilege to rely on an all-sufficient Saviour.

You kindly speak in your letter of your being able to assist me in my editorial labours, by furnishing me with accounts connected with the different societies. I fear, however, that the work will not proceed beyond the present volume. Its sale, I am thankful to state, has increased since it was placed in my hands, and is still increasing; but it will not cover the attendant expenditure—at least not so much so, as to make it worth the publisher’s while to continue. Its discontinuance, however, will prove no great loss to me. I edit the numbers of the present volume for £2. 10s. a number, and, when my monthly expenses are deducted, I have only about £1 each remaining. My object, however, is not gain, but a desire of being in some way useful; and as a work of the kind seems desirable, I shall feel a little regret that it should cease. But perhaps, after it stops, some London bookseller will venture upon something of a similar kind, and, if so, it will then, in all probability, succeed. * * * * * We all unite in sincerest love to yourself, Mrs. T. M., and my dear niece, and

I remain, my dear Thomas,

Your affectionate Brother, George Mortimer.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Madeley, Dec. 1, 1824.

My dear Brother,

* * * * * * *

I am afraid, from your intimations respecting your being in quest of a morning service, that Mr. Pratt has failed in substantiating his claim; if so, I shall be much concerned. Retired from the emoluments of a former occupation, he will possibly feel this diminution in point of income; but for such a servant in the house of our God, I trust that not mere adequacy, but even the munificence of our merciful Lord, is in abundant reserve.

You inquire concerning my health. It has been far from well ever since my return from G—, strong as I seemed while there; no sooner did I enter upon my parochial duties, than I began to fail, and in about a fortnight, I was nearly as ill as ever. This induced me to lay the whole matter before Mr. Burton, and to request him to relieve my mind with an assurance that, in case I should be under the necessity of leaving, he would kindly indulge the parishioners with a suitable person in my stead. His kindness has removed my difficulties, and left me at full liberty to leave my work in more efficient hands. I have had an application for the curacy from a gentleman who strikes me as being very suitable, and Mr. Burton has accepted of his services. One difficulty, however, is in the way. He holds a living in the diocese of Worcester; but, being peculiarly circumstanced, he expects that the bishop will permit him to hold it in conjunction with Madeley, and to divide his time between them, his curate sharing the twofold duty with him. Should his application to the bishop not succeed, he has recommended to me another person, who seems equally eligible with himself; but with this latter person I have had no communication.

As to myself, I am of course in uncertainty; but I feel confident, that as I have hitherto been guided by the wisdom and goodness of my condescending God, so he will still point out to me the way in which I should go.

You speak of the mine of paper and print, and, like too many others, comfort yourself with considering that your work is but a little one. But good, my brother, beware, beware! Three services on a Sabbath, occasional weekly ministrations, and numerous official employments, should almost entirely exclude every kind of preparation for the press. With kindest love &c,

Believe me, my dear Thomas,

Your ever affectionate Brother, George.

In the spring of 1825, Mr. Mortimer visited his London friends, one of whom writes as follows:—

“Your dear brother appeared so full of love and tenderness, and, at the same time, so interested himself in everything that appeared to interest us, that we could not help wishing for a much longer enjoyment. I heard him preach but once: his sermon was truly edifying. I will transcribe a brief outline of it, as you may find it a word of consolation in some season of sorrow. Matt. xv. 28, ‘O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’ The advantages resulting from strong faith were pointed out in four important particulars; viz.—I. It yields to no discouragement. II. It bears and even overcomes the most humiliating discoveries. III. It receives the strongest marks of the Saviour’s approbation. IV. It is put into eventual possession of every needful good. Each of these points was marked out as strikingly illustrated in this affecting and interesting narrative.”

His brother, the Rev. Thomas Mortimer, has kindly furnished me with the following communication respecting the same sermon:—

“On Sunday, the 27th March, 1825, my beloved brother preached for me at my lecture at St. Olave’s, Southwark. I shall never forget that sermon. Being the only church at that time usually open in the Borough for Sunday evening service, there was generally a large attendance, and that evening the church was crowded. On entering the pulpit, my brother’s diminutive figure excited attention; and, in some, produced a smile. When, however, he had composed himself in the pulpit, his fine countenance, beaming with intelligence, evidently inspired some with respect, who, at first, had looked up with indifference, if not with scorn. His announcement of his text was most solemn and yet most tender; ‘O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’ From that moment the silence of death reigned; and, after a few minutes, every eye seemed fixed upon the preacher, and every ear listening to his voice. The scoffer soon discovered that the preacher was no ordinary man: the candid inquirer felt interested in the subject: the timid and weak believer took courage: and the mourner drank in the water of life, with the eagerness of the thirsty soul. Many a time, during subsequent years, have the tenderest and most grateful reference been made to that sermon by those who were accustomed to converse with me on the great concerns of their souls. Though nearly twenty years have rolled away since that memorable night, the recollection of my beloved brother, of the touching words that fell from his lips, and the ‘unction of the Holy One,’ which evidently attended them, is still vivid and delightful, and will, I doubt not, accompany me to my grave.”

Intimation has already been given, in a letter to his brother, of Mr. Mortimer’s entertaining thoughts of leaving Madeley, owing to the declining state of his health. The following several letters refer to that event and to arrangements for filling up his important post in that parish.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Yardley, near Birmingham, Sept. 12, 1825.

