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.
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.
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.
Madeley, Nov. 20th, 1815.
My dear Mary,
Mrs. D. Whitmore has offered to enclose a letter for me to yourself in her frank. I have availed myself of the opportunity thus afforded me, and have the comfort of reflecting that for once, at least, my poor scrawl will not cost more than its worth.
Mrs. D. and Miss Whitmore have lately been spending a few days with us, and they have left us with a pleasing and powerful conviction of the blessedness resulting from the society of those who live near to God. We felt, in the first instance, somewhat of reluctance in inviting them; but, being persuaded that the law of love required that we should seek our pleasure in the endeavour to communicate pleasure to others, we thought it right to break through our cozy habits of retirement, and to welcome them under our roof. I need not tell you that we have been abundantly repaid. Christian intercourse, when sought and conducted on Christian principles, must be productive of good, and I would gratefully adore the goodness of the Lord for all the refreshment of spirit, and the improvement of mind, which have been conveyed to me through them as channels. How clearly, my dear Mary, would the Lord be teaching us, provided that we would learn of him that the faithful taking up of the cross, even in those matters which appear but trivial and insignificant, is the most effectual way of procuring present peace and future blessedness. In short, that the spirit of surrender is the one thing needful, the grand preparative for happiness and holiness here, and for eternal glory hereafter. I do not know how you feel on this point; but I must, with humiliation, confess to you, that this yoke of Christ does not sit so gracefully and so easily upon me as it ought. I would, however, be thankful that I am endeavouring to bear it. I am comforted with the thought, and I may say with the experience, that the effort to accommodate it to my stubborn neck is the most effectual way of making it natural and easy. I have been much helped to this endeavour by a persuasion that the bearing of the cross is not the end, but the way; that humiliations, mortifications, trials, and so on, are only so many means which God is obliged to have recourse to in order to communicate blessings; that he does not wish to harass, pain, and mortify us, but to promote our comfort, and that the moment we are ready to take up the cross, and begin to submit to the only terms on which it is safe in God to bless us, then he cheerfully avails himself of the opportunity of conveying to us, not the pain which we anticipated, but some gracious token of his love. “For the Lord taketh pleasure in the prosperity of his servants.” His name, His nature, is love. In my last, I think, I stated to you that matters were going on pretty comfortably in my parish. I did not, however, enlarge, lest I should be conveying to you a more favourable idea than contingent circumstances would authorize. I now feel that gratitude towards God ought to lead me to speak to his praise. Many persons in the place have, to say the least, been very favourably impressed, both among the higher, as well as the lower orders, and show a considerable change in the whole of their demeanour. The congregation in the church, both morning and evening, continues to increase; and the expositions, both in the town and the outskirts of the parish, are fully attended. If there is one thing more than another which seems to encourage me, it is that of witnessing on all occasions, that the Lord has graciously given to me what I have all along been led more particularly to pray for—the heart and affections of my dear people. They not only tolerate—they evidently love me. I seem to myself the same poor blundering stutterer as ever, and yet they meet me with pleasure, and go from my ministrations with profit. The Lord make and keep me humble and thankful! I sometimes think that all this is too good to last, that the peaceful calm is but the harbinger of the treacherous storm; I feel, however, that this is no necessary conclusion. Could humility and gratitude be the predominating feeling of our mind, we then might be safely trusted with success. But this is the grand difficulty—pride and self-congratulation are ever apt to insinuate themselves into our minds, and then adversity is necessary. “It is difficult,” as the pious Leighton observes, “to carry a full cup even.” Pray for me, my dear sister, that all the will of the Lord may be done in me, and by me, and that no evils on my part may put any impediment to the free course and glorification of God’s blessed word.
