LIFE AND LETTERS. (continued 4)

“In my ministerial duties it has pleased the Lord to give me a degree of acceptance among my present charge which I was never favoured with before. At Madeley, indeed, the attendance was good, and as much of interest was kept up and spiritual benefit conveyed, as kept my naturally anxious and misgiving mind from quite sinking; but in Bristol it has been far otherwise. The attendance at church has greatly increased; the affection of the people seems to be given me in an unusual degree; and I do hope the blessing of the Lord keeps bringing home the word with power to their hearts.”

He makes reference also to his labours at St. Mary le Port, in a letter to the Rev. John Cooper, in terms which sufficiently indicate his own feelings and sentiments, and which are plainly expressive of his own judgment upon a comparative view of his services at Bristol with those performed elsewhere.

Hutton, near Cross, Somersetshire, Feb. 4, 1829.

My much-endeared Friend,

I am quite ready to acknowledge my faults; and lest, through forgetfulness, I should in a similar manner offend in this instance also, I am determined to despatch my communication at once. You kindly allude to gratification received from this source in time past. Such hints coming even from an indifferent quarter, always frighten me; they make me fancy that something will of course be expected for the future; and knowing so fully the mere business-like strain in which I am generally accustomed to write, and my want of spirituality when I touch upon serious subjects, I have such a shrinking, not to say horror and dread of letters of mere friendship, that while intending to pay my just and lawful debts in this department, I keep insensibly postponing their discharge, till I fancy my answers would be out of date, and would fain sit down with a quiet and contented mind. Creditors, however, are those merciless kind of beings that it is no easy matter to escape out of their hands, and ever and anon some upbraiding or threatening communication appears in due form before me. Not, however, that I could be so wanting in urbane feelings, as to speak in such terms of Madeley despatches; they are, of course, the merest and most gentle of all mementos—all lapses of time are so graciously overlooked, and the most unblushing halts on the part of the most notorious offender are rather implied than expressed. You will therefore be kindly pleased to accept my most humble and grateful acknowledgments for such unmerited mercy; and hoping for ever to profit by such benignity, I now beg leave to conclude my lengthened exordium.

As you appear to have seen my good friend Y—, you have no doubt heard from him most of the particulars connected with my recent change. I do, indeed, most fully believe, that I am in the spot to which I have been most evidently directed of the Lord; and in respect to outward comfort and suitableness of employment, I suppose I should hardly find another situation equally eligible; but, after all, I cannot help regretting the termination of my Mary le Port engagements. Much kindness have I received in various forms from my Madeley people—much also, and most strongly expressed, from my temporary charge at Yardley; but I never seemed to live so fully in the hearts of any of my people as those, from whom unavoidable circumstances have so recently separated me. I am persuaded, however, that all is right both for me and for them; and if developing circumstances should not reveal this to the eye of sense, yet that faith which brings its luminous atmosphere around the results of cautious procedure and humble dependence will cheer the mind with its present assurance, till it shall conduct us to that world where, without the least shadow of a misgiving, we shall acknowledge that our guiding and gracious Saviour “hath done all things well.” My outward path has indeed, for some time past, been in many respects somewhat mysterious and painfully perplexing; but such are frequently the movements even of those who not only have the cloudy pillar to guide them, but who also are careful to follow its guidance. And, even allowing that ourselves have not thus followed with this undeviating step, still we have the privilege of penitent return; and, from whatever point we may retrace our wandering step, we see the same heavenly guidance before us, waiting to conduct us onward in the unerring way.

I feel much obliged for your interesting allusion to Madeley procedures; your dispensary, infant-school, and clerical meeting, have all of them, not only the approval of my judgment, but of my heart. . . . And therefore I do, in all respects, most sincerely rejoice that the kind and gratifying permission of which you speak was ever given to me. My fear, however, is, lest you should be doing too much, encouraged by that half-untrue and sadly delusive maxim, “Better to wear away than to rust away.” I would rather have you patronise that far more prudential substitute suggested by the biographer of Leigh Richmond, “I labour less that I may labour longer.”

I do indeed most sincerely rejoice with you in the blessed testimony afforded to you by your endeared and dying sister, to the faithfulness of our gracious and Omnipotent Redeemer. How few are the families where the leavening influence of true religion has been more extensively or more blessedly experienced!

We had not heard of the arrival of our Ceylon friends till your last reached us. Most truly rejoiced shall we be to be permitted to meet them; but the notorious offender has some draw-back to his anticipated pleasure—a four or five years’ halt keeps haunting his perturbed mind. Nor let your gifted men of punctuality smile, as they read these compunctious movements—these reiterated confessions,—lest our insulted spirits spring from beneath the ignominious tread, and, elate with all the consciousness of our newly acquired powers, hold ourselves in readiness to repel the charge and to retaliate the affront.

You have heard, I suppose, of my having taken three pupils to instruct with my own children; my time, as you can readily imagine, is far from sluggishly employed; my health, however, is, and has been for some time past, through God’s blessing, unusually good. Within the last three weeks, I have been a little threatened with a return of Madeley feelings, but this has been through attempting too much.

Our united and very kindest love attends Mrs. C. yourself, and family, and

I remain, my dear Friend,

Yours, ever affectionately, G. Mortimer.

The next step in the life of my endeared friend, which comes under our notice, is one which filled all his friends with surprise—one which they could not contemplate without much concern—one, the expediency of which, they could none of them fully perceive—one, indeed, which they could not but consider as uncalled for and unnecessary. I refer to his leaving England, and proceeding with his family to settle in Canada. At an earlier period of his life he appears to have been animated with a pure and holy zeal for the cause of missions to the heathen, and would, if his way had been open, most gladly have entered upon that self-denying service. But now he was not stimulated by such a motive; indeed, he can hardly be said to have made even ministerial duties his chief object: it was not to seek a new fortune in the vineyard of Christ, but to improve his worldly fortune for the temporal benefit of his children. I do not presume to censure Mr. Mortimer for this step, though I agree with many of his friends in considering it a very questionable measure. He was not like a man in needy circumstances; Providence had supplied him with a very comfortable independent income; one perfectly adequate to provide for all the reasonable wants of his family, and to enable him to place out his children in suitable situations, as they grew up; much more so, if I do not greatly mistake, and with much greater satisfaction, too, than he has been able to do in Canada. Where the object is the cause of God, I should be among the first to recommend a man to leave his home, his friends, and his country, and go to the very ends of the earth, if called to such a service; and I see no reason why men of business, if their disposition lead to it, though they possess even good properties, should not expatriate themselves for the purpose of commerce, or the increase of their fortune; but I hesitate as to granting the same liberty to the minister of Jesus Christ, especially where it has pleased his heavenly Father to furnish him with the necessary supplies of life in a tolerably competent measure. It is clearly the duty of a clergyman, as it is that of a layman, to make such provision for his family, in the event of his removal from them, as his circumstances will permit; but to make this the first object of consideration in determining upon an important movement in life—in leaving one’s own country and settling in another—does seem to me not very warrantable. Upon these considerations, I cannot, I confess, perfectly concur with my late beloved friend in the measure under contemplation. No doubt he was fully satisfied in his own mind of the propriety of the step on which he had determined, and that the accomplishment of it was in accordance with the path of duty and the order of Providence.

But let Mr. Mortimer speak for himself. Four, out of the five following letters, touch more or less upon the subject, and explain his views of the measure and of the desirableness of it. In the dark view taken in some of these letters of the prospects of his native country, the writer of them by no means stood alone; and though commerce seems to have recovered itself, and the prosperity of the nation has assumed a more promising aspect, yet the encouragement given to Popery by the State on the one hand, and the movement in the church towards the increase of its ranks, and the augmentation of its influence on the other; the unmanageable state of pauperism, and the ungovernable, and, I fear, to any considerable extent, the unimprovable condition of the peasantry and the poor of our great cities, cannot be contemplated by the Christian patriot without fear, alarm, and consternation. We are evidently in the state of a volcano, and everything seems to indicate a no very distant eruption, which may rase the foundations of the Church and State, and scatter misery and wretchedness, rapine and bloodshed, murder and destruction, over the face of the land. The elements of some general convulsion are preparing with a rapid progress; and awful, it is to be feared, will be the catastrophe, if, by timely repentance, the blow which threatens us, and which undoubtedly we deserve, be not averted. [164]

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Hutton, near Cross, Somersetshire, Nov. 1830.

My dear Armstrong,

I do indeed feel myself much obliged to you for kindly breaking through the impediments which my lengthened silence put in the way of our renewed intercourse. I often reproached myself for not writing; and yet there seemed such an awkwardness in recommencing, that I fear I should never have had courage to combat with it. But your truly welcome letter has opened my way, and I most gladly avail myself of the unexpected facility. But before I proceed to other matters, I ought to assure you that yours is not any personal or any peculiar or isolated case. All my friends, and even relatives, are successively neglected; and if it were not that so many of them are touched with a similar feeling of kindness with yourself, and ever and anon renew the needful impulse, I should soon be forsaken by them all, and find myself, what I so richly deserve, “a desolate old man.”