My dear Friend,

Your very kind and acceptable letter reached me three or four weeks since; and I should have answered it much earlier had I not been in some uncertainty as to my proximate movements; and I thought I would wait till something definite should have transpired. I have been here very nearly seven months, and was thinking of returning to Madeley in about a month from the present time; but it is now arranged that we should continue here till the middle of February. From what you mention in your letter, I should suppose that you have been informed that I had left Madeley altogether, but this is not the case; I have only exchanged duties with the vicar of this place, who has been, like myself, out of health for some months past, and who thought that a complete change of sphere and situation would prove beneficial to him. He and his family, therefore, reside in the vicarage at Madeley, and myself and family here; both of us having left our furniture, library, &c., &c., for each other’s accommodation. The duties in this place being light, as compared with Madeley, and the air exceedingly salubrious, I have found great benefit from the change, and am pretty nearly as well as I was before I began to fail; the whole of my family, also, have found their health considerably improved; so that in this point of view we have reason to be thankful for the exchange. And I hope, also, that the change of ministrations will be beneficial to both our parishes. I hear of an increased attention being produced at Madeley, and I ought to acknowledge with gratitude the acceptance with which I am favoured here.

You mention in your letter that your engagement in your present curacy will terminate early in 1827. I read that part of your letter to Mr. Gwyther (the gentleman with whom I have exchanged duties), who was over here a few days ago, and he said, “Could we not contrive between us to keep the curacy open for Mr. C. till he should be able to take it?”

Our present arrangement will, if we are spared, bring us to the middle of February, 1826, which is only a year short of the time when you will be released from your present charge. Now, if we could manage so as to supply till then, would you like to undertake the charge of the parish, provided the incumbent would admit you, which, from what I have lately ascertained, I think could easily be managed? Since I saw you I have engaged with an assistant, but merely pro tempore; the expense of which is to be principally borne by the parishioners. The sum allowed to him will be £100 a year; towards which I myself give £30, on condition of being occasionally absent, should my health require it, at the sea or elsewhere. The value of my curacy is full £100 a year besides the house. You will perceive, then, that matters are now made much easier for you, should you think of fixing your lot among the Madeley people, and I am confident that the arrangement would be highly gratifying to them.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Yardley, February 21, 1826.

My dear Friend,

Though I fully intended to have answered your very kind letter within the time that you specified, yet, as it bears date October 15, I find that I have exceeded the proposed interval by more than a month. So much for my friendship. Had it been a letter on business, I have little hesitation in saying that it would have been duly despatched; and, had there been a dozen of this kind, I think I might venture to assert the same. But my friends, and those also the most intimate and endeared, are too generally neglected; and many are the kind reproofs which my remissness thus draws upon me. You, indeed, my dear friend, have, in silence, borne with all; and this ought to have made me more cautious in giving you fresh occasions of pain. But nothing seems of sufficient influence to correct the inveteracy of my habit; and, therefore, I must still, I fear, keep confessing my reiterated faults, and as often keep throwing myself upon the kind forgiveness and forbearance of my friends.

I am still, as you will perceive from my date, at Yardley, and, from a fresh arrangement, our exchange will be prolonged from March till the latter end of July next. Nothing has as yet been done about an assistant curate for Madeley. About a fortnight ago, I was congratulating myself on the acquisition of a very desirable fellow-helper, the Rev. A. B—, who had consented to join with me in the duties of the parish, and had engaged the residence of our late departed friend Mrs. E—; but some obstacles have since arisen, so that I fear we shall now lose him. Should he decline, I shall not be over anxious in making any permanent arrangement with any one else until my return in July, by which time I should hope you will be able to speak somewhat more definitely as to your own movements, as there will be only about six months to the time of your own projected removal. The impediments which have been thrown in the way of every negotiation which I have entered into for so many months past, incline me to think that it is more than possible the situation may, after all, be reserved for my endeared friend. But of the future how little, or rather, how completely nothing, are we permitted to know; and if we busy ourselves in the shrewdest guesses, or the most cool and sober calculations, how generally are we disappointed! It is our wisdom, therefore, to be more occupied with the duties which more immediately devolve upon us at the present, than with speculations about the probabilities of more remote and distant periods.

In the foregoing page, I mentioned the name of dear Mrs. E—, and I had no sooner done this than the recollection of all that transpired between us, during your short visit to us at Madeley, passed vividly through my mind. What a painful winding up of W— matters! But yet, in many respects, how merciful! * * * With respect, however, to the endeared individual so lately severed from her important charge, I have nothing to say, but what is encouraging: most clearly, most satisfactorily, had she been latterly ripening for that blessed world of spirits. And as to the dear family which she has left behind, “let us not sorrow as those without hope.” They are beloved by many for their parent’s sake, and, in a qualified use of the term, we may, perhaps, state the same respecting their parent’s faithful and condescending God. For He will, no doubt, remember them peculiarly for good, and that for their parent’s sake; for the good inheritance of their anxious desires and their holy fervent prayers, will, sooner or later, be abundantly possessed. We were truly thankful to hear of dear Mrs. C—’s gradual amendment in health; and though it may not be commensurate with our naturally impatient and restless desires, yet every increase of so invaluable a blessing should call forth our grateful praise. We beg to unite in very kindest and Christian regards to her, yourself, and family, and I remain,

My dear Friend,

Yours very sincerely, George Mortimer.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Yardley, June 20, 1826.

My dear Brother,

From what you must have perceived of the evident inclining of my mind while you were here, you will not be much surprised at the contents of the accompanying circular. I have long paused, and, I hope, deliberately weighed, as well as sincerely prayed, and now I must leave the result in the overruling hands of an all-wise and ever-gracious God. This I am thankful to state, that I am at present enabled to do, with a measure of calm and peaceful reliance, which I did not at all anticipate.