The following letter to his friend, Mr., now the Rev. John Cooper, will show how much Mr. Mortimer was in advance of the time in which he wrote on the subject of lay-agency—a kind of help which, at that time, was considered of very questionable propriety; but which has now come to be admitted very generally, as expedient to meet the pressing wants of a rapidly increasing population. These wants, indeed, the editor believes can never be effectually supplied by any means less than an extensive augmentation of the number of clerical labourers. To supply these means, he regrets much that the Lord Primate, together with the Episcopal Bench, should not see it to be their duty to admit to deacon’s orders upon a lower standard of literary attainments than is now required; keeping persons so ordained, if it be thought good, in that order, until they possess the usual portion of literary and theological knowledge, as well as the ordinary title for priest’s orders. On this subject also, as will be seen from the same letter, Mr. Mortimer appears to have been equally in advance of his brethren; for, at that time, the notion of such an augmentation of the number of the clergy was little thought of, and would have been in most quarters, as it is still in many, very generally condemned. His opinion is, I think, a just one—viz. that the stability and true respectability of the church is more effectually promoted by sound piety, than by a certain portion of Latin and Greek. “The union of sound learning with genuine piety, is what every one must admire and desire in a Christian pastor; but a man may do immense good with nothing more than an unlearned familiarity with the Scriptures, with sound practical sense and activity, taking part in all the business of the parish, and devoting himself to intercourse with men rather than with books. I honour such men in the highest degree, and think that they are among the most valuable ministers that the church possesses.” [69] In the meantime, however, until the clergy shall hear some proportion to the population, we must have recourse to lay-assistants to supply, in some small measure, the much to be deplored deficiency. “For myself, I will openly declare, that I see not how we can dare for any of those small professional objections, which may be urged, if they are sought for, against every comprehensive scheme of good, to refuse such aid in this our great necessity. It might be well enough for men, sitting calmly in their closets, and forgetting all these mighty issues, to cavil and to speculate, to raise difficulties as to the exact mission of the lay-reader, and to wish (as which of us does not wish?) that bands of zealous, well-timed, devoted deacons ministered instead among these crowds; but it will not do for us, my reverend brethren, who know that souls are thus perishing around us, to bring upon ourselves the guilt of their blood; to let them be unwarned, and drag us with them into their destruction, because, through blinding prejudice, or the widely comprehensive sin of omission, we have, for a whole generation, shut out of a parish the light which might have streamed into it.” [70]
Madeley, Dec. 4th, 1815.
My dear Friend,
On the evening previous to my receiving your very kind and truly acceptable letter, I had been speaking in the town from those words of our Lord, “Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest, that he would send [or rather thrust] forth labourers into his harvest;” and we all seemed to find it a profitable season, especially when, in conclusion, we were praying that this important blessing might be realized. When your kind favour arrived, I saw more than ever, the propriety of beseeching God to “thrust” them out; for surely nothing but main force can compel desirable labourers. Others come at a moment’s bidding—no useful employments detain them—no endeared relatives or friends hang about them, conscientiously and feelingly pressing their continuance among them. But when a prepared labourer, one whom “the Lord of the harvest” has previously been fitting for his ministerial work; when such a one is fixed on, none but the Lord himself can bring him out. I have, therefore, only one resource, and that is prayer; this, however, I am privileged to use, and this I must still hope will eventually prevail. I assure you it would prove a source of no small joy to myself to welcome you among us for your initiatory work; for, independent of the personal gratification and profit which I must promise myself, your help in various ways would be exceedingly acceptable to the people. The most populous parts of the parish greatly want help, and most gladly avail themselves of the little which I and T— are able to give them. At present I feel as though I could do but little more: I have, indeed, one leisure evening during the week; but even this they have been asking from me, and I fear to deny them. My good friend need not, therefore, be afraid of eating the bread of idleness, by secluding himself for a short season among us; and with regard to his future employment, a single month’s actual residence in a place tolerably populous will fully convince him how much work of the highest importance will call for his daily and even hourly attention. And are there not hundreds of places of this description opening to our wishes? “Truly the harvest is plenteous,” but with pain I must still add, that “the labourers are few.”
