Chapter I: HAVE to thank my dear mother and yourself for the printed account, and

the accompanying letter relative to the Lord’s gracious dealings with our dear departed brother: they have proved highly interesting, and, I trust, truly profitable to us. May our ears ever be disposed to listen to, and our hearts prepared to receive, instruction from all the gracious means which a God of infinite love and mercy is ever taking with us, in order to our good, and when it comes to our turn to drop the garments of mortality may it be with us, as it was with dear James, to be clothed with those of light. A tear may now and then involuntarily escape me when I advert to the difference between his envied situation and my own. He quite safe, I still surrounded with danger; still called to many a conflict with the Christian’s threefold enemy; still smarting from the wounds which my own unfaithfulness and presumption rendered expedient that I should receive. But I comfort myself with the recollection that the time will soon come when I hope to be crowned as victor, and that my continuance here below is with the merciful intention of giving me increased opportunity of getting some fresh jewels to my crown, and of getting those brightened which are already there. May the great Captain of my salvation so stand by me, that all these His gracious purposes may be abundantly answered! I bless God, I do feel an increasing desire to live to Him, and to the glory of his name; and there are times in which I feel that I have an increased power to do so. When I compare the general state of my religious experience with what it formerly was, I find that I am enabled to exercise more uniformly submission to his divine will, and to depend upon him more habitually for the supply of all my wants. I feel in many respects more crucified to the world, and the world seems to have become more so to me; so that I care but little about a variety of things which were at one time accustomed to engross much of my time and affections. In a word, I am led to conclude, that the life which I now live in the flesh is somewhat more a life of faith in the Son of God, a simple dependence and reliance upon Him, as my wisdom, righteousness, strength, and happiness, as my all-sufficient Saviour. But while I feel great cause for thankfulness in these respects, yet how far am I from so walking as to please my God! I was thinking over the state of my mind the other morning, and I felt deeply humbled before the Lord on account of it. My religion strikes me as being more superficial and circumstantial, than deep, inward, and spiritual. I possess a measure of _union_ with God, but very little _communion_ with Him. I am engaged in His works, and doing His will in the main, but I hold slight and frequently interrupted converse with Him. But how can such a walk be pleasing unto God? But, perhaps, you will not be able to enter into my feelings—as connected with this my defect in religious experience—unless I have recourse to some familiar illustration. An individual may be walking by my side, towards the place which I would have him proceed to, and in the way in which I would have him walk; but should he walk for miles and hours together, in total silence, never, during these intervals, drop a word expressive of his views and feelings, never communicate to me the least thing which is passing in his mind; or should he manifest a similar indifference concerning my communications to him, should he never listen to my voice, or suffer himself to be so amused with the surrounding prospect, or the incidents of the journey, as to have no ear for me, what opinion should I form of such an individual? Would he be walking so as to please me? The application is easy—we may be walking in God’s commands towards the place he would have us direct our face, and in those paths which he has been pleased to appoint; but if we do not hold converse with him, if we are backward to tell him what is passing in our minds, or if we have no ear to listen to his kind communications, suffering ourselves to be previously engaged with the things by which we are surrounded, how little can such a walk be gratifying to the blessed God! Now, my dear Mary, here is my defect; I do not cultivate, as I ought, that loving, gracious intercourse with my loving Redeemer which it is my privilege to enjoy: not only many moments, but, sometimes, even hours, pass without anything like direct communion with him. Oh, when shall I be able to adopt the language—the beautiful expressive language—of one of Mr. Wesley’s hymns—

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

Let us help one another, my dear sister, in this important matter by our mutual and fervent prayers.

Good Archbishop Leighton, alluding to the effects of intercourse kept up on the part of ministers with the blessed God, has happily expressed himself:—“They that converse most with the King, and are inward with him, know most of the affairs of state, and even the secrets of them, which are hid from others. And, certainly, those of God’s messengers who are oftenest with Himself, cannot but understand their business best, and know most of His meaning, and the affairs of His kingdom.” What a luminous proof did this most excellent man afford in his conduct of the truth of his own assertion, and what need have we, who are the ministers and stewards of the same mysteries, to follow him as he also followed Christ!