TO THE INHABITANTS OF MADELEY.

Yardley, June 19, 1826.

My much-endeared Parishioners,

When I left Madeley, in consequence of the delicate state of my health, I had fully intended to have rejoined you in a few months. Various circumstances, however, induced me to accept the proposals made at different times by Mr. Gwyther, for lengthening the period of our exchange: and now that this period is nearly terminated, I regret to be under the necessity of stating, that I feel so strongly my total inadequacy to resume my wonted station among you, that I dare not venture upon it.

My health has indeed, through the blessing of God, upon the diminution of my parochial duties, been considerably amended. It is the opinion, however, of all my more intimate friends, that, should I return to my charge, I shall in a few weeks sink under the pressure of those numerous parochial cares and duties which before so materially injured me. I have, therefore, felt constrained to resign my situation; and have just written to Mr. Burton, stating to him, that I shall vacate the Curacy at Michaelmas next.

I have not mentioned to him anything respecting my successor, leaving a matter so materially affecting yourselves to your own superior judgment. I hope, however, that the principal inhabitants of the parish will lose no time in making a proper application to him; and from the repeated proofs which I have had of his kind feeling towards you, I have no doubt but that he will comply with any request which they may see fit to make to him.

As to my own future movements I am altogether ignorant. I trust, however, that the same gracious God, who guided my steps among you, will still appoint for me my future path: and with regard to yourselves, a people who will never cease to be remembered by me with feelings of the strongest affection, I do most sincerely pray that a pastor may be given to you who shall, in all respects, answer your most sanguine wishes: and thus supply my own numerous and often-lamented deficiencies.

Believe me to remain,

Your very affectionate though unworthy Minister,

George Mortimer.

The above was also sent to his friend, the Rev. John Cooper, accompanied by the following letter:—

Yardley, June 26, 1826.

My dear Friend,

I feel that I ought not any longer to keep you in ignorance of my recent decision respecting Madeley, though from what my brother has told me as to inquiries made for you in London, I have no expectation of the situation being really desirable to you. Nor, indeed, if it were so, would the time of your leaving your present charge admit of your accepting it; for some one will, no doubt, be immediately engaged, and to whom I would surrender as soon as might be required. Our own movements, as I have expressed in the accompanying circular, are quite uncertain; my wife, however, seems strongly to incline towards the neighbourhood of Clifton, in which spot she wishes to be permanently established. It is probable, therefore, that we shall bend our steps thither, and when somewhat established I will try to obtain some light permanent duty in the neighbourhood. “Que Dieu nous dirige,” is the frequent aspiration of my too solicitous mind—too solicitous; for if I knew all the gracious intentions of a God of love concerning us, I should peacefully leave everything to his all-wise disposal, without the least degree of restlessness or fear.

With respect to dear Madeley, I need scarcely add, that should you know any one who strikes you as being suitable, and to whom the situation would be agreeable, I should feel obliged by your mentioning it to him, and getting him to communicate with Mr. G— on the subject.

We beg our very kindest and Christian regards to yourself and Mrs. C, and, with much affection,

Believe me, my dear Friend,

Yours very sincerely, G. M.

After receiving the above with its enclosed circular, Mr. Cooper wrote to his friend as follows:—

Wherwell, June 29, 1826.

My dear Friend,

I was not prepared for the intelligence contained in your very kind letter of the 26th, having hoped, from the improvement of your health at the date of your previous letter, that you would shortly return to your important charge at Madeley, and that you might have continued there many years, an instrument of blessing others, and being increasingly blessed yourself in your work. But, I doubt not, all is well and wisely ordered, and will add my affectionate though feeble prayers that you may be divinely directed in all things.

Your letter, the end of February last, left it doubtful, whether Mr. A. B— might not have finally determined to become your assistant in the parish; and, prior to your last favour, I was looking to hear from you next month, to know how this matter had terminated, in order that I might judge whether the expectation of being associated with you, which I had not entirely relinquished, might not be realized. I now beg to state, that, owing to the inquiries of a beloved clerical brother, two curacies have been offered to me within the present month, both of which I have declined. And now, my dear friend, I put it to you, whether you think Madeley is such a post as would suit one with such slender ministerial qualifications as I deeply feel that I possess; and whether you think your parishioners would be disposed to receive me favourably? If you do, I leave myself in God’s hand and yours, desiring that He may do with me as seemeth good in His sight; and requesting you to take such steps as you may judge proper. The difficulty as to the time of resigning my present cure may probably be got over soon after Michaelmas; my vicar having said, when last I saw him, that he would release me on reasonable notice, if anything eligible should be offered to me: still I wish to remain in my present sphere as long as I conveniently can. Having said thus much, I will only add that Madeley has been regarded by me for many years as a spot peculiarly sacred; it is still more endeared to me by the consideration that my beloved and highly esteemed friend has been labouring for ten years in that favoured scene of the apostolical Fletcher’s ministry.

I wait with interest, but not with any anxiety, to hear from you the result of my present communication. Believe me ever,

My dear Friend,

Yours very affectionately, John Cooper.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Yardley, July 11, 1826.

My dear Brother,

You will be glad to hear that dear Cooper has expressed a wish to succeed me at Madeley; and, in consequence, an application has been made by myself and the parishioners on his behalf, which has been most favourably received, and Mr. Burton has nominated him to succeed me. Most truly thankful do I feel that it has pleased God to give to the dear people such a man. May he long be continued to them, and may very blessed days be still in reserve for that honoured spot.