All your topics of communication cheer me. I truly rejoice with you in the erection of the church. It was a noble emprise, characteristic of my endeared friend, and peculiarly owned and blessed of his God; of its extent of good, eternity will alone unfold. Your account also of your dear children was read by me with much interest, and with real gratitude. How faithful is God. In the spirit of the Levite you have thrown up your inheritance among your brethren. And some of us, not sufficiently aware of the nature or extent of your faith, and but little called to tread in similar paths, were inwardly dreading some disastrous shock. But the whirlwind, the earthquake, and the fire, were only the creatures of our own imagination; while all that is real is “the still small voice” of our God, proclaiming, as is usual with him, to those who can trust him, his goodness, and his love. May the same goodness attend all the other branches of your dear family. And may you and your beloved wife be long spared to them, to the church, and the world.

I know your friendly feeling would prompt you to enquire respecting our several movements. But where shall I begin? All is and all has been well with us; and yet much has been transpiring which we little anticipated. The calls of our family have induced struggling and self-denial. My curate could not be retained. The tutor for my children, when he left for college, has not been replaced. First, his duties devolved on me; then the extra care of three pupils. Removing, too, has been attended with loss. And various other matters have all been tending toward the same point. But still I would reiterate the declaration—all is and has been well with us. To some spirits, struggling and difficulty is absolutely necessary. Like stagnant waters, they must be shaken, or they will acquire the evils consequent on inactivity.

I have for some years past been endeavouring to feel my way as to a settlement in one of our colonies; having little expectation of being able to settle my children at all advantageously in England. All I wished for was something in the shape of ministerial duty, without much regard to the emolument, but as a kind of satisfaction that I was not going out of the way of usefulness. But my inquiries were fruitless. Indeed my friends were not over anxious about my success. They mostly inclined to my remaining in England; and therefore did not, I believe, at all exert themselves. Now I begin to fancy that I am getting too old for such an experiment. Though possibly should anything desirable present itself, I should not wonder at my old feelings reviving. But I should not now be tempted, I think, with anything short of a chaplaincy; and these are so far from being come-at-able, that I consider my emigrating schemes as at an end. My views, however, with regard to my own country are still the same. I was never a national croaker; and have, I think, always been disposed to look at the bright side. Still I can anticipate nothing but rapidly increasing distress, and not very far distant ruin. And this has almost invariably been the case with great commercial nations. The influx of extraneous wealth, producing such increase of population, and such extent of luxury, and when these arrive at a certain point, other countries, other markets, successfully compete, and eventually surpass. At one of these points we are already arrived, and the retrograde impulse is beginning to be most painfully felt. All classes, indeed, are much suffering at present; and had it not pleased God to have given us a popular king and a most plenteous harvest, it is most generally believed that a revolution would ere this have taken place. Many, I know, are still dreading it. A letter which I received but a few days since from a General, a father of one of my pupils, is strongly expressive of the feelings which still prevail in the metropolis. To add to other causes of apprehension, we have just received the account of the resignation of the Wellington ministry. All is indeed perplexity. But still the Lord Omnipotent reigneth; all is in his hands. And possibly what we are dreading is only the small cloud of needless apprehension, which will either soon blow over, or only discharge itself in unexpected and undeserved mercies. But why should I allude to public events; for, with letters from your friends, you receive, no doubt, a budget of the public papers, which bring all these matters before you in all their diversified aspects and bearings.

As to my ministerial employments, I feel on the whole comfortably engaged. My sphere is but small; and my success not very apparent; and yet circumstances seem to require my continuance; nor does any moving of the cloud point out any other place. I therefore go labouring on; and should it please God to fix me eventually in some other situation, I shall find all the benefit from my past exertion; for I make a point of preparing one new sermon every week.

Mrs. G. M. unites with me in very kindest remembrance to yourself and dear Mrs. A.

And I remain, my much endeared Friend,

Yours, ever sincerely, G. M.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Hutton, January, 1831.

My dear Friend,

I am much obliged by your kind and prompt communication respecting the removal of poor Mr. Burton, your vicar. I am afraid it will prove the precursor of many difficulties, both with regard to yourself and beloved Madeley. We must look, however, beyond these probable perplexities with that steady eye of faith on the promises and perfections of our ever faithful God, which shall enable us not only eventually, but at each successive movement, to feel the grateful persuasion that all is well. I hear from Mrs. D. W—, that Mr. B— gives her some encouragement to hope that your continuance there is more than probable. Should any aid be required under such an arrangement, I shall be happy to continue the £10 yearly which I have already devoted to this object, and I beg you will not feel the least scruple in the transfer.

I have been, with much contrivance, plotting an arrangement for you in conjunction with myself and Mr. H—, but one or two matters would not, I fear, fall in with your wishes, and therefore I have let this slip. I have written however to a dear friend to be on the look out for you, and shall try to call in other aid, as well as keep an observant eye myself. I feel persuaded that mercy is still in reserve for my much endeared friend. Mrs. M— unites with me in very kindest regards to yourself, Mrs. C—, and your family, and

I remain,

Yours, ever affectionately, G. Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Hutton, Aug. 9, 1831.

My dear Friend,

I did, indeed, intimate to Miss P. my intention to write to you at an early opportunity, and I am quite ashamed and sorry that I should have delayed doing this so long. Your very kind and most interesting letter, received a few days since, has not only opened my eyes, but warmed my heart; and, even were I disposed any longer to postpone, I should find it somewhat difficult to do it.

I do, indeed, most sincerely rejoice with you in all the goodness and mercy which have attended you during your residence in Madeley.

You kindly and delicately suppose that the incipient attentions showed you, on your first going there, were in some measure from their kindly feelings towards myself. Possibly, the glowing descriptions of a friend might have prepared the minds of many for expectation, and have procured for you the more than ordinary courtesies of introduction. But such expectations would have terminated in all the vexation of contrast, had there not been that suitableness in my dear friend which I had supposed, and which the parishioners were in no way backward to discover. It is with much gratitude to our God and Saviour that I look back on the whole of the past transaction: the circumstances which seemed indispensably to require my own separation from the dear people of Madeley; their hopelessness respecting a suitable successor; your willingness to accept the charge; the kind vicar’s willing consent; and the long interval of reciprocal endearment which has since been experienced—one so cordial, and so thorough * * * and, surely, that most munificent and touching act of their kindly feeling and high respect which they showed you on your departure, is no small proof of the accuracy of my supposition.

“Hitherto hath the Lord helped me,” may be the encouraging motto of my friend. And greatly will it rejoice me to hear that in his new, and yet more extensive sphere of labour, the same distinguishing mercy from on high attends him: you go accompanied with many prayers, and encouraged with many a cheering recollection of the past; and, what is more comforting, I will freely acknowledge, to my own mind, you go onward with a humble sense of your own nothingness; surprised at the results of mercy which you see; pausing, not in self-congratulation, but in lowly gratitude, to survey and express them.

* * * * * * * *

The account which you give of the new vicar is very encouraging, and answers, in all respects, to the other testimonies which have reached me.

The times seem peculiarly perilous, both politically and ecclesiastically; though I was never given to “croak,” yet I cannot but feel that we are on the eve of danger. God only can avert it, and in Him is my hope; but out of Him everything seems gloomy and foreboding. Could my dear wife see and feel with myself, I think it probable, that I should make some effort to escape from all this stormy wind and tempest, to some one or other of our colonial shores, and there endeavour to establish my family under more auspicious promises than those afforded by our native land: for the mercantile day of England has long been declining, and with our increasing population no very cheering prospects can be cherished. [171] My way, however, is not yet clear; and till my path is opened, I feel no desire to proceed. With your own large family, thoughts of the future will no doubt, at times, be attempting anxiously to intrude. But I know full well the accustomed sobriety of your mind, and can easily imagine how quietly and peacefully you leave these bewildering anticipations with Him who has encouraged us to cast all our care upon Himself. In this, as in other respects, may I ever be endeavouring to follow you.

We are truly glad to hear of Mrs. C.’s amended health, and of the comfort which you have in your residence and situation. It seems, indeed, in all respects, the very place for you, and long may you and your beloved wife be spared to reside among them. Our united and very kind regards attend you both, and all the members of your dear family.

Believe me ever to remain,

Your very sincerely attached, G. M.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Hutton, March 6, 1832.

My dear Friend,

I believe you are almost the only one to whom this peculiar and endearing appellation is considered by me as truly belonging, who has not as yet been made acquainted with my intended movements. Had it been at all practicable, I should have taken you in my way, in my late lengthened tour to Hull, Raithby, and London; but circumstances would not then admit this, and I cannot now indulge the hope. A similar tour, about eight years since, found you in Liverpool, and my residence in Shropshire; and then I was permitted to enjoy with you a few hours. But much as my spirit has always been refreshed with the pleasing and profitable intercourse with yourself, a few hours lately would have been particularly valued by me; for I know not whether such may ever again, in this world, be afforded me; my late tour having been a leave-taking visit previous to my finally leaving this country for Ohio.