I felt very thankful to hear of the determination of your friend B—, relative to entering into orders, and of the kind and judicious conduct of the bishop—a conduct, however, but seldom adopted. The determination of many on the bench to admit those only into orders who have previously been at college, is, indeed, calculated to secure a certain portion of Latin and Greek in the Establishment; but, at the same time, to exclude from it, in many instances, that which it more needs and which would more effectually conduce to its stability and true respectability; I mean, vital, genuine piety. What a mercy it is, however, that their determination has been in so many cases made void, and that there is not an instance to be found in which a pious young man has eventually been excluded. I think, I hinted to you, when you kindly visited us in the summer, that I am too sensible of the dismal forebodings of kind friends to let slip an opportunity of putting you again in remembrance. But, my dear friend, with all our zeal for the progress of the Lord’s work around us, we must not forget its progress within us. I know not how you may feel, but, with regard to myself, I am constrained to acknowledge, that while I am endeavouring to mind the vineyards of others, I too frequently neglect my own. I get more and more of the habit of thinking spiritually—speaking spiritually—and even acting spiritually; but there seems in my own experience a great deficiency in point of feeling. Spiritual things are not brought home to my own mind by an immediate and constant self-application. I seem like a spiritual purveyor who is convinced that nothing but spirituality will do, and, therefore, my constant endeavour is to convey, and to exhibit it. But still, I fear, at times, lest all this is more in reference to others than to myself. I hope, however, that the act of conveying and exhibiting it, is not altogether unattended with good to myself; for the channel imbibes some of the water which passes through it; and, as Leighton observes, “The boxes in which our perfumes are kept for garments and other uses, are themselves perfumed by keeping them.”
* * * * * * * *
What a world of instruction is conveyed to us in that beautiful passage of the prophet, “In returning and in rest ye shall be saved!” Now when I fail, or when I wander, too often, instead of quietly returning and resuming my endeavours, I am apt to sink into myself, and be discouraged. In short, I seem rather to brood over my failures than to get pardon for them, and to set about their amendment. My paper tells me that I cannot enlarge; I must, therefore, conclude, with the assurance that the best wishes of Mrs. M. and myself continue to attend yourself and all your circle.
I remain,
Your truly affectionate and sincere
Friend,
George Mortimer.
Madeley, Dec. 29th, 1815.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * * * * *
On the 9th instant, dear Mrs. Fletcher was removed from the church militant to the church triumphant, from a sorrowing church below to a glorious one above. The last few months of her life were attended with much pain, but how sweetly did the Christian beam through all! In her former years she seems to have been called more particularly to glorify God by an unusual degree of activity and usefulness. Latterly, she has been called to bear and suffer; but all in the spirit of her Divine Master. O my dear friend, how gladly would I join her glorified spirit by making my escape from a world of sin and sorrow! Do not, however, mistake me; I do, indeed, love home, and strange would it be were it otherwise, but still I would not run away to get there. I see that there is much for me still, both to do and to suffer; and as such, rather than pettishly desiring to depart, I would calmly and quietly wish to wait—wait till all my discipline is over, till I am better fitted and prepared for my inheritance among the saints in light.
* * * *
While my Mary’s letter lies before me, I feel disposed to copy another part of it, relative to the management of school children. “I was much pleased a few weeks since at the national school. Dr. Bell’s arrangements are well made, and the mistress he has appointed is an uncommonly clever woman, just fit for that situation, and apparently for none else. I asked her how she managed with the children when any of them used improper language, having myself been much troubled with this at our Shoreditch school? She said such a case rarely occurred, but when it did, she found it better to convince the understanding of the evil, than merely to correct for the individual fault; and as she was particular in explaining the catechism, commandments, &c., she had in general little trouble in bringing such faults home. For example, she said, ‘A few days since, about twenty of the girls came to me, and said, “O Governess! little Chambers has said a very wicked word.” I lifted up my hands, and said, “Blessed are the peace makers.” If twenty of you had come to tell me of a good deed, I would gladly have listened, but go away and be ashamed at being so pleased to publish the faults of a school-fellow. I thought it right, however, not to let it go unnoticed; and therefore called to me privately the monitor of the class. She said, “Indeed, governess, it was a very naughty word, it was O God.” I said, “Very well, that is enough.” I then went round to the different classes, who were saying the catechism; after a while I came to this class, and after having asked several children the commandments, I said (pointing the fore finger,) “Little Chambers, do you say the third.” She immediately burst into tears, and said, “O Governess! I did say a naughty word, but I will never do so again, if you will forgive me this once.”’ This is not according to the plan of correction generally pursued at schools, but it appears to me much more judicious and more likely to produce lasting benefit.”