My visit among them was highly gratifying to myself, and I hope I may say not unacceptable to them. I never witnessed in them such overflowings of kindest feelings, and, what I hardly anticipated, while they manifested affectionate regrets, I do not recollect a single instance in which they censured or chode; but, on the contrary, seemed to think that the step, though painful, was necessary.

Our own plans are still somewhat uncertain. We think, however, of moving towards Bristol, and of fixing somewhere within a mile or two of the city, and have written to George Yate to engage us a ready-furnished house for about a month. We expect to leave this place the 30th of August.

But I have said nothing of dear Mr. Butterworth’s removal, on which your last letter principally dwelt. I felt surprised and pained beyond my ordinary feelings on such occasions; for almost all that I possess spiritually, I owe, under God, to him. But after all, he is not lost to me, for I trust I shall rejoin him ere long; and, even during the short interval of apparent separation, who can tell how near he may still be to me, and how materially he may still be permitted to help me? But, however this may be, Jesus remains the same, and I trust that the removal of every endeared medium of good may be the means of uniting me more fully to Him.

Our kindest love to yourself and family, to my dear mother, Eliza, &c.; and I remain,

Your ever affectionate Brother, George.

The letter from which the following extract is made, is chiefly in reference to the providing means for an assistant-curate at Madeley; towards which, Mr. Mortimer proposed to furnish £10 per annum, and also a further sum of £10 per annum to aid the Curate’s Poor Fund, for relieving the sick and distressed poor of the populous parish of Madeley; and it is due to Mr. M.’s kindness and benevolence to state, that during the period of his friend’s curacy, he generously contributed each year the proposed amount for the poor; and for three years (during which time only an assistant curate was employed), the like sum towards the other object named.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Yardley, July 31, 1826.

My dear Friend,

Our way towards Bristol appears to be opening. A very singular circumstance connected with it has just occurred. It seems to us all to be too pantomimic—too magical—to be true. But yet, what cannot the God of wisdom and of love effect! We are striving to wait, as you expressed yourself in a former letter about Madeley, “with interest but without anxiety” to see the result. Oh, what a comfort it is to feel calmly assured that, while we are leaving ourselves in God’s hands, all must eventually be well. Mary unites with me in kindest regards to yourself and dear Mrs. C—, and

I remain, my dear Friend,

Yours, very sincerely, G. M.

TO THE SAME.

Horfield, near Bristol, October 18, 1826.

My very dear Friend,

Had not circumstances of various kinds interfered, you would ere this have seen me at Wherwell; but, as I had no control over these, and kept expecting that in a few more days I should be able to write to you definitely, I hope you will not too harshly censure me, when I tell you at length that my projected visit, like too many of my projections, has come to nothing, and that it will not be in my power to see you before you leave. But, after all, your removal is not to a distant country, and many may be the circumstances which the kind Providence of God shall permit for our future intercourse. You speak, indeed, of a kind of necessity for conference and consultation at the present juncture. Of this, however, I am far from being convinced; for I think a stranger always proceeds best with the least previous acquaintance with the minutiæ of characters and proceedings. A general idea is quite necessary; but everything that is circumstantial creates a prejudice either to the advantage or disadvantage of the parties concerned. The fresh unbiassed inspection brings us, for the most part, nearest the truth. Every one with whom I converse, who has any knowledge of you, joins with me in thankfulness to God that it has pleased Him to direct your steps to Madeley; most fully does it seem to have been, from beginning to end, from Him; to Him, therefore, may we ever give the praise. And may you, my much-endeared friend, be so fully qualified for your important charge; may the barrel of meal also granted for your dear people’s supply waste not, nor the cruse of oil fail; or, in other words, may matter and unction be so abundantly imparted, and so graciously continued, that the time may never come in which your ministrations may prove burdensome to yourself, or either uninteresting or unedifying to your hearers. With kindest regards, I remain,

Yours, ever affectionately, George Mortimer.

Mr. Mortimer’s life has now been brought down to the close of his services at Madeley, where he had been resident pastor for about ten years. In taking a review of this period, we find him to have abounded in the great duties of his office—in works of faith and labours of love. What with his Sunday duties, his classes, his expositions, his schools, his pastoral visits, and his manifold acts of charity and kindness to the poor, in a parish containing very nearly six thousand souls, with his weakly constitution, and by no means robust health, the wonder is that he was enabled to carry on so arduous a course for so long a time. Madeley has been long and highly favoured; it is to be hoped that the people have both appreciated and improved their privileges. Mr. Mortimer met with much kindness, encouragement, and acceptance in the diligent pursuit of his self-denying career in that parish, and the decade of his services there was no doubt attended with much usefulness, though the extent of it may never be known until the great day shall reveal it. He met also with much that was trying and perplexing to him; much to wound his loving spirit; much to grieve his affectionate heart; much to prove his faith and try his patience; but he neither flinched from duty, nor swerved from the line of conduct which became him as a minister of the Established Church; and, what is more, he treated neither opposition in the spirit of retaliation, nor opposers in a spirit of harshness or severity. He was eminently a man of peace, a man of love, a man of placability. The commencement of his services in the parish was attended with great difficulties. Considerable irregularities had been practised by his predecessors; in their steps, in this respect, he was determined not to tread; and though he felt himself bound to resist all entreaty on this subject, to the offending of many, yet was it his prayer, his study, his endeavour to conciliate all. His steady though moderate Churchmanship was, perhaps, always more or less a ground of offence in a parish which had long been under the influence of Methodism; but wherever good sense and piety prevailed his motives were respected, and his conduct appreciated.