I know not what your views may be on the subject of emigration, for I do not recollect to have touched upon it in any of our conversations. My own mind, however, has, for many years past, been directed towards it, and I have only been waiting for the most eligible opportunity of putting my plans into execution. My three sons go with me in the first instance, and in a few months after, my dear wife and three daughters. Our mutual friend, the Rev. Josiah Pratt, has written to Bishops Chase and McIlvaine, about ministerial employment, and I expect to hear from them soon. But, I understand, there is a great want of Episcopalian ministers throughout the United States; they are, therefore, gladly welcomed, and handsomely supported, so that I have no grounds to fear in this respect. The climate also of the State, to which I am intending to proceed, is considered as very fine and healthy, and living is little more than one half of what it is even in country places here. In addition to these advantages, I hope, with God’s blessing, to find remunerating employment, and suitable settlement for my children—a matter which has been long perplexing me, and of which there is certainly no prospect in this country. I had intended at first to have made an extensive purchase of uncultivated land, which, in the inland States, is selling for two or three dollars an acre; but this plan I have relinquished; for my ministerial avocations, and the settlement of my children, together with the enjoyment of suitable society, were hardly compatible with a situation surrounded by uncultivated districts. I am thinking of sailing from Liverpool, in preference to Bristol, as I hear that the accommodations are much superior, and the time of sailing more certain. Do you know any friend there to whom you could obligingly write yourself, or recommend to me to apply to, who would be so good as, first to make enquiries about the packets, and finally bargain for me? I wish to sail as soon as I can after Easter-day, April 22; and I want five cabin places, for myself, three sons, and a pupil, or protegé. During your residence in the vicinity of Liverpool you may, probably, have become acquainted with some persons now resident in America, to whom an introduction might prove to me of considerable service. It is, indeed, held forth as the land of liberty, prosperity, and religion; but there is no place in which we shall not find the need of friends; and, especially, will they be valuable in a strange land. If, then, you could obligingly help me in this matter, I should feel much indebted to you. I am particularly desirous of getting my books exempted from duty, if I possibly could. I have diminished these, with many a shrinking feeling, to about one-third of their number; but, even now, there are four hundred weight, and the duty is one shilling and three pence per pound, on bound volumes, the chief of which mine are. Books are, in fact, my implements of trade; almost all of them either ministerial or scholastic; and as the common artisan is permitted to take his tools, why should not the minister and tutor his? Perhaps, the justness of this would be allowed on our arrival at New York, if I could be put in the way of obtaining it.

Strange and startling, perhaps, as my projected movements may seem to you on their announcement, I shall not venture to ask you whether revolving months or years may induce my Madeley successor to follow my steps. Unprepared, however, as he may be, at present, for such a scheme, even in imagination, it would be no matter of surprise to me, should he, ere long, be as fully persuaded as myself of its expediency. Beneficed clergymen, who have charges they cannot without much cost, either of feeling, or temporal sacrifice, detach themselves from, may see it their bounden duty to remain; those, also, who have connexions which may help to settle their children in after life, or those who have only one or two children to provide for—these may still linger in their once prosperous, and ever endeared country; but the unbeneficed—unpatronized heads of large families must, I fear, sooner or later decamp. “Our hive” (as our mutual friend Mr. Pratt, observed to me) “is too full, and we must lead out our respective swarms.” But may the God of providence and grace ever guide us, and, wherever we either go or remain, may He both “bless us, and make us a blessing.” Our very kindest love attends yourself, dear Mrs. C., and your family, and I remain,

My dear Friend,

Yours, ever sincerely, George Mortimer.

TO THE REV. JOHN COOPER.

Hutton, June 6, 1832.

My endeared Friend,

I leave Hutton to day for Bristol, and expect to go on board the brig Active for New York, to-morrow; and, as my only remaining means of communication, I take up my pen to bid you adieu. Had I sailed from Liverpool, as I was once intending, I should certainly have endeavoured to have spent a few hours with yourself and family; but the expenses of travelling and of conveying luggage so far across the country, together with the higher charges in the Liverpool vessels, obliged me to consult my purse rather than my feelings; and I am persuaded that my endeared friend will not be the first to censure me.

We are now proceeding to Upper Canada by the way of the United States; and though the climate is somewhat colder in winter, and hotter in summer, than our own, it is considered as very fine and healthy. To myself also it has this no small recommendation, that it is under British Government, and is principally inhabited by British settlers.

I have used all endeavours to procure ministerial employment there, but as yet in vain. Our present leading men are too liberal to give support to any religious object; and the Canada company prefer the recommendations which arise from local knowledge and representations. But on this latter account, I still hope, that when I arrive there, I shall not be long before I hear of some situation or other in which I may be usefully employed. Some desirable introductions to residents have been kindly afforded me.

The want of religious instruction is almost the only drawback from the Canadas. In many instances persons are thirty or forty miles from a place of worship. This, however, is no small call on the superabundant labourers among ourselves; and I do expect, that ere long this call will be fully regarded.

And now my endeared friend, what shall I say as to all the comfort—the unmixed satisfaction—which, for so many years, I have been permitted to enjoy in our occasional intercourse? To our gracious and faithful Redeemer let us give all the praise! And may we ever be looking forward to the time, when the friendship of earth shall be followed by the blissful and never terminating enjoyments of heaven.

Mrs. G. M. begs to be united with me in kindest remembrances to yourself, Mrs. C., and family, and I remain, my endeared Friend,

Yours, ever sincerely, George Mortimer.

Mr. Mortimer and his three sons set sail on the 11th of June, 1832. He gave an account of his passage to America, of his reception in Canada, and of his first impressions and expectations there, in the following letters to Mrs. Mortimer.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Aug. 6, 200 miles from a Port.

June 12th, Tuesday, 9 o’clock. Driven from the cabin by disposition to sickness, I write on deck on one of the hen coops. Last night all of us fell giddy and beginning to be squeamish—took the brandy in sips and all were immediately relieved.—Herbert also lost his head-ach. Our nightly abode was, I confess, an uninviting concern. When I lay down I seemed as though I should be suffocated and was obliged to rise up in haste, but soon got reconciled, and managed, at last, to get off and slept pretty well till five. The wind has been favourable ever since we sailed, the captain in good spirits, nothing could be better. At nine, yesterday evening, we cast anchor; the captain, in consequence of the haziness of the weather, being afraid of proceeding, lest, not being in open sea, he should run foul of land; we resumed operations, however, between two and three. The ship remaining stationary was the cause of the close and confined sensations which we had on getting into our berths at night; for when the vessel is in motion there is no want of fresh air and no feeling of oppression. I am again, my dearest Mary, on deck. I have just been humming over three or four times my favourite verse,

“O may I ne’er forget, The goodness of the Lord; Nor ever want a tongue to spread, His loudest praise abroad.”

Ah! we called upon him in our trouble, and he hath delivered us out of our distress: we could, therefore, “praise the Lord for his goodness and for his wonderful works which he showeth to the children of men.” I had scarcely finished writing the contents of the first side of my sheet, when the wind began to veer round, and blowing from the west with great violence, the ship heaved and rolled to such a degree, that the whole of the passengers, without exception, were taken so suddenly and so distressingly ill, that they were obliged to dash, as quickly as possible, to their beds—no time for undressing, and none, of course, for arranging our little alleviations and preventives against sickness. Our party were all differently affected, but all suffered much for about twelve hours. Arthur was quite unconscious of what he did—Cecil occasionally incoherent—Herbert very quiet, but at times greatly suffering. Indeed, I had serious thoughts, whether we should ever recover; but I lay musing, and praying, and casting the weight of my oppressed spirits on my covenant God in Christ Jesus, and soon had a most blessed state of peace.

Sunday, June 17, 12 noon. We have just had service on deck—an interesting scene, and seemingly not unacceptable to the auditors, who, in pleasing and attentive groups, were lying, or rather sitting, round me. We had three or four good singers. Hymn,

“God moves in a mysterious way.”

Text, Gen. xii. 1. The deck presents quite a Sabbath scene, most of the men either reading or quietly sitting. God openly honoured. Wind greatly against us, out nearly a week and only 200 or 300 miles from land; but I have no restlessness, indeed scarcely a wish; peace more than usual. On deck we fared but badly, the spray besprinkled most in their turn. One wave, more unmannerly than the rest, drenched the mate, soaked the captain, and soused myself and Cecil and Herbert. We shook ourselves as well as we could, and sat quietly till we were dry. The mate says he has been thirty-one voyages and. never knew such rough weather at this season of the year. In the evening, all was calm and we ate in quietness, and with good appetite, a meat supper, followed by biscuit and cheese, and supported by our good bottled porter.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Brig Active, August 13, 1832.