* * * * * * * *
My Mary joins me in kindest and most Christian regards to yourself and dear Mrs. A., and in love to all your family, and I remain,
Yours ever affectionately,
G. Mortimer.
Madeley, Jan. 26th, 1816.
My dear Mary,
I have been much struck of late with the forcible manner in which the providence of God has been co-operating with his word in the endeavour to teach me a lesson, which, of all others, I find so exceedingly difficult to learn; I mean that of so numbering my days as to apply my heart unto wisdom. The removal of my dear mother-in-law, the unusual number of deaths among all descriptions of persons in my own immediate neighbourhood, and especially that of Mrs. Fletcher; all these conspiring circumstances loudly enforce the necessity of being sober and watching unto prayer, of having my loins girt and my lamp burning, of being in a prepared posture of expectation, waiting for the coming of my Lord. These effects, I am thankful to state, have in some measure been gratefully traced by me in my recent experience. One thing seems to me more than ever to be truly needful, not indeed the obtaining and the securing of inheritances below, but the getting prepared for my inheritance above—an inheritance to which every day and every hour spent for God is adding some increase of comfort, and which, when once possessed, will be found to be worth the possessing—an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not away. O my dear Mary, how does the grand enemy of our souls destroy by deluding! how does he infatuate the world at large! how gross also the deception which he practises even upon believers themselves, making then live nine-tenths of their time, if not sinfully, at least uselessly for themselves, or for the world, instead of for God and eternity, as a matter of course, instead of with a pure and single aim. But, alas! what is any action when stripped of its proper motive, I mean the glory of God. A man may give liberally to the poor, he may carefully regulate his household, bring up his children decently and even morally, and restrain his domestics from immoralities and inconsistencies. But if our liberality is connected with our own reputation, if our children be merely educated that they may bring credit and comfort to us, or if our dependents are restrained and their good consulted, because it would reflect dishonour upon us to pursue a contrary course; if these be our motives, what are they after all but mere selfishness? There is no reference to God in all these actions, and, of course, no eternal reward can be expected from them. Their reference is to ourselves and that also in our present state, but the future is left entirely out of the question. I grant, indeed, that a present reward is obtained, but this is all, and, in fact, it is all which in most cases is sought for. The benevolent man has the reputation for benevolence, which he seeks; the moral educator of his children has the satisfaction of seeing them orderly and decent, and they bring to him the temporal comfort which he desired; the strict and moral master has in the same way the present fruit of his labours. But if God’s glory, if a sincere desire of pleasing him, has not been combined with the motives of these respective individuals, no eternal fruit will be found from them. They die with this present world. How uselessly, then, if not sinfully, are the generality of persons employed, and what need have we all to strive to live more completely under the influence of unseen celestial realities! I feel these truths while I am writing them, and the earnest prayer of my soul is, that, as a consequence of them, my inheritance may rather be in reserve than in immediate possession.
Madeley, Salop. March 4th, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * * * * *
You may perhaps recollect that in one of my former letters I mentioned — as a violent opposer of everything which had the least appearance of real godliness. He also has been called from among us, and that in a manner which of all others seemed most likely to excite attention, and lead to serious inquiry. O, my dear friend, what a mercy is it that our feet have not been treading in the same unhallowed paths! We see in him what we ourselves should have been, had we been left to ourselves. To the grace of God—Arminian as you conceive me to be—I am fully convinced the reason should be ascribed. Dear Mr. — bears the afflictive stroke with a union of acute feelings and perfect resignation, such as is seldom seen. I should have imagined the stroke would have almost overwhelmed him; but what cannot the grace of God enable us to bear?