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Wellington, Salop. Dec. 29, 1814.

My dear Friend,

* * * * * * *

IN my last I mentioned to you the illness and expected removal of my youngest brother, James. He has since been called to his rest, and I am truly thankful to be enabled to state that his death was attended with circumstances highly satisfactory, especially when it is remembered that he was not in any way a communicative lad, but, on the contrary, very silent and reserved. Well! he is gone—gone, I trust, to eternal glory. The Lord, in his rich mercy, prepare us all to follow him! He was the youngest among us, and the least likely to be first called. I hope that we have most of us been induced by the circumstance to watch and to be sober; “so to number our days as to apply our hearts unto wisdom.” As far as regards myself, I think I may say that the lesson has been very salutary. I have been led to consider myself as the next which shall be called, and, of course, eternal and invisible things have appeared exceedingly near. I thank God that death has no sting to me. Its sting is sin, and that my gracious Redeemer has mercifully removed. The anticipation, therefore, far from being a means of uneasiness, is matter of entire and sober satisfaction; not that I have any cause for disquietude here below—not that I have any restlessness of desire arising from a querulous or pettish feeling of discontent. No, my dear friend, God has been, and still continues to be, abundant in mercy and truth. But still these things are not my God—this world is not my home. I seem to myself like a school-boy very agreeably placed at school—fond of his master, pleased with his companions, and interested by his studies, he has every sober ground for satisfaction, and, as such, does not pettishly wish to be gone—does not for a moment think of leaving till his vacation shall arrive: but still the thoughts of home delight him, and when the summer which calls him there arrives, he most cheerfully complies—his kind master, his pleasing companions—his engaging studies—all are most gladly left; for these are not his home. Ah, my dear friend, how lightly should we all sit to the things beneath, to those which are nearest and dearest, did we but consider heaven more as our _own_ place—as our heavenly Father’s house!

I often wish, my dear friend, that the bounds of our habitation were so fixed that we might not only correspond with, but face to face converse with, each other. This privilege I now enjoy with my friend King, who for nearly a year has been on the same spot, and even in the same house. But I still feel my heart longing after my absent friend. This indeed may originate in some latent feeling of ingratitude and discontent, which leads me to overlook the mercy vouchsafed, and to long for that denied. And yet I am not conscious that this is altogether the case: hardly a day elapses in which I do not thank God for the blessing granted me, through the medium of my present friend. He is a most choice and valuable young man—one of ten thousand. And yet the question frequently arises in my mind, why did I ever know—why did I feel so exceedingly attached to my absent friend, if it were not the intention of a gracious and indulgent God to give him to me in like manner? But the ways of the Lord are in the great deep: his footsteps are not known; and yet gracious, though unknown, I would therefore be thankful that I have a dear—dear—very dear friend, to whom I can write, and for whom I can pray, if I can do no more; and my mind is solaced and comforted with the hope that a day is coming in which we shall join to part no more; that glorious inheritance is at hand where some adjacent mansion shall be assigned us, or where distance shall prove no impediment or barrier to our intercourse. May our loving Saviour, who is “the way, the truth, and the life,” guide us and ours all safe to this glorious kingdom!

I remain,

Your very affectionate Friend and old Collegian,

“MORT.”

* * * * *

Another of his friends, the Rev. J. C., the present rector of a parish in Cheshire, may be here introduced—a friend whom he esteemed very highly. This gentleman, in the former years of his life, was engaged in business, and his friend was very desirous of detaching his mind from this pursuit, and of leading him to turn his attention to the sacred office. In one of his early letters pressing this change upon his consideration, he makes the following pertinent remark:—

“It is not easy, when fixed by circumstances, and extensively
surrounded by our secular concerns, to follow the example of Matthew,
and immediately to arise. The din of business and the clamour of
dear friends drown the soft intimations of our passing Lord, and,
questioning the reality of his call, we find it difficult to leave
all behind.”