This day week, I forwarded to you by the ship Science, Greenock, three letters, written at different times during our voyage. After reading my third it seemed so vapid and uninteresting that I determined to discontinue my journal, and, of course, my extracts from it; for, though many things seem interesting to us in our isolated and pent-up situation, yet, when soberly reviewed, they amount to a mere nothing. As, however, we are now approaching the shore, I am desirous of having a letter nearly finished that I may forward it as soon as possible after our arrival, should it please God to permit us to reach the much longed-for shore. The last week has been one of much anxiety and perplexity to most of the passengers. The ship we spoke with told us we were out in our reckoning, and this communication proved but too true. We thought we were within 200 miles of land, but it then appeared we were distant between 500 and 600. Our provisions and our water had already begun to fail, and many on board had been reduced to very short allowance. Judge, then, of the feelings which prevailed when our actual distance was ascertained. The Science, indeed, spared us half a barrel of flour, but what was this for our increasing necessities? The privations, therefore, have daily become greater, and, to such a degree has murmuring and dissatisfaction prevailed, that a mutiny by many is daily expected. The Lord, however, is in this, as in everything else, the all-sufficient God, and he will still continue to protect and to bless us. And, indeed, since I last wrote to you, we have had many and most striking instances of his watchful and paternal care. On one occasion we were exposed to the most terrific storm of thunder and lightning, which we had ever witnessed, and its nearness was so great, that we appeared in immediate danger of being shattered to pieces. Upon the most accurate calculation, it was at one time only a quarter of a mile distant, and if it had actually passed over our vessel, loaded so extensively with iron, the consequences would, in all probability, have been fatal to us all. During the last week we fell in with the fog, and one of the West India Island hurricanes, terrific and awful beyond previous conception: it must be witnessed to be fully understood. Towards its close I ventured upon deck, and truly thankful was I to learn that no damage had been sustained, no mast shattered, not a single leak sprung. Some, indeed, attributed this to the tightness and excellence of our fine little vessel, overlooking the goodness and faithfulness of our God. Ah, how it grieves me to the heart to see the loving-kindness of our God so generally lavished upon us in vain! But the confinement of a ship calls into exercise almost every latent quality of the mind; the secrets of hearts are indeed most fully revealed, though the exhibition is by no means gratifying. In many respects, however, it is useful, and I feel very thankful for it as it regards our little party. Habits and dispositions have unfolded of which I had scarcely the least idea, but which discovery will materially influence me as to the steps which should be taken in reference to my future movements and the eventual disposal of my children. We are now, I believe, about 100 miles from land, and it is well that we are no more; for most of our comforts have failed us in the cabin, and we are brought under allowance as to water, and they speak of this as to other provisions; so that we manage, as you may suppose, but badly; and were we to continue much longer in our present state, I fear that our health would materially and even permanently suffer. But we make the most of what remains, and keep cheering ourselves with the hope that it will not be for long: the wind, however, is far from favourable, and we proceed with great slowness. Nine weeks to-day have we been out at sea—I should rather say, since we set sail—and few calculated upon a longer time than five or six weeks; so that it is not surprising many among us are beginning to suffer. But, as I mentioned, hope sustains us, and the God of love and mercy will, in his own good time, extricate us out of all our troubles.

Delaware River, August, 1832.

We are at length, dearest Mary, through the good providence of God, brought about midway up the river on which the city of Philadelphia stands; but, in consequence of the cholera still prevailing there, we shall be obliged to perform a short quarantine of two or three days in a place about twelve miles on this side of it, and after that we may possibly be detained, previous to our passing the Custom House, for a day or two longer. In less than a week, however, from the present time we are hoping to proceed to New York, and thence on our Canada journey. Like the great Apostle we should thank God and take courage. Many have been his tender mercies towards us, and I feel a calm and blessed power to resign all the future into his hands. We have just passed a most beautiful village (Newcastle), built completely in the English style; but everything now is so fresh and novel that we view it with tenfold interest. We are all, thank God, in very good health, and the cholera has considerably abated at New York. I should hope we are running no risk in proceeding in our intended line, and, indeed, no prudence would be any sufficient safeguard, for I hear that it has spread to very many of the surrounding places, and therefore there is no possibility of getting entirely out of its way; but that God, who directed our steps through the United States, will, I am confident, preserve us. I have been reading twice with great attention a small work of Dr. Granville, which has thrown great light upon my mind, both as to the origin, treatment, and prevention of the disease. It was given by Mr. Grant to Arthur, and I consider it quite providential that it was thrown in my way.

Philadelphia, August 22.

And so, my Mary, through the mercy of my God, we are brought at length to the long-wished-for shore, and the thrilling feelings of pleasure which we experienced as we stepped once more on land were half delirious—it seemed scarcely a reality. In a short time, however, the delirium of joy subsided into a most delightful state of peaceful gratitude. We came here yesterday afternoon, and soon began to reconnoitre; passing from street to street in rapid succession, and for the first time since I left England I was thoroughly tired, but at the cost of my poor bleeding toes, which were so sore that I could hardly put on my shoes, but on they went, and a little after five I awoke our party to proceed on fresh adventures. The first exploit was in the captain’s boat, which he kindly lent to us, and a fine rowing we had across the Delaware to a small island near the State of New Jersey, where three of the young people enjoyed a most delightful bath. On our return to breakfast such a scene of rapacity was exhibited as would have astonished even an indulgent and ever apologetic mother. The captain had previously talked of a good blowing out, but now we experienced it. Your half-famished eldest son has, I think, taken precedence, but we were none of us far behind him, with such relish did we apply to the abundant and novel and delicious fare which was set before us.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

York, Upper Canada, Sept. 21, 1832.

Nothing as yet has been determined respecting myself. The bishop was absent on a long tour of visitation, but I obtained a letter of introduction to Archdeacon Strachan, through Captain Fitzgibbon; and His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir John Colborne, having heard of my arrival, expressed a wish that I do wait upon him. Both he and the archdeacon behaved with great kindness, and mentioned places which they thought desirable; but I wait for the advice of the bishop, to whom I have written on the subject. I am disposed, however, to fix on Hamilton, a rising village near Ancaster, beautifully situated, and bidding fair to become the third town in the province, York and Kingston only taking precedence. No church, indeed, is as yet built—service is performed, in the Court House—but one is fixed on. My salary will be £100 sterling, a rectory house, forty acres of cleared land, besides some—I forget the quantity—uncleared, and the sum I may obtain by letting the pews. The Governor and his lady are both truly pious. I dined with them on Tuesday and spent a most pleasant evening. The archdeacon is uncommonly friendly; our whole party took tea with him on Saturday evening, and I have called on him since.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, near York, Oct. 8, 1832.

I do not wish to raise your expectations in any improper way, but I still think I ought in justice to say, that I think you will be tolerably pleased with the situation in which I have been led to settle. There is, indeed, no fixed salary, and perhaps nothing beyond £40 or £50—the sum given by the congregation—may be obtained by me. But the Bishop and Governor both expect that I shall receive from the clergy reserves £100 more, and, if so, this £150 will be very fair. As to the distance (only thirteen miles from York) it has a decided preference over Hutton, and the society is in my estimation far superior, and mostly English. The church is small, but the attendance good, far more than the Hutton average. They appear also quite pleased with my coming, as my predecessor, though a learned man and a great orientalist, had no aptness for parochial engagements. I forgot to mention that the spot and neighbourhood is considered most healthy. If the young folks are desirous of seeing their future location, they may look into a map of Canada, and they will see a road leading from York to Simcoe Lake, directly north; this is called, George Street Road, each side of which is cleared for the space of two or three fields. It is on this road that Thornhill is situated. I intimated in my last letter that I had some thoughts of building a house to be ready to receive you on your arrival, but you will be glad to hear, that I have entirely given up all idea of it; it never will do, at least for me, and therefore I have made my continuance here depend on the trustees of Thornhill Church, allowing me £40 or £50 per annum, and their providing me at a moderate rate a house suitable for my family, some time before the 10th of June next, 1833, at which time, through God’s blessing, I hope to see you all here. And surely he will preserve you; not a box, or package, or anything has been lost, everything brought safe over the perilous ocean and the intervening space, and shall not the same faithful God of love preserve my Mary and all her accompanying charge? I will, therefore, trust, and not be afraid.

I received a message from the Governor last night, in which he tells me, I may depend on having the £100 he mentioned to me. He is peculiarly kind and a great blessing to the province. The people seem very desirous of detaining me; Messrs. — assure me that some house sufficiently large shall be provided.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, near York, Nov. 4, 1832.