You imagine that now I am fixed at Madeley, I have become more a Methodist than ever. If by the term you mean an attachment to their peculiar doctrines, I must confess that you are not very far from the mark; for I feel more than ever persuaded that with some slight modification, they are the truth. The more I pray, and study, and experience, and preach, the more do I see of their accordancy with the whole revealed will of God. All seems intelligible, all in unison. But though more decided than ever, I trust that I am no bigot. I exclude, I would deal out contemptuous pity to, no one; and, therefore, God forbid, that I should at any time lay that stress upon disputed points which should lead my dear friend to imagine, that because we do not quite see alike, that, therefore, I feel the least atom of diminution in point of affection. I can from my heart assure him that it is no such thing. Should you, however, fancy that by my coming to Madeley, I am more of a Methodist, because I am less of a Churchman; in this respect, I feel, then, I can altogether clear myself. The fact is, the more I see of Methodism, the less do I admire it. There is that party spirit, that uncommon wish to proselyte, that settled jealousy against those who are more successful in their endeavours—in short, that spirit which, if suffered to proceed, would completely undermine our most excellent Establishment, and erect itself in its stead, that though I cannot but greatly love and admire some of its members, as a body I dare not give them that countenance or support which I should do were their doctrines the only point in consideration. I therefore have adopted all that strikes me as good in their system, but at the same time keep myself and people perfectly distinct. By this means, I have ill-will and opposition to an extent which you would hardly conceive; but I go quietly and lovingly forward, and I thank God my plans have hitherto well succeeded, and I feel quite convinced that all will eventually be well. What provokes most opposition, is my using the same weapons which have so successfully been employed by themselves, and that with the increased advantage of their being combined with all the weight of influence connected with the Establishment. I wish my dear friend would try the same weapons, and he would soon see the most beneficial effects. * * * *
Believe me, with kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. A.,
Your truly affectionate Friend,
G. Mortimer.
Madeley, Salop. Aug. 5, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
* * * * *
Your two or three last letters, but more particularly the last of all, seem written under a degree of depression which I am greatly concerned to observe. While engaged in doing a great work, while filling an important post, and that with no small measure of patient perseverance, you suffer yourself to suppose that you are doing almost nothing. While your friends which you have left behind you are admiring the zeal and the love which have enabled you to tear yourself from the comforts of civilized and refined society, and thus to forget, as it were, your own people and your father’s house, while they are thankful for the grace of God within you, you are so discouragingly comparing yourself with a Schwartz and a Van der Kemp, as to request of your unworthy friend that he would pray for you, lest, after all, you should prove a castaway. Now, my dear Armstrong, what must I say to such feelings and requests? Must I sympathise with my dear desponding friend? I do so from my heart; but I must also chide with him: you overlook the tender mercies of God towards you; you keep your eye not on the bright side, but on that which is dark, gloomy, and foreboding; and thus faith and confidence in your loving and omnipotent Redeemer seem dormant and inactive principles. But what is the language of the Saviour under such circumstances of discouragement? It is that which he addressed to Martha at the grave of Lazarus: “Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?” It is that also which he used towards the afflicted father, who with tears requested that, if he could do anything, he would have compassion on him, and help him: “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” Believe then, my dear friend, through all your difficulties and discouragements, and your temporary darkness will be succeeded by glorious and abiding light. The clouds which for a season overspread your horizon will be dispelled, and your glistening eye will be cheered with a bright and resplendent day. Perhaps, however, you may tell me, that faith is the gift of God, and that we must wait till this hinging blessing be bestowed. But are not all the gifts of God to be obtained upon the simple condition of asking? and were you to ask for this gift, or for its increase, would the blessed God deny it? I have often found it exceedingly useful to my own mind, after having fallen upon my knees to pray to that God who has promised to give to us all that we ask in faith,—I have found it profitable to ask previously, that the Lord would give me faith to believe, that the petitions which I should present before his throne of grace, would be answered by him, and, as a consequence, my faith has been strengthened far beyond its usual exercise. And with regard to discouraging circumstances, my constant prayer has been that my faith might not fail. Since I came into this parish, I have had difficulties to encounter, such as some of my dearest friends and fellow-labourers have confessed that they should not have dared to meet, and I must acknowledge, that, at times, I have sighed, and wept, and groaned, being burdened; and have had many a thought of leaving my arduous post to some more intrepid and persevering spirit. But something seemed continually to be whispering to my dejected mind, “only believe,” “let not your faith fail you,” and I blessed God that through all I was enabled, in some sort, to believe, though not without many a tremulous assertion, and equally trembling prayer, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” And it is with unfeigned gratitude towards the blessed God, that I feel it my duty to add, that all my storms have, for the present at least, completely blown over, and that success has been vouchsafed to my poor mean insignificant labours, such as my most sanguine expectations could in no wise have imagined. Should I not say, then, to my dear friend, as an experimental result “from believing verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,”—“O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure, be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart;” “Wait, I say, on the Lord”? But here I feel, as usual, that I must check myself. I forget to whom I am writing, and likewise what I am inditing: I forget that I am addressing one who has that anointing from above which teacheth all things, and that I am not composing a sermon, but scribbling a letter.
