Chapter I: WAS very glad to hear, through my sister, of your servant Lucy, who

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

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

* * * * *

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

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, April 28, 1821.

My much endeared Friend,

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, June 1, 1822.

My dear Friend,

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

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

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

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

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

My dear Friend,

Yours ever sincerely,
G. M.

* * * * *

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Madeley, Feb. 13, 1823.

My dear Brother,