To-day, dearest Mary, when I arose, I found the first snow lying on the ground, and, as the thermometer now indicates, that we are fast approaching our Canadian winter. I have staid at home to-day to get matters more fully in order, that I may meet it as pleasantly as I can. A few days previously I quitted my cold, smoky sitting room, and took up my quarters in my favourite bed room, removing into it my books, boxes, and in fact everything, except the chairs and one table, which I have left below to receive company when they shall honour me with their visits; which, in spite of my bachelorship, and the non-attractions of my place, they feel themselves bound in courtesy to do. Think not, however, that I freeze my visitors, for I too well remember the cold rooms into which I have been ushered myself, while in England. Mrs. Crosby, therefore, has received a strict charge to keep up a fire from ten to five, and when visitors are expected a semi-mountain of logs is added to the pile. My bed room has been greatly improved by nailing up three of the bedding wrappers (and which, for the purpose, I found a most invaluable treasure), against three of the windows, so as to exclude all the searching, piercing, cold winds and air, which, I hear, penetrates so bleakly when the winter fully sets in; for this aforesaid bed room of mine has no fewer than four windows; for the Canadians, not being taxed for their lights, think they can never have enough, and hence we are broiled in summer and frozen in winter, as the concomitants of our delectable liberty. I have now, therefore, as you will perceive, only one window remaining; but this is quite enough, and you would join me in my conclusion had you to-day seen the snow forcing its way by some unaccountable means through some imperceptible apertures, so as quite to wet some clothes which for a few minutes I had incautiously placed under the window. My removal to the bed room was the day before yesterday, and the two last nights were the only two in which I slept comfortably. I got an extra blanket that was of no perceptible benefit; a second counterpane was added to the weight of the superincumbent clothes, but not apparently to the warmth: I then slept in a pair of silk stockings; but these also, though the best of all my auxiliaries, were not adequate, and I was therefore obliged to put over these a pair of my worsted warm socks; but even then I had a chilly feeling towards morning. Since, however, I have been sitting constantly in my room, and have had a fire there, and a good one too, all the day long, lighted before I rise, and left burning with renewed logs when I go to rest: with all these helps and adjuncts I do now exceedingly well, but what I shall do in the real winter I know not. Now the thermometer is not lower than 20° or 25° below freezing point in the night, but then it is frequently 10° or 12° below zero, and once last year it was 29° below it. Perhaps I shall have recourse to the Russian fashion, and sleep with the feather bed over me, or between the blankets, but even then, poor nosey and its neighbours will receive no benefit, and the gentlemen, I suppose, will complain of the injustice done to them, while all the other parts are so cozy, and they are left to bounce against the icy formations produced by the moisture from the breath; but, as little Herbert would say, we must breathe, and so poor nosey and company must take their chance. I think I have not, as yet, alluded to one of the chief Canadian annoyances, the amazing prevalence of the house fly. All places swarm with them, and the most respectable persons, who feel the annoyance greatly, quite despair of getting rid of them. In a few days, however, I effected a clearance, and afterwards only a comparatively few stragglers made their appearance, which were daily removed; and this must be done, if you would have any comfort. I took up a volume in boards at a lady’s here, which had been lying on its side on the shelves, and when I touched it it was so rough with the abundance of their excrement, that I wondered what kind of excrement it was covered with, till I examined and discovered the cause of the evil. Gauze or muslin covers most of their things, but as to the mass of them, they are filthy beyond endurance; and then the creatures keep buzzing about you incessantly, and keep you in a continual fidget with their intolerable tickling. Then, again, they almost cover your plate while you are eating, and as to indulging in a siesta, that is impossible. If a loaf of bread is left uncovered a short space, its surface is so eaten as to appear quite grated; and all other articles are laid by them under similar contribution, though it may not be quite so discernible. I guess that my Mary will be equally zealous with myself in attempting this clearance.

Mr. — has just been here; he is one of the trustees of Thornhill Church. To him and his associates the Governor has this day made over 600 acres for the use and benefit of the minister out of the clergy reserves. These they will perhaps exchange for half the number of acres near the church, situated on the George Street Road, and when the exchange shall be effected, they will proceed with the house. You have heard about the long and still unsettled disputes about the Clergy Reserves. In Mr. Pitt’s administration, a certain portion of the land was reserved for the clergy in each township; but the Presbyterians of the Scotch Church and the other denominations have lately put in their claim, and since the litigation commenced, nothing has been done, no lands, in any case here, I believe, have been assigned. His Excellency wrote to Lord Goderich, and has just obtained from him permission to assign lands to such clergy as at present are just being fixed in their respective districts. Sir John is now acting upon this permission; some lands belonging to the clergy reserves have been sold to form a fund, in hand, and out of this he builds the parsonage house. We are much indebted to the Governor, Sir John Colborne, for his perseverance, without which no adequate provision for ministers of our church could have been made, for none of our congregations would hear a word about contributions as long as there was a chance of the clergy reserves being obtained.

Oh, how glad I am, my Mary, we came here, instead of going to the United States, and that the good providence of God directed us to this country. Depend upon it, we shall never regret the step we have taken, every day convinces me of its expediency, in every point of view. May the same God of love who brought us safe and directed us, as the pioneers of our little party, bless, preserve, and keep those that remain, and bring you through every perplexity and trial to this land of his peculiar smile.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, Nov. 8, 1832.

I have for the last two or three weeks been expecting another letter from Locking, and supposing that it would contain various things which I should like to touch upon in reply; but, as the roads keep me at home for a day or two, I am unwilling to let this state of leisure pass by. Yesterday, I returned from York, having been conveyed there and back by the kindness of a lady in this place, the weather just held up for the time. Had we been a day later it would have been terrific work, but I live in hopes his Excellency the Governor will mend the great north road on which Thornhill stands. Sir John has commenced operations both in the town and neighbourhood of York, and his success there encourages hope in this, though the sum to be raised for the purpose is £20,000. My reception among the great in York was gratifying—the condescension and kindness of all parties quite surprises me. My abode was at the hospitable bishop’s, who in this, as well as in all other respects, is a truly Christian bishop: he pressed me to lengthen my stay, and was almost hurt that I did not comply. His chaplain is a true Christian, and of very pleasing manners. When he found that Arthur was residing in York, he offered me his kind attentions on his behalf, and before I left he mentioned him also to the bishop. I was much struck with the pious solemnity with which he put the licence for Thornhill into my hands; it seemed a real committal of souls to my charge, so different from the matter-of-course transactions which I had in all other instances witnessed. Sir John’s party I joined in the evening, dinner six o’clock, not much in this respect to my liking; but everything else connected with the visit most agreeable. He has received permission from Lord Goodrich to proceed with the projected plans for settling the clergy, and he tells me he will make the commencing trial with myself. When it is more fully and definitely known to me, I will report to you; but what I gather at present is, that he will give me as incumbent 300 acres of land, forty of which shall be cleared at his expense, and a suitable house erected; and he thinks all can be done with ease for your reception, on or about the 10th of June. He does not promise me a salary, but, till this be accomplished, the bishop will try to give me at the rate of £100 per annum. He however cannot engage. The people promise me £50 per annum: they are very kind to me, and show me the greatest attention. The congregation increases, and though I am not forward to speak upon such subjects, I do feel that the situation is important, and the Lord has much work for me in this place. My heart also is in some measure in my work; I feel it blessed; its former anxieties and oppressiveness are astonishingly removed, and thus the Lord has at length granted unto me what I almost regarded as impossible; so that the anticipated wilderness has been made to smile and blossom as the rose—the peace and blessedness within having shed its transforming influence all around. I had often read the 45th of the Madeley Hymns in reference to the future, but I little thought how completely it would be realized. The hymn begins with, “That man no guard or weapon needs,” and the last three verses you will perhaps excuse my transcribing—

“His love possessing I am blest, Secure whatever things may come; Whether I go to east or west, With him I shall be still at home.

If placed beneath the northern pole, Though winter reigns with rigour there; His gracious beams would cheer my soul And make a spring throughout the year.

Or if the desert’s sun-burnt soil My lonely dwelling ere should prove, His presence would support my toil, Whose smile is life, whose name is love.”

Many of the Irish Protestant clergy are coming out in the spring, with large quotas of their flocks, driven out as they are by the violence of those who refuse to pay the church tithes. I met one of this description the other evening at the bishop’s, a warm-hearted and spiritually minded Irishman; his details were most affecting, but highly interesting, and I thought I could see a striking providence in their being thus compelled to flee at this present time to a country where they were so particularly needed, and where their own temporal comforts would be so materially increased. The good bishop quite rejoiced over his anticipated treasure.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, January 18, 1833.