I know not whether you were acquainted with S—, of our college, and B—, of Trinity. The former I used occasionally to meet, and was accustomed to consider him as one of the very holiest men at college. Since my last letter, however, he, B—, and two others, have left the Church, because they could not read the ten commandments, and are now preaching all the heights and depths of eternal election, eternal justification, and eternal sanctification: they have likewise begun to ordain others, and R— K—, the member for L—, has vacated his seat, and received ordination from them. The moderate Calvinists are endeavouring to stop the growing evil, but I am sorry to say, that among many it is sadly spreading. It has had one good effect, however; it has made many of the high men, as they are termed, much more guarded and circumspect. * * * *
Mary and my brother unite with me in very kindest love to yourself, and most respectful and affectionate remembrances to Mrs. A., and I may likewise add, in very best wishes and earnest prayers for your dear children.
I remain your very sincere Friend,
George Mortimer.
Madeley, Sept. 30, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
I suppose that you are aware, that, as resident curate, I am entitled to the use of the vicarage-house. During Mrs. Fletcher’s life, I waved my claim in her favour: but after her decease, I applied to the vicar, and now that it has been put into pretty extensive repair, we have taken up our abode in it, and a most holy happy spot we do indeed find it. In the room where I am now writing, some of my older parishioners state, that they have frequently taken their tea with both Mr. and Mrs. F., and well remember the happy seasons they enjoyed. In the room in which we commonly sit, they both of them departed in the Lord. In a third chamber, Mr. F was accustomed to retire for more private and wrestling prayer, and, as we read in his life, the wall of which was stained with his breath while importunately pleading. Another room has the bureau at which he was accustomed to write, and which, with many other things, he left in his will for the use of his successors, that the house might not be the worse for his having had it. In a word, almost every spot and fixture reminds us pleasingly of those exalted characters who have preceded us, and call forth many an earnest prayer, and many a private ejaculation, that those who follow them may drink deeper and deeper into their blessed spirit, and tread more and more closely in their pious and spiritual steps.
Dear Mrs. Fletcher once mentioned to us, that one day, shortly after her coming to Madeley, she remarked to Mr. F., as they were entering upon their premises, that she did not know how it was, but that she always felt a measure of divine influence whenever she entered within the gate. The holy man answered that he was not surprised to hear her say so, for that there was not a single brick or a stone in the whole premises which had not been sanctified by prayer. I feel somewhat in the same way with Mrs. F—, and though I am aware that God is everywhere present, and that all spots may equally share in this his glorious presence, yet I cannot but think that some places are privileged beyond others, and though, perhaps, my Honduras friend may smile at his Madeley enthusiast, yet I must frankly confess to you, that I consider it as no small privilege that I dwell in the house, as well as labour in the parish, of one so peculiarly devoted to God. The days I have already spent here have been, without any exception, the happiest I have spent upon earth. Week after week has rolled round in the peaceful enjoyment of the presence of the blessed God. My most painful and laborious duties have been not only easy, but a source of thankfulness and joy far beyond any of my former experience. In a word, I seem to have known some little, at least, of what is so beautifully described in one of my favourite hymns:—
“Far above all earthly things,
While yet my hands are here employed;
Sees my soul the King of kings
And freely talks with God.”