It was on the manifestation of some unhallowed zeal of party spirit that the following addresses were printed and circulated in his parish, and which exhibit the very moderate and conciliatory spirit of their truly Christian author.

ADDRESS OF THE MINISTER OF MADELEY TO SUCH OF THE INHABITANTS OF COALBROOKDALE AND ITS VICINITY, AS DO NOT CONSIDER THEMSELVES MEMBERS OF THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH.

Vicarage, February 21, 1822.

My endeared Parishioners,

It has lately appeared to me an indispensable duty to visit more extensively my parish, and to devote myself more fully to other branches of my ministerial office. In the course of my visits I found a strong regret expressed by many, that it was not in their power to connect themselves either with me as their minister, or with the Established Church as their religious communion: and that this, their inability, arose principally from the great distance of the parish church from their respective abodes. This difficulty I have endeavoured partially to remove by beginning an exposition on alternate Monday evenings: [142] and I hope soon to be able still further to meet their wishes by assembling with them every other Sunday morning, on a plan similar to that now adopted at the Ironbridge school-room on the Sabbath evenings.

I feel a little apprehensive, however, lest these my proceedings should be considered by some as intentionally interfering with other modes and places of worship already adopted and attended in your neighbourhood; and lest my motives should be so far misconstrued, as to be identified with narrow-minded prejudice, or with intolerant hostility.

It should be remembered, however, that all persons have, and cannot help having, their preferences; and likewise, that these preferences may be openly shown by them, and even occasionally employed in influencing others, without the least hostility towards those who continue in another persuasion. And I can appeal with the greatest confidence to my own conduct during nearly seven years’ residence among you, as a proof of this assertion. For though I have uniformly shown a decided preference towards the Established Church, yet I am not aware of having discovered, in a single instance, the least opposition or hostility towards any individual of another communion, merely as such. Much, indeed, on my first coming into the parish, was unhappily advanced to the contrary; but I was determined to take no notice of such remarks, assured that they had no foundation in myself, and that, when my line of conduct should be better understood, they would gradually die away, and a different feeling be eventually adopted. This different feeling has, I am happy to state, long been cherished by many; and it was from a strong desire that nothing contrary to it should prevail in consequence of my present ministerial procedures, that I have been induced to send you this circular address.

Oh, let me then, as your minister, entreat you not to regard me with a misgiving or suspecting mind; but from the fulness of a loving and a Christian heart to wish and to supplicate for me abundant success. And be not hasty in censuring either myself or others for attachment to our venerable and established forms. Give to us what you feel entitled to demand for yourselves; I mean the right of preference. And amidst certain shades of difference, let brotherly love not only continue among us, but let it abound yet more and more. And with regard to myself, I do most sincerely pray God that no feeling may be cherished by me, no single expression uttered, and no conduct whatever pursued, which may, in any respect, tend to its diminution.

With feelings, then, of unfeigned affection, believe me, my much-endeared Parishioners,

Your sincerely devoted Friend and Minister,

George Mortimer.

ADDRESS OF THE MINISTER OF MADELEY TO THE INHABITANTS OF MADELEY WOOD AND ITS VICINITY.

Vicarage, March 23, 1822.

My endeared Parishioners,

The very kind reception given to the Address which I circulated among the inhabitants of Coalbrookdale and its vicinity, and the feelings of mutual love and affection it has been the means of eliciting, encourage me to hope that a similar appeal to yourselves will be attended with equally beneficial results.

The principal reason of my now addressing you, is, that I have very painfully witnessed, within the short space of two or three weeks, a great increase of party spirit arising from the measures recently adopted towards forming and carrying on a Sunday school separate and distinct from that which has so long been established among us. The natural consequences of such procedures, I am willing to hope, you did not sufficiently estimate, or I can hardly imagine you would so hastily, and at such a time, have adopted them. You are sensible, I think, that my wish is for peace; that my great desire is, that love may not only prevail, but abound more and more; and that I am striving to pursue that line of conduct, which, as a consistent minister of the Established Church, devolves upon me, so as not to give the least unnecessary offence to others. Permit me, then, to ask, whether these recent measures are at all likely to produce such pacific results? Do they not rather tend to range more decidedly than ever under distinct and separate parties, not only the superintendents and teachers, but likewise the parents of the children themselves? Do they not in some measure force persons to declare themselves on one side or other, and that not merely in opinion, but likewise in decisive action? And are not the individuals, thus compelled to declare themselves, regarded with suspicion by those who move in contrary directions? I would inquire, then, is all this calculated to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace? And are those individuals our best friends who are most earnest in this work of alienation? I mean no personal allusions, I assure you, to any individual among you: I hope I very sincerely love you all; and I wish that bonds of union may be multiplied, which may bring us closer and closer together, instead of these cords of separation which, drawing in other directions, will every day remove us to a greater and yet greater distance.