* * * The delight of a warm bed the Canadian can fully appreciate. The other morning the thermometer stood 18° below zero, or 50° below freezing point, and during last night I conceive it must have been much lower: it is now near the middle of the day, and the glass is only 1° above zero, and yet, difficult as you may feel it to credit me, it seems to me a mere nothing. I can hardly imagine that I am in the midst of a Canadian winter, that horrible and terrible of previous anticipation: the fact is, that the severe weather only lasts for two or three days at a time, which is far different from a continuous season of four or five months, and though sharp and searching in itself, yet fire, clothing, and due attention, bring all to a common English temperature; and then the air is so cheering and bracing that you smile cheerily, rather than feel oppressively. But, in reality, I can hardly proceed in my description, not for want of words but of ink; for it not only freezes in the ink glass while on the table, but after I place it on the hearth and thaw it, the pen-full freezes while I am writing; so that I am obliged to stop ever and anon to thaw it in the pen, and yet with this acme of congelating miseries, I smile and laugh and go battling on; but all this sounds worse than it really is, so do not be alarmed.

ON EMIGRATION. TO MRS. MORTIMER.

I feel somewhat puzzled as to what I ought to say with regard to emigration. As to agriculture, employment can easily be procured in the upper province, and the wages are good; but the state of destitution in which some of the families arrive is very distressing, and keeps them back for a considerable time. I cannot recommend any family to come out unless they have £9 a head for each individual. It happened to one young man who had paid £1. 15s. for his passage to Quebec, and yet with one and another charge he had only a few shillings left out of £12. At Kingston I heard of a family of emigrants whose baggage was sold by auction to enable them to find the money to proceed to the agricultural districts. If emigrants can proceed with their baggage, and a few shillings in their pockets, they soon feel thankful for their altered circumstances. As to the two men and their families, I must leave it to your decision, and to influence them as you judge best. If they come, it should be as early as possible: leave England in February and get to Quebec in March.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, Jan. 18, 1833.

As to emigration I feel at a loss what to write. There is in fact hardly a man living but in some way or other may succeed in this fine country, and yet there is scarcely a man who may not fail and suffer disappointment, so that I dread recommending; but were I in the condition of nineteen out of twenty, I would make every effort to come out. Most have to rough it for about a year; few need do this much longer; that is, if thoughtful, prudent, and moral: their wilderness soon begins to smile, and comforts one after another crowd around them. I must turn to my log-book for something to say on this score.

“Of all settlers the medical profession seems to have least encouragement; they are worse off than even ministers; for in this country the population is so scattered, and the roads so impracticable, that they slave and toil beyond all endurance for a scanty pittance, and finding so small a remuneration, they are obliged to merge their professional engagements into those of the largely cultivated farm. Should they speculate on more extensive practice and larger returns in some of the towns there, so many have anticipated them, that they half starve before they can get into practice, and, after paying dear for their rashness, are compelled to return to the country, and to rough it like others in employments for which their previous habits have but little qualified them. Another evil is that all the three branches are here united, there not being a sufficient call to admit of a division; and then, again, we are all so healthy, excepting, indeed, the whiskey drinkers, who die by inches, but who have no peculiar penchant for bitter drugs; so that had it not been for the cholera, which so extensively visited us, I fear the medical gentlemen must have had no great cause to congratulate themselves on their speculations. The best description of settlers are young persons with or without families, married or single, who can command about £1000 in cash, and have about £80 or £100 per annum, on which they can regularly calculate. These can purchase a fair quantity of land in cultivated districts, where there is good society and English comforts; can build their house ample, commodious, and well-looking; and can realize from their farm what will enable them to live as gentlemen. I know two or three families of this description, in this neighbourhood, who have freely exhibited their finances before me, and they are just what I have noticed above. And if these do well, much more those whose income is larger. Such are the settlers we most need, for improvements follow so fast in their train. Capital and taste are in their case combined, and their respective neighbourhoods start into notice and comfort.”

As to young men of the more respectable order, they must be willing to go into trade, and in this they have abundant encouragement, not so much in specific trade as in the keeping of stores, both wholesale and retail, and to such they give a salary for five or six years, and then either take them into partnership, or else set them up in some country store, furnishing them with goods on easy terms to begin with. Farming will not do for young men of this description, till they are of age to farm for themselves, and then they may begin, if they have a small capital to purchase land and stock it. They want very little of any previous training; the advice of some friend or neighbour on the spot is quite adequate, if he be of any tolerable capacity. As to settlers I can say little beyond what I have intimated before. With £10 or £12 a head, they need not hesitate a moment. The principal thing is raising sufficient money to bring them far enough into the country, and without this it is almost cruelty to say a word to induce them to leave England.

To finish these remarks on emigration, from one who knew what it was from his own experience, I shall add one other short extract from a letter dated Feb. 21, 1835, addressed to Mrs. D. Whitmore:—

But with all this improvement in society and literature, the matter of emigration puzzles me more than ever. Produce is sadly falling; my wheat I sold last year for 4s. 3d. a bushel; the same sample would now fetch only 2s. 6d., and all other farming produce of course in the same ratio. Farmers, therefore, are crying out that they shall now be ruined. Stores also abound so greatly, that a very small profit can be obtained, where competition is so great. Fortunes, therefore, are not, as they once were, so easily procured; and most classes of emigrants are sadly disappointed. Those who come out with ample means will easily succeed; for living is so cheap, and capital wanted, and amply remunerating interest in various ways obtained. But then, again, those who already have fortunes, or ample means, will mostly prefer the good old country, and well they may.

TO MISS E. FORD.

Lockport, State of New York, May 1, 1833.

My dear Madam,

It was very unexpectedly but most joyously that I received your kind communication respecting the sailing of the Bristol, [196] and I lost no time in leaving Thornhill for New York. I am now on my way thither, and hope to find a few leisure intervals during my journey to fill my sheet, reserving merely a small space for a postscript, that I may communicate, should all be well, the tidings of the safe arrival of the endeared party: they have much occupied my thoughts of late, and, sometimes, with too much of anxious solicitude, for which I have as often felt reproved; for such has been God’s mercy to us hitherto, that it is not merely infirmity, but positive sin to be distrustful of his faithfulness and love. I feel much indebted to you and Miss Ford, for your peculiar kindness to my dear Mary. I am never surcharged with feeling, I wish it were my habit; but still great kindness quite affects me, and as requital will be ever out of my power, I must look to the beneficent and faithful retributor above, and would give vent to the utterance of my heart in the language of the holy and grateful apostle, “The Lord grant that you may both find mercy of the Lord,” and especially “in that day.”

Your kind present of the newspapers, &c., will be very acceptable, and yet, perhaps you are hardly aware of the extent of either our political or literary information. We have two monthly magazines published in York, and three or four newspapers, and from New York we have two weekly newspapers, designed expressly for English readers—the Albion and the Emigrant, full of English news and English literature; so that in a month or six weeks, we have all the cream of the London and country news, as well as the best of the lighter articles from the British periodicals. The Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews are reprinted at two-thirds of the English price; also the Christian Observer, and other standard and monthly and quarterly works. Messrs. Harper, also, in New York, reprint the best of the English works in the Family Library, at three and sixpence each, executed like Murray’s, and their series amounts already to fifty-three volumes. Another series is furnished by Lee and Carey, at Philadelphia, and a third of a religious sort at Boston; so that in a few months, when I can spare a few pounds, I hope to be able to furnish my family with an extent of literature far beyond my capabilities in England. Among my own congregation we have also a book society, well supported and well supplied; we are, therefore, not a little chagrined when your boasting Englishers think of us as in a semi-barbaric land of literary destitution: for we not only feel ourselves a part of the great nation, but regard ourselves on nearly an equal footing as to the comforts and luxuries, while in many respects we feel that we have the most decided advantage, so we warn you not to treat us either politically or personally with scorn.

On the day I left York, government despatches had just arrived, which announced the dismissal of our two Crown Officers, the Attorney and Solicitor General, owing, it is supposed, to too great freedom in debate in our House of Assembly—the ferment it excited was almost ludicrous—“delenda est Carthago” was emphatically pronounced. The Whig Ministry must be annihilated. The province, though hardly prepared for such a measure, must at once be severed—such despotism could not be endured. I acted, as I generally do on such occasions, as pacificator, and smilingly quoted the well known lines of old Dr. Byron, in the conclusion of his Bedlamite—

“Kill your enemies’, kill a fool’s head of your own, They’ll die of themselves, if you let them alone.”

It is whispered also that our excellent and deserving governor (Sir John Colborne) has not escaped censure; this I am truly grieved to hear, for his services cannot be too highly estimated, and our province is indebted to him beyond all expression. I fear, however, that his removal is not very remote; he is too pious, and too tame a politician, to give satisfaction to the administration at home; but my contracting limits oblige me hastily to conclude, and to assure yourself and Miss Ford how truly I remain,

Yours, gratefully, George Mortimer.

P.S. June 6, New York. Yesterday the dear party arrived all in health and safety. Never did I feel more truly thankful.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Rochester, State of New York, May 2, 1833.