Pray for me, my dear Armstrong, that these feelings may not be transitory, but abiding and ever increasing. I too often rest contented with the mere husks of religion, instead of feeding on the substantial and the nourishing corn. I am too generally satisfied with the outward life of the Christian, the regulation of my conduct, temper, disposition, pursuits, and so on; while that inward life of God within the soul, that communion with the Father of spirits and the Son of his love, is too commonly overlooked. I want a deep work of his grace within my soul, and this I am now endeavouring in my poor feeble way to pray for, if so be that I may eventually obtain; but my unbelieving heart tells me, that I never was cut out for anything like spirituality. One text of Scripture, however, still encourages me, “This is the will of God even your sanctification;” and therefore though faint, I would still be persevering.
To-morrow evening, being the first Tuesday after quarter-day, our church classes hold their quarterly meetings for the second time. The first time of their meeting was a season which will long be remembered by me with gratitude. My heart quite melted to hear so many declare, that, under God, they owned their first religious good to my poor feeble ministrations, and when in the fulness of their hearts they could not refrain from thanking the good Lord who had brought me among them. And I felt the more astonished and thankful inasmuch as I never had a fourth part of the like success in all the former years put together in which I had been labouring elsewhere. Oh, what shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits conferred upon me? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord—still call upon him for his future help and blessing, for without this I feel I can do nothing. Our little classes, I am thankful to state, are gradually increasing. I think we reckon sixty-seven in all. As to one or two, I feel constrained to stand in doubt, but the rest I trust are sincere souls. But, while I thus number my little flock, I feel that there is necessity to guard against the spirit of David: I endeavour to do this, and to sink down before God under a continual sense of my own nothingness; but pride is a subtle enemy, and, as Dr. Watts so correctly observes,
“We cannot make his glories known,
But self-applause creeps in.”
* * * * * * * *
I remain yours very truly,
G. M.
Madeley, May 24, 1817.
My dear Mary,
In the course of Mr. Bailey’s attendance upon Mary, we had frequent opportunities of conversation, and, as I feel desirous of turning the conversation to those points on which persons feel most capable, as well as most desirous of talking, we frequently touched upon medical subjects. One day I told him my fears that both Mary and myself were consumptive, and that we had often talked about the possibility of our being removed in this way. He said, in reply, that Mrs. M— was not a consumptive subject, at least he had discovered nothing as yet which led him to suppose it; and that, with regard to myself, whatever predisposition I might have had towards it in early life, it had since taken another course. I wished to know what he meant by its having gone off in a different channel, even supposing that the predisposition once existed, when he told me the following anecdote:—His father was a medical man and accustomed to speak his mind without reserve. He used to visit the C—s in the place where they then lived, and knowing their constitutions pretty accurately he used to say, the B—s (meaning his own family) will go off into livers, and the C—s into lungs, intimating that these disorders would carry them off. Fanny, however (who was one of the C—s, and similarly deformed with myself), he thought, owing to her form would out-live them all, and escape the family disease. The B—s removed from the place, and Mr. B— having occasion to go there again after about twenty years’ absence, was naturally led to inquire after his old friends, when he found that all of them, excepting Fanny, had been removed by consumption, and that she, feeling her spirits affected by living in the place where all her family had died, had gone either to London, or some such place, for society, but was otherwise quite well. Mr. B— then told me, that he had no doubt that this was the case with myself also, and that very many similar cases had occurred. I had often thought that I could trace much spiritual benefit as resulting from my bodily form; nay, I have even been led to thank God for it, conceiving it very probable that it had been the saving of my soul; but little did I imagine that it conduced in any way to my bodily comfort, and that it has probably been the saving of my life. O my dear sister, how little do we know of the goodness of the Lord towards the children of men; and how little, with our present imperfect powers, shall we ever be able to know in this present world; but what we do know tends to show us in characters written as it were with a sunbeam, “He doeth all things well.”