Permit me also to ask whether this is the time for such exertions? If indeed your minister were sleeping at his post; if he were lying down, and loving to slumber; if the schools happened to be on the decline in respect of numbers, or in regard to the insufficiency of superintendents or teachers; if scarcely anything were going forward adequate to the necessities of the parish; then, indeed, such exertions might be called for. But how contrary is all this to the real state of the case! It is at a time when the schools are so crowded as to render it impossible to instruct them in the usual place: it is at a time when, to afford greater facilities of instruction, the larger schools are being divided into twenty or thirty minor schools, and these so situated as to be almost at the door of every child in the parish, and so arranged as to admit of every one being taught who is capable of instruction. You will readily perceive, then, that the stir which is making at present, is by no means called for in the existing necessities of the case. To what, then, must it be attributed? It is commonly reported that it arises from a fear entertained by some, lest my present plans and procedures should attach too many children to the Established Church, and thus eventually make them Churchmen instead of Methodists. This reason, however, I feel I ought by no means to admit; for, whatever may be said of others, the Methodists of the parish of Madeley have long made it their boast that they were firm in their attachment to our venerable Church: and so strong has been their attachment, that the majority of them would never listen to any proposals of having their services so conducted as at all to interfere with the services of the church, and would never permit the sacrament to be administered in their chapels; and there are many who feel a secret satisfaction in being able to state, that they have never yet partaken of the sacred ordinance, excepting from a clergyman; and they are still determined that no one shall ever make this their consistent glorying to be in vain. [146] It is with peculiar satisfaction, that I consider my relation to such individuals; and I assure you, I rejoice over you as my parishioners; I point you out as an example to others; and I hope we shall never see the time when the parishioners, and more especially the spiritual sons and daughters of the venerable and apostolic Mr. Fletcher, shall cease to be identified with that Church of which he was so bright an ornament, as well as minister. I feel, therefore, that it would be the height of injustice to suppose, that the mass of such of my people as are termed Methodists have any fear of their children becoming members of the Established Church; nay, they would rather rejoice in it;—they rejoice in it even now;—and some of them go so far as even to recommend it. They tell their children, in the fulness of their Catholic spirit, that their own attachment to the people with whom they are joined, never arose from dissatisfaction to the Church, but from a natural love to the private means which their own people at that time so exclusively possessed. But they add, that as these same private means are now offered to them in connexion with the Established Church, they would advise them to join themselves with its respected members; and hence it is, that not a few among our classes are the sons and daughters of such honoured individuals. I say honoured, for who can withhold from such the proper meed of approbation; for such heal the breaches of our Zion, they build up its waste places; they repair the desolations of many generations.

I am aware, however, that the same extent of feeling is not cherished by all. Some prefer their own communion, their own instructors, and classes. But I have heard such with the greatest candour acknowledge, that their predilection arose merely from the circumstance that they happened to receive their first religious good among them; and that notwithstanding this their preference, they very highly respect the Church, and that they wish its ministers abundant success in their very important work. And this I am persuaded is the feeling of ninety-nine out of a hundred of the Methodists who compose my parish. The welcome they invariably give me when I enter their houses or cottages; the smile of approbation which brightens on their countenance when we exchange salutations as we pass; and the liberality which they discover in all points of possible difference whenever they are accidentally touched upon: all these things convince me that they have no hostility either to the Church or to myself, and of course that they would not willingly enter upon any plan which might have the least semblance of opposition.

To what, then, some will still ask, must these procedures connected with the schools be attributed? I feel, I confess, somewhat at a loss to determine. I hope, however, that they have arisen merely from a well-meant, though certainly an ill-timed, zeal—a zeal, likewise, which has a direct tendency, though not previously estimated, to promote disunion among us, and a diminution of loving Christian feelings. But whatever may have been the cause of these procedures, I do hope, that the serious evils which are beginning as a consequence to break forth, will not only be checked, but entirely subside; and that all parties, superintendents, teachers, and parents, will each in their respective stations be ready to show that they are not among the last to bring about so desirable an issue.

And now, with very sincere affection, believe me, my much-endeared Parishioners,

Your faithful Friend and Minister, George Mortimer.

The following simple narrative, related by his attached and faithful servant Fanny, also beautifully displays the very kind and earnest, though very decided, character of the excellent pastor of Madeley.

“Some of the beer shops at the Iron Bridge used to be kept open very late at night, and master was determined to put a stop to their being open later than ten o’clock. He used to go to them, and turn out all the men that were drinking in them after that time. This enraged some of these men so much, that they declared they would kill master; for they said, ‘they were determined that no parson should interfere with them.’ Some of master’s friends heard of this, and told him, and tried to persuade him not to go to the Iron Bridge the next night; and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas did not wish him to go; and we all begged him to stay at home that night; but he told us he was not at all afraid of the men, and when I said that they would be sure to do him some harm, he said, ‘Why, Fanny, they have no power over me to hurt me; the Almighty is above them.’ So master went to the public house, and saw the very men that had threatened to kill him, and he talked to them for a long time, and told them that they ought to have been at home with their families, and that he hoped he should never see them there again. He spoke so kindly, that they all listened to him, and never offered to hurt him; and when he had done talking to them, they told him, that they had fully determined to make an attack upon him that night, but that then they felt as if they had no power to hurt him. So master shook hands with them all, and then they all took off their hats and wished him ‘safe home,’ and ‘long life to him.’ And they were never there again after ten o’clock; and I think what master said to them then, did one or two of them so much good, that they afterwards became pious.”

Mr. Mortimer was equally desirous of putting a stop to the desecration of the Lord’s day by the bargemen on the River Severn, and, for this purpose, he tried every means to prevent the barges from sailing on the Sunday. In doing this, he experienced great opposition from some of the barge owners, who purposely, as it appeared, kept their vessels locked at Coalport at the latter end of the week, and released them on the Sunday. At length Mr. M. was compelled to take them before the magistrates, and have them fined, by which means he succeeded in entirely putting a stop to this desecration.

He exerted himself also to have the law enforced against keeping open the public houses and beer shops during the time of divine service.

He took pains to prevent the children from playing about the roads and fields on the Sunday, and to secure the orderly behaviour of the Sunday scholars in going to and returning from the Sunday schools. There were at one period six hundred children in the different schools in the parish of Madeley.