* * * * * * * Your fame, my frater, has long ago reached this far distant province, and I ought gratefully to acknowledge that it has, in more instances than one, proved the passport to gracious and kindly reception. It was to this, I think, that my boys were principally indebted for the footing they obtained in Kingston, and many other little turning points of good are pleasingly associated in my mind with the high estimate and kind feeling, which has been cherished towards you as a minister, or an author. Once, indeed, it appeared rather the precursor of evil; for our good bishop, previous to my introduction, fancied that I was the actual man; the great Mr. Mortimer himself, the author, the distinguished preacher in London. And many a congratulation had he cherished within, to think that he had obtained so goodly a fish in his Canadian net. “Then you are not Mr. Mortimer from London, the author.” “No, my lord, his brother.” “Oh, only his brother!” was the consolatory adjunct; and the dismayed little man was left in his own littleness, unpatronized, unbefriended, to make his own way; and to this day is, in all probability, reaping the bitter fruits of the unhappy prepossession; for, though his self-complacency keeps him from concluding, that his diocesan regards him as a mere blank, yet he cannot but be aware that the rich prize still remains in the wheel, and which he had fondly imagined had been proclaimed as his very own.

My ministerial matters, however, notwithstanding this inauspicious commencement, are pleasingly progressive. My salary has been fixed by our good governor at £100 per annum; £20, or £25, I obtain from the rental of pews; a house is provided for me by my congregation, free of expense; arid I have a promise of some good glebe land, which, in a few years, will be of considerable value. My people are kind; ministrations seemingly acceptable; church and expositions well attended; temporal matters encouraging; living cheap; and two tolerably advantageous purchases secured for the children; so that the good hand of the Lord appears to be resting upon me. Indeed, never for a moment, that I recollect, have I repented of my step since I have been here. Once or twice, during our voyage, “when no small tempest lay upon us,” when the raging billows seemed on the point of ingulphing us, so great did my responsibility seem, as connected with the immortal souls of my little unprepared party, that I almost wished that I had never ventured on the perilous step. But, never for a moment, since our arrival here, have I had the least cause to retrace; and my only regret is, that I did not proceed before. But, perhaps, all is right, as to time also; and, indeed, when I glance upon some few of the deterring circumstances which intervened to retard me, I cannot doubt but that these also were from the Lord; that the deed, the time, the place, have all been under the direction of an agency superior to our own; and what a comfort does this assurance impart!

I forgot to mention, in my last, how much I felt obliged to Mr. Hartwell Horne, for the sundry introductions, and other tokens of kindness, which his parcel conveyed to me, just on the eve of my departure from England. Be so obliging as to convey to him my sincere thanks.

As to tuition, I have, I believe, myself altogether done with it. Hundreds of pleasant hours has it, in various ways, procured me, and during some few of the weeks I have been in Canada, have my classical studies been resumed with peculiar interest. This, partly for their own sake, and partly as a preparation for any opening that might arise in the college, or elsewhere. But I have now taken my final leave, not in dudgeon, nor with painful regret; but in calm surrender to the will of a superior power. Dear King, was, I think, in his kind and affectionate counsel in the matter, quite wrong; such employments are not so much my duty as my snare. The scales have at length fallen from my eyes, and though I cannot say, I can now see clearly, yet I see enough to convince me that, for the residue of my short life, I ought to give myself wholly to my one grand and absorbing avocation. Let, therefore, collegiate honours be sought and enjoyed by others. With these altered views, perhaps, were I permitted to gain the ear of an endeared relative, whom you well know, I should whisper certain cautionary monitions in reference to similar points; for though from his endeared lips the confessed “weakness of his heart” has had a charm and a persuasive influence which won my full approval, yet now that the syren notes can no longer bewilder me, I see, as in my own case, the snare rather than the duty, and the couplet of the almost forgotten Dryden, in which he cautions the aspirant parson, chimes in with my own overlate, but salutary musings:

“Those who contend for place and high degree, Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee.”

Whisper, then, in my stead, in some auspicious moment, to this endeared individual what I am so desirous to convey; but mind that you whisper it in tenderness and love.

But my sheet is filling up so fast, that I have hardly left myself room to assure you of the interest which I still, and I hope, ever shall feel in all the concerns—personal, domestic, and ministerial—of my endeared brother. His opportunities of leisure are so few, that I must not often expect any direct communications, but whenever conveyed they will be most grateful. Accept then yourself, and convey to our dear mother, Eliza, and all your beloved family, the sincere and warmest love of your ever attached brother.

George.

TO MRS. D. WHITMORE.

Thornhill, near York, Upper Canada, August 18, 1833.

My dear Madam,

We were much indebted to you for your last most kind and welcome letter: most joyfully was it received and opened, and with peculiar interest were its instructive and interesting contents perused. So long and so closely written a letter, however, must, we fear, have been sadly trying to your eyes; and we fear this the more, as we learn from Miss E. Ford, that you have recently been experiencing somewhat of failure in your sight. We know how peculiarly trying this circumstance must prove to one, whose enjoyments have been so principally derived from this source; and we tremble at the least intimation of its probable diminution. But we would still say in the language of the man of God, “But the Lord is able to give you much more than this.” And, from what you have experienced under past seasons of privation and discipline, you may still expect that, should God be pleased to try you yet further in this most painful visitation, he will not withhold from you that superabounding grace, which in its blessed issue of spiritual and eternal good is more than tantamount to the most valued of our other joys. My endeared mother, as you well know, has been called to the acuteness of the same trial with yourself; but, O, how sweetly does she bear it—so cheerfully resigned—so peacefully yielding all to the wise and loving discipline of her kind and compassionate Lord, saying, in the language of her favourite hymn:—

“All that I prized below is gone, Yet, Father, still Thy will be done.”

But to return to your letter. Your decision respecting York (now Toronto), exactly corresponds with that adopted by ourselves; and, therefore, we have no intention of going there; nor, indeed, any present intention of fixing in any other place, though many outward circumstances are far from being inviting. We are sadly cramped together in a wooden frame house, consisting of only four rooms, and these, owing to the badness of their construction, peculiarly hot and oppressive in summer and more than usually cold in winter. Nearly half of our things too are unpacked, and our landing and other places crowded and littered by the boxes and trunks, which contain them; in short an air of untidiness and discomfort meets our long-trained English eye, wherever we turn it, and, at times, our heart almost sickens at the sight; and, were it not for the counteracting influence of better feelings, we should adopt some hasty measure to accomplish a retreat into some situation, which might authorize the expectation of somewhat more of outward comfort. On Mrs. M’s. arrival we were in hopes of being settled in a far more suitable abode, and had, in fact, engaged to take it; but its distance from the church and the mass of our population was so great, and so many other inconveniences attended it, that we decided on remaining for the present where we now are. They promise, indeed, to build for us a small house near the church, which is to be ready by spring; but their promises have hitherto been so fallacious, that I hardly know how to trust to them, and the plan of the building is so small, that I am not without strong misgivings, lest we should feel it our duty to decline it. And if so we must either build for ourselves, (seldom either a wise or lucrative act), or else, in true Canadian style, must turn out and seek other quarters. The people, indeed, are kind to us, and the attendance on my ministry is far from discouraging; but if they so little prize the residence and settled ministrations of a clergyman among them, as to refuse to accommodate him with a plain and commodious residence,—while for themselves many of them have built elegant and spacious mansions,—they must not be surprised, if their miscalculating selfishness terminate in his withdrawing from among them.

Our temporal matters are encouraging; for living here is so cheap, that our income is far more than adequate to our regular demands. I have purchased two cultivated farms of 100 and 105 acres, with clearances of forty and sixty acres respectively, and out of my savings have already paid off the first instalment of £250, and in a few days hence shall pay £150 more; in all, £400; so that, through God’s blessing, we are already beginning to reap the benefit of our expensive removal, and, without being over sanguine, we may perhaps indulge a hope, that still further mercies are in reserve, if not for ourselves, still for our dear children. We are very rapidly advancing as a province. God has been very gracious to us in our Lieutenant-Governor, Sir John Colborne, a pious, discreet, and sound intentioned man. Capital also is gradually finding its way among us; so that we are beginning to attract the notice of our jealous neighbours, who see the rudiments of a vast empire rising up close beside them. And, hitherto, we have been singularly prospered. A radical party, however, of considerable strength is, as you will perceive by the public prints, beginning to trouble us: it is headed by the discontented worthless —. Without this drawback, we might almost be tempted to exclaim, “O nimium fortunati.” But I must conclude. Our kindest and united love attends yourself and all your party, and

Believe me,

Yours, ever gratefully, George Mortimer.

It is not without considerable hesitation that I have determined to insert the letter which follows in the Memoir of Mr. Mortimer, not only because he might not himself have fully concurred in the publication of it, but because there may be a difference of opinion as to the expediency of it. The subject, however, is, in my mind, one of such importance to the interests of the church in Canada, that I should not think I had done my duty were I to exclude it; and I am happy to say that, so far as the subject itself is concerned, I have the full concurrence of some who, from their experience in the ecclesiastical affairs of Canada, are fully competent to give counsel in the case, and who perfectly agree with myself in thinking that a much larger spirit of liberality is necessary, not only to the extension, but also to the support and prosperity of the existing church in that country.