In the following extract of a letter to the Rev. J. Armstrong, Mr. Mortimer states what he conceived to be the qualifications of a minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil; and also his views of Arminianism. His remarks on the latter subject were addressed to the editor, to whom, in a former letter, he had given some account of a plan which he and some of his friends had devised of raising a fund for the purchase of livings, and had given to the designation of the object an Arminian character. The editor, who has often been considered as a Calvinist, wrote to his friend to say he objected to the title of his projected association; adding, that, in the event of his returning home invalided, or from other causes, he could expect to derive no benefit from his friend’s patronage:—

Wellington, Salop. Feb. 25th, 1815.

My dear Friend,

** * * * * * *

WERE I required to point out those qualifications which should distinguish the minister of the word in a foreign or uncultivated soil, I should not specify those qualities which are too exclusively dwelt upon by many. I should not inquire into the fervour of his spirit, the commanding or winning nature of his aspect and address, the robustness of his frame—“his iron sinews, and his bones of brass;”—all these things are good auxiliaries, but they are not essentials. The grand requisite seems to be this, a quiet steady application to present duty, combined with a peaceful and unbroken reliance upon the Lord; for if an individual be possessed of a spirit and temper which this conduct supposes, he must succeed. Hosts of opposing difficulties will, one after another, fall before him like the petrified band who came to seize the person of our Lord. All his patient labours, the produce of his faith, shall bear the approving seal of God—all that he doeth shall prosper. But, if present duty be neglected, or supinely, or uninterestingly conducted—if his reliance and confidence on God be broken—if his oppressed spirit sink under every wave of discouragement which for the trial of his faith is permitted to pass over him—under such circumstances, prosperity is impossible; for even our gracious and our willing Lord can in no wise help us. From these considerations, I feel truly thankful that your spirit faints not, that your confidence in God still remains, and that you still apply yourself to your arduous work. This Moravian (I should rather have said this Christlike) spirit will, with the superadded blessing of the Lord, bring to you and your dear flock a train of mercies far exceeding the most sanguine of your expectations. “Be strong, therefore, and of a good courage; fear not, neither be dismayed; and then the Lord thy God will be with thee whithersoever thou goest.” He will “Cover thy head in the day of battle; he will take hold of shield and buckler; he will fight for thee, and thou shalt hold thy peace.” But while I am thus alluding to your ministerial duties, I would again recommend to you what I took the liberty of urging upon you somewhat at large in a former letter. I allude to class meetings. Whatever you do, my dear Armstrong, do not omit these. I have seen already, and daily continue to see, advantages the most unequivocal resulting from them; and am convinced that no one endued either with a spiritual mind, or with a desire after it, would make an experiment of their efficacy without most convincingly perceiving it. In your own case, I have no question but that the adoption of the plan I am recommending, would become quite an era to you in spiritual prosperity, both as a church and as a private individual—an epocha upon which you would ever look back with the most unqualified delight.

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

* * * * * * * *

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

Your truly affectionate Friend and Brother,
G. MORTIMER.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Wellington, Salop. May 1st, 1815.

My dear Friend,

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

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

From your truly affectionate
and ever sincere Friend,
GEORGE MORTIMER.

* * * * *

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

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

My dear Friend,

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

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

I remain,

Your ever affectionate Friend,
GEO. MORTIMER.

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

Madeley, Sept. 26th, 1815.

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

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

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

My dear Armstrong,

* * * * * * * *

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

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

Believe me, my dear Friend,

Yours, most affectionately,
G. MORTIMER.

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Nov. 20th, 1815.

My dear Mary,

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

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

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

Madeley, Dec. 4th, 1815.

My dear Friend,

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

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

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

I remain,

Your truly affectionate and sincere Friend,
GEORGE MORTIMER.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Dec. 29th, 1815.

My dear Armstrong,

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

* * * *

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

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

Yours ever affectionately,
G. MORTIMER.

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Jan. 26th, 1816.

My dear Mary,