The class meetings consisted of six; one for women, conducted by Mrs. Mortimer, and the other five by Mr. M. Once a quarter, the six classes met at one place. Mr. Mortimer’s object in having these class meetings, though he evidently considered them as auxiliary to the public ordinances of religion, was to prevent the serious members of his congregation from joining the Methodists, which he had constantly found to be the case at Wellington.

The following token of affectionate esteem was, no doubt, very acceptable to the feelings of Mr. Mortimer, not so much from the worth of it, as from the motive which gave rise to it—a motive at once honourable to the hearts of the donors and to the character of the receiver. This token was a handsome octavo Bible, bound in morocco, inscribed on one side,

“To the Rev. George Mortimer, M.A. A Token of Christian Regard From the Male Class, meeting under his care at Lincoln-hill, 1817.”

And on the other side,

“With a sincere desire that the rich promises contained herein may be his consolation through life, and his support in death.”

The following anecdote may, perhaps, be more suitably introduced here than elsewhere, because, in all probability, it was during his residence at Madeley that the fact recorded took place, though it was not related to his daughter, who communicated it to me, before the winter of 1842–3, during a sleigh-drive with her father, while descending a hill, which was in a dangerous state, owing to its slipperiness and to there being no barrier on the one side which was the edge of a precipice.

“K— and I (and perhaps a third person, but I am not sure about that) were travelling from Wellington to Madeley in a post chaise. When we were about to descend a precipitous hill, something seemed to say to me, ‘Pray, you are in danger.’ I resisted the impression, and said to myself, it is all nonsense; I will not give way to superstitious fears. Again the warning was impressed on my mind, and I then paused and lifted up my heart in prayer to God. I had no sooner done so, than I heard the postillion contending with his horses, which were plunging into the hedge on one side of the road; then they dashed to the other side, and it appeared as though we should have been precipitated over the side of the hill; but we reached the bottom in safety. I then said to K—, ‘I will tell you what has been passing in my mind,’ and related to him all the circumstances. K— then told me, that just at the same time, as he supposed from my description of the spot, the same thing was suggested to his mind, and that at first he repelled the suggestion, but afterwards yielded to it; but that he had not the honesty to confess the circumstance till I had done so. I know K— well, and feel perfectly assured that he would tell me nothing but the truth; and from the remarkable circumstance of the suggestion being made to the minds of both of us, I cannot, but believe it was an intimation from above of our danger and of the necessity of prayer. For, although his angels are always at hand to succour us in danger, yet God has been pleased to make prayer a necessary means for obtaining their aid. When I am in my grave, tell this for the benefit of others as an encouragement to prayer.”

My dear young friend and god-daughter adds, “I was very much impressed by the charge with which my dear father concluded, and, that I might be the better able to fulfil it, I wrote down the whole relation when I returned home, of which the above is a copy.”

I very gladly comply with a hope expressed by Mr. Mortimer’s eldest daughter that I will insert in the memoir of her dear father, a letter addressed to her by him when she was about ten years of age; and, as it was written during his residence at Madeley, I insert it here before we take leave of that place:—

“We returned to Madeley on the evening of last Thursday week; and I am thankful to state that we have all of us received considerable benefit from our journey. Your brothers and sisters seemed to enjoy themselves exceedingly. The latter part of the time we were joined by your uncle, who spent about eight days with us; and having hired a car for that time capable of holding eight or nine persons, we were enabled to see all that was worth seeing in the neighbourhood. We often wished that you and C— had been with us in our excursions; but more particularly while we were going over the castle of Aberconway, for it struck us as conveying one of the most perfect ideas of both the extent and uses of a castle of any we could recollect to have seen. The town also is surrounded by a strong and turretted wall, and gives a good notion of a walled city, such as we read of as connected with former times.

“We greatly prefer Glan y don to Barmouth. It is about six miles from Abergeley, in Denbighshire, North Wales. It is situated in a delightful recess termed Llandrillo Bay, and the scenery all around is picturesque in the extreme. Such a pleasing combination of the sublime and beautiful I have seldom seen. The sea-shore, however, after all, presented us with the chief attractions. I collected and fixed the names of many of our English shells, and that also in a state far more perfect than before. I began also a collection of marine plants. These I shall have pleasure in showing to you when you return home. You will be surprised, perhaps, when I tell you that they amount to upwards of sixty different sorts, and these are exceedingly few in comparison of those I should have met with had we been there a longer time, or had we waited for the equinoctial winds, which, perhaps you know, bring the greatest quantity of marine substances to the shore, tearing them from the rocks to which they adhere and grow.

“A— begins to learn the names of a few of the more common shells, and was much pleased with making an incipient collection. He has purchased some plain cards, and, after dividing them by pencil marks into regular departments, he pasted his specimens upon them; and I think you will say, they look tolerably well.

“Your aunt — stopped with us about a fortnight after you left us, and I accompanied her up to London. The only coach, which we could with any convenience go by, was principally occupied by nine convicts, who were being conveyed from Shrewsbury to London, previous to transportation; and, during the night, two of them were in the coach with your aunt and myself. These were two of the most noted pickpockets belonging to a Shrewsbury gang, and, as you will readily suppose, we were not at first much disposed to relish their company. But, as they were ironed and exceedingly well-behaved, we soon got reconciled to them, and were not a little interested in the observation of this novel description of character. It presented, however, a melancholy admixture of ingenuity and depravity.