There can be no greater benefit to a community, nothing to contribute more to its general well-being, than an adequately supported and efficient church establishment. It is the foundation of everything really good and great, useful and advantageous, honourable and praiseworthy. It is the grand means of promoting religion and morality, peace and good order, charity and good-will, kindness and sympathy between the different ranks in society, diligence and industry, subordination and allegiance to the powers that be: in a word, everything that can make a nation happy and prosperous in itself, and respected by neighbouring countries. The duty, therefore, of making strenuous efforts for the accomplishment of so desirable a purpose must be apparent to all who feel the paramount necessity of religion, and to all such, perhaps, it may be apparent; but the difficulties of every infant colony are urged in bar against it. These difficulties are fully admitted, and due allowance made for them; neither is it the intention of the writer to say one unkind or unreasonable word on the subject; his design is rather to encourage for the future than to condemn for the past, feeling, as he does, very forcibly, the circumstances of trial and privation with which the settlers of new colonies are for the most part surrounded. Bodily support—food and raiment—must necessarily be had in the first place; but, except to this, I should be disposed to say, that to no other could a provision for religion be second; for not more necessary is food and raiment to the body than the offices of religion to the soul: indeed, the supply of these wants is equally necessary, and where they are not simultaneously provided for, but where the former is over and exclusively cared for, it is more than likely that the latter will be neglected for years to come. Under the difficulties, however, in which emigrants to a newly formed colony find themselves, it seems, in the first place, the plain duty of every state to provide for the support of religion in their infant settlements, or, where this is withheld, it clearly becomes the duty of private Christians, possessed of wealth and competency, either individually or incorporated into societies, to afford, as far as may be, the aid required.

Happily for Canada much has been done for it in this way; first by the state, and now by the contributions of a more private and voluntary kind, and especially by the venerable Society for the Propagation of the gospel. But a country ought not to be always looking to and depending upon such adventitious assistance; she ought at some time to rise above eleemosynary aid, and make an effort to provide for her own spiritual wants. The enquiry then naturally arises, Whether Canada is, or is not, become of sufficient age, or standing, or competency, to take upon herself the responsibility of supporting for her own use and benefit the services and ordinances of religion? I should unhesitatingly reply, that it is more than time that a beginning were made to throw off the state of childhood and reliance, and to assume that of manhood and independence. But are there to be found in Canada more than a very few towns, and those too only of the first class, that have taken upon themselves to provide altogether for their own church establishments? Wherefore? Because there are not more that are capable of doing so? I fear this would not be found to be the real state of the case. Mr. Mortimer’s statement is much more likely to be the correct and faithful one. I feel assured that there are many towns or townships which might have done much more than they have towards this great and honourable work. What! shall the Presbyterians, the Independents, the Roman Catholics, in towns of a second-rate class, support entirely their own churches and ministers, and shall Episcopalians constitute the lagging party, the one most backward in this most blessed and holy work;—nay, shall the American Episcopalians, dwelling on the very borders of Canada, and therefore little differing in their circumstances from those living in the colony, support their own religious establishments, and shall the English Episcopalians be found deficient? Surely this does not speak much either for the liberality or the churchmanship of our Canadian countrymen. If we claim a pre-eminence for the reformed and catholic Church of England, all the members of that Church should be pre-eminent in their attachment to, and zealous in their support of it; they should not be behind any others in their gifts and graces, waiting for the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Let every reader, then, of Mr. Mortimer’s Life, ask himself, have I done what I could? Have I contributed liberally, with a willing mind, according to my ability, towards the erection, enlargement, or in giving comfort and convenience, and a suitable appearance to my church? Do I dwell in my ceiled house, while the house of God lies waste? Am I anxious to see all things about the house of God and the services of religion done decently and in order? And do I take my share in the management of the secular affairs of the church? Am I sufficiently anxious to promote the comfort and well-being of my pastor? If he have sown unto me spiritual things, is it a great matter that he should reap my temporal things? More than persuaded, confident I am, that if every member of the church of England in Canada would seriously lay this subject to heart and urge upon himself the great duties connected with it, much more would be done there to promote her interests, and to make her independent of all extraneous aid. All might contribute more than they do; some in money, some in lands, and they who could give neither, might give of the produce of their lands, or the fruits of their labour, or occasionally their labours to assist in tilling their pastor’s grounds, or in planting and cultivating their gardens. Depend upon it, that he who feels adequately the real benefits and blessings of being taught in the word, will minister unto him that teacheth in all good things. Pastors should not be unreasonable, and, if they be right-minded, they will have no wish to lay unnecessary burdens upon their people: but their people, if their minds be duly influenced by religion, will be as desirous to provide for them, free of all charitable support, as to maintain their own families in perfect independence.

Besides, the good Churchmen of Canada should really consider the many and great calls now made upon that source from whence their church receives its chief support; I mean, the Society for Propagating the Gospel. It has only been by renewed efforts and extraordinary exertions that the society has been able to maintain so great an expenditure in Canada; perhaps, too, at the expense of withholding very important help from other needy parts of our extensive colonial possessions; and it is not reasonable, nor generous, nor just, to require assistance one moment beyond what is absolutely necessary. Every township, therefore, in the colony should begin, with as little delay as possible, to make its own provision for the public worship of God.

Verily, earnestly do I pray that the foregoing remarks, together with the letter of my late dear friend, which has elicited them, may be kindly received, deeply felt, and earnestly followed, not only by good resolutions, but by personal and immediate exertions for the gradual accomplishment of a work so truly honourable to those who promote it, so fraught with blessings to generations yet unborn, and so full of glory to God.

TO MISS E. FORD.

Thornhill, near York, Upper Canada, Oct. 17, 1833.

My dear Madam,

You express your surprise at the reluctant support afforded to ministers. This is partly to be ascribed to that selfishness which is so sadly prevalent in our fallen nature; they can build (commodious and even sumptuous) houses for their own prosperous families; they can call, out of their perpetually increasing means, comforts of every description; but, to their minister, they can calmly and gravely say, “Oh, you must wait patiently, and in time all will be right; we have had to wait before you; it is quite impossible to force matters in Canada,” and so on. And then, in the spirit of that affected benevolence which prompted that hypocritical wish, “be ye warmed and be ye clothed,” they point us to eventual comforts, and care not to make the least sacrifice which may conduce to the attainment of the end. In regard to house, to salary, and to everything pecuniary, I have experienced scarcely anything but disappointments, and at times I feel a little piqued at the contrast between their warm expressions of regard, and their unwillingness to contribute to the comforts of my family; for, as to myself I care but little; but still I would not wish to be hard upon them, for though they have property, very few have money, and as soon as they procure this, they sink it in the further cultivation or stocking of their farms. And then, again, they have that admirable loop-hole for escape—the clergy reserves, which seemed to promise everything, but have done scarcely anything; a broken reed, which is perpetually piercing those who lean on it with sorrow; but which affords our people so ready an excuse for refusing to come forward to our aid; so that of all classes of emigrants, ministers, in a pecuniary point of view, are by far the worst off: they cannot, with propriety, go into the woods, for they must fix in the more populous and more cultivated districts, where land of course is high, and thus one of the chief sources of prosperity is cut off; and, as to trade, from this of course they are excluded, but still they are the class of settlers most needed. And, in the midst of occasional pique and disappointment, I cannot but feel thankful to God who directed my steps to this country, and who, by the property which he has previously given to me, gives me the prospect of enjoying, in this land of cheapness, a great increase both of comfort and temporal prosperity. At present, indeed, we are anything but outwardly comfortable: the house we formerly mentioned was found too inconvenient, and therefore given up, and we are still in the lodging I occupied previous to the arrival of my family.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Thornhill, Toronto, Upper Canada, July 14, 1835.

My much-endeared Brother,

We were in some measure prepared for the communication conveyed to us by your letter of the 20th of April, and which reached us yesterday evening; for our Shropshire friend had heard the report of our beloved mother’s departure, and had made allusion to it in communications received some weeks since. Well, her happy, holy spirit, is at length released. Fulness of days has been granted to her, and, though they have not been unattended with labour and sorrow, yet has her kind Saviour been with her, and as much of outward alleviation and inward serenity and peace have been experienced by her as her circumstances and state of body would admit of. And now has she entered into the fulness of her gracious reward, and her sainted name must ever be inhaled as the precious perfumed ointment, by all who know how to estimate her deep, consistent, and exalted piety. And where shall we now look for her fellow? For the race of the distinguished and peculiar few seems now to have become extinct. In vain shall we look for a Cooper, a Rogers, a Fletcher, a Lefevre, or one like our equally distinguished mother. A prophet indeed is no where so little esteemed as among his own kindred. And yet I am persuaded that there is that in the heart of my endeared brother, which will fully respond to the encomiums which have thus unintentionally escaped me. * * *