“You will be sorry to hear that during our absence at the sea, poor Mr. P— died. He dropped down suddenly while standing in the rope-walk, and never spoke afterwards. He was advanced in years and his death was expected; but still, in such an uncertain world as this, who can be secure? May we all be fully prepared when our summons shall arrive.

“You inquire concerning H. He began his letters while we were at Glan y don; but I cannot say any great things as to his proficiency. Within these few days we have permitted him to dine at our table, and he has behaved so very well that we intend he should continue to do so for the future. L. and P., for nearly a month past, have been introduced to our morning family prayer, and I am happy to state that they conduct themselves with much propriety.”

After spending about eighteen months at Yardley, near Birmingham, exchanging duties with the vicar of that parish, Mr. Mortimer finally left Madeley and removed to Clifton, August 30, 1826; but the situation not being in accordance with his retired habits, he took a house at Horfield, whither he removed on the 10th of October of the same year. From this place was written the letter of which the following is an extract, bearing date, January 17, 1827.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG, BUENOS AYRES.

From my brother, who joined us here the day after the arrival of your letter, I was rejoiced to find that Mrs. Armstrong and your family had arrived in safety; for though your frequent voyages must have familiarized you in some degree to danger, yet we who encounter nothing beyond the minor and comparatively trivial perils by land, feel a something approaching to wondering gratitude at your seemingly hairbreadth escapes. But possibly I misjudge my endeared friend. The observation which he has thus had “of the works of the Lord and of his wonders in the deep” has called forth his augmented tribute of praise. And I trust that being once more surrounded by his dear family, his comforts will thicken around him, and his sun of prosperity will become brighter and brighter, and that, if consistent with the divine will, it may set again no more.

By the commencement of my letter, you will perceive that I have been wandering as well as yourself; and, considering the difference of our locomotive powers, I am almost disposed to regard my own movements as the most astonishing. Madeley I have entirely given up, and left in the hands of my dear friend Cooper, than whom, I know not any one more suited to the place. He is, I find, very acceptable. I can say but little at present of myself: for my first object in settling here was the health of myself and family, which has already, I am thankful to say, been considerably improved. And now I am waiting for the first eligible employment which shall present itself in Bristol, that my renewed health and strength may be devoted to the glory of Him who has mercifully restored them, and to the benefit, I trust, of those around me. But though I have not as yet any settled employment, I am almost constantly engaged twice on the Sabbath, and, were I not resolutely to refuse, I should frequently be requested to take a third service.

TO THE SAME.

Horfield, near Bristol, May 23, 1827.

My much-endeared Friend,

For with these appellations I must address you, though the long intervals which I suffer to transpire between my addresses may perhaps induce the suspicion that they are not the legitimate expressions of the heart. But as this is the general, not to say the universal, character of my correspondence, and as you must, by this time, have had sufficient opportunities of discovering my weak points, I will comfort myself with the hope, that though you find me tardy, yet that you will not regard me as insincere.

Your letter of the 18th of August last was conveyed, I presume, through some private hand, and did not reach me till some months after its date. It contained, as you will perhaps recollect, the painful accounts of the bereavements which you have lately been called to endure, in the loss of your two most beloved daughters; and to one of your disposition and habits—one so affectionate, and domestic, and in every sense paternal—the dispensation must have been one of no ordinary suffering; and yet so sweetly do the feelings of the true Christian combine with those of the sorrowing parent, that I almost envy you the power which you so blessedly possess; an attainment to which I look up, when I consider it in reference to yourself, with admiring gratitude; but which, when I advert to, in contrast to my own imperfect and limited experience, humbles me in the dust. Hitherto, indeed, I have had but little affliction in my family; yet that little has not been borne with that meek and patient submission—with that deadness to the world and that detachment from the creature—which ought to characterize the child of God. But if I so readily faint in the day of comparatively minor sorrows, how can I be expected to stand in the day of increased and lengthened suffering—the evil day, asked for by Satanic malignity, and rendered but too necessary in order to bring before me the latent evils of my own unsanctified heart? Still, however, the divine panoply has been mercifully provided; and what should hinder me from becoming strong in the Lord and in the power of his might? I will therefore hope in his mercy. I will expect, that should sufferings await me, such as those with which my endeared friend has been visited, I may still be enabled to glorify my God in the day of my visitations; and then all will be well. For sanctified sorrow not only loses all its pungent and corrosive, and deadly qualities, and thus leaves our neutralized minds in the possession of calm and settled peace; but it has reference also to that happy and eternal state above, where all our light and momentary afflictions shall be succeeded by that inconceivable weight of glory which shall suffer neither diminution nor end.

Mr. Mortimer’s next engagement in the duties of his sacred office, was at St. Mary le Port, Bristol, first undertaken temporarily during the serious illness of the regular minister, the Rev. Thomas Grinfield, which lasted for some months, and afterwards sharing the services with him for a year, before his going to the curacy of Hutton. He entered upon this duty for the first time, on Sunday, December 10, 1826, and continued in the discharge of it until the end of September, 1828. In this sphere he seems to have laboured with peculiar pleasure, acceptance, and usefulness; his talents as a preacher appear to have been better appreciated, and his services more valued, than in any other situation that he filled either before or afterwards; and, speaking after human judgment, I cannot help regretting that ever he felt it to be his duty to leave a field of so much promise, and one which he was so well calculated to improve and cultivate; and, if I do not greatly mistake, his own mind was not entirely free from feelings of regret on this subject. Of his adaptation to the place and of the benefits resulting from his ministry there, he was not himself insensible. He thus writes to his sister, Mrs. Holland, August 5, 1828:—