It is not without considerable hesitation that I have determined to insert the letter which follows in the Memoir of Mr. Mortimer, not only because he might not himself have fully concurred in the publication of it, but because there may be a difference of opinion as to the expediency of it. The subject, however, is, in my mind, one of such importance to the interests of the church in Canada, that I should not think I had done my duty were I to exclude it; and I am happy to say that, so far as the subject itself is concerned, I have the full concurrence of some who, from their experience in the ecclesiastical affairs of Canada, are fully competent to give counsel in the case, and who perfectly agree with myself in thinking that a much larger spirit of liberality is necessary, not only to the extension, but also to the support and prosperity of the existing church in that country.
There can be no greater benefit to a community, nothing to contribute more to its general well-being, than an adequately supported and efficient church establishment. It is the foundation of everything really good and great, useful and advantageous, honourable and praiseworthy. It is the grand means of promoting religion and morality, peace and good order, charity and good-will, kindness and sympathy between the different ranks in society, diligence and industry, subordination and allegiance to the powers that be: in a word, everything that can make a nation happy and prosperous in itself, and respected by neighbouring countries. The duty, therefore, of making strenuous efforts for the accomplishment of so desirable a purpose must be apparent to all who feel the paramount necessity of religion, and to all such, perhaps, it may be apparent; but the difficulties of every infant colony are urged in bar against it. These difficulties are fully admitted, and due allowance made for them; neither is it the intention of the writer to say one unkind or unreasonable word on the subject; his design is rather to encourage for the future than to condemn for the past, feeling, as he does, very forcibly, the circumstances of trial and privation with which the settlers of new colonies are for the most part surrounded. Bodily support—food and raiment—must necessarily be had in the first place; but, except to this, I should be disposed to say, that to no other could a provision for religion be second; for not more necessary is food and raiment to the body than the offices of religion to the soul: indeed, the supply of these wants is equally necessary, and where they are not simultaneously provided for, but where the former is over and exclusively cared for, it is more than likely that the latter will be neglected for years to come. Under the difficulties, however, in which emigrants to a newly formed colony find themselves, it seems, in the first place, the plain duty of every state to provide for the support of religion in their infant settlements, or, where this is withheld, it clearly becomes the duty of private Christians, possessed of wealth and competency, either individually or incorporated into societies, to afford, as far as may be, the aid required.
Happily for Canada much has been done for it in this way; first by the state, and now by the contributions of a more private and voluntary kind, and especially by the venerable Society for the Propagation of the gospel. But a country ought not to be always looking to and depending upon such adventitious assistance; she ought at some time to rise above eleemosynary aid, and make an effort to provide for her own spiritual wants. The enquiry then naturally arises, Whether Canada is, or is not, become of sufficient age, or standing, or competency, to take upon herself the responsibility of supporting for her own use and benefit the services and ordinances of religion? I should unhesitatingly reply, that it is more than time that a beginning were made to throw off the state of childhood and reliance, and to assume that of manhood and independence. But are there to be found in Canada more than a very few towns, and those too only of the first class, that have taken upon themselves to provide altogether for their own church establishments? Wherefore? Because there are not more that are capable of doing so? I fear this would not be found to be the real state of the case. Mr. Mortimer’s statement is much more likely to be the correct and faithful one. I feel assured that there are many towns or townships which might have done much more than they have towards this great and honourable work. What! shall the Presbyterians, the Independents, the Roman Catholics, in towns of a second-rate class, support entirely their own churches and ministers, and shall Episcopalians constitute the lagging party, the one most backward in this most blessed and holy work;—nay, shall the American Episcopalians, dwelling on the very borders of Canada, and therefore little differing in their circumstances from those living in the colony, support their own religious establishments, and shall the English Episcopalians be found deficient? Surely this does not speak much either for the liberality or the churchmanship of our Canadian countrymen. If we claim a pre-eminence for the reformed and catholic Church of England, all the members of that Church should be pre-eminent in their attachment to, and zealous in their support of it; they should not be behind any others in their gifts and graces, waiting for the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Let every reader, then, of Mr. Mortimer’s Life, ask himself, have I done what I could? Have I contributed liberally, with a willing mind, according to my ability, towards the erection, enlargement, or in giving comfort and convenience, and a suitable appearance to my church? Do I dwell in my ceiled house, while the house of God lies waste? Am I anxious to see all things about the house of God and the services of religion done decently and in order? And do I take my share in the management of the secular affairs of the church? Am I sufficiently anxious to promote the comfort and well-being of my pastor? If he have sown unto me spiritual things, is it a great matter that he should reap my temporal things? More than persuaded, confident I am, that if every member of the church of England in Canada would seriously lay this subject to heart and urge upon himself the great duties connected with it, much more would be done there to promote her interests, and to make her independent of all extraneous aid. All might contribute more than they do; some in money, some in lands, and they who could give neither, might give of the produce of their lands, or the fruits of their labour, or occasionally their labours to assist in tilling their pastor’s grounds, or in planting and cultivating their gardens. Depend upon it, that he who feels adequately the real benefits and blessings of being taught in the word, will minister unto him that teacheth in all good things. Pastors should not be unreasonable, and, if they be right-minded, they will have no wish to lay unnecessary burdens upon their people: but their people, if their minds be duly influenced by religion, will be as desirous to provide for them, free of all charitable support, as to maintain their own families in perfect independence.
Besides, the good Churchmen of Canada should really consider the many and great calls now made upon that source from whence their church receives its chief support; I mean, the Society for Propagating the Gospel. It has only been by renewed efforts and extraordinary exertions that the society has been able to maintain so great an expenditure in Canada; perhaps, too, at the expense of withholding very important help from other needy parts of our extensive colonial possessions; and it is not reasonable, nor generous, nor just, to require assistance one moment beyond what is absolutely necessary. Every township, therefore, in the colony should begin, with as little delay as possible, to make its own provision for the public worship of God.
Verily, earnestly do I pray that the foregoing remarks, together with the letter of my late dear friend, which has elicited them, may be kindly received, deeply felt, and earnestly followed, not only by good resolutions, but by personal and immediate exertions for the gradual accomplishment of a work so truly honourable to those who promote it, so fraught with blessings to generations yet unborn, and so full of glory to God.
Thornhill, near York, Upper
Canada,
Oct. 17, 1833.
My dear Madam,
You express your surprise at the reluctant support afforded to ministers. This is partly to be ascribed to that selfishness which is so sadly prevalent in our fallen nature; they can build (commodious and even sumptuous) houses for their own prosperous families; they can call, out of their perpetually increasing means, comforts of every description; but, to their minister, they can calmly and gravely say, “Oh, you must wait patiently, and in time all will be right; we have had to wait before you; it is quite impossible to force matters in Canada,” and so on. And then, in the spirit of that affected benevolence which prompted that hypocritical wish, “be ye warmed and be ye clothed,” they point us to eventual comforts, and care not to make the least sacrifice which may conduce to the attainment of the end. In regard to house, to salary, and to everything pecuniary, I have experienced scarcely anything but disappointments, and at times I feel a little piqued at the contrast between their warm expressions of regard, and their unwillingness to contribute to the comforts of my family; for, as to myself I care but little; but still I would not wish to be hard upon them, for though they have property, very few have money, and as soon as they procure this, they sink it in the further cultivation or stocking of their farms. And then, again, they have that admirable loop-hole for escape—the clergy reserves, which seemed to promise everything, but have done scarcely anything; a broken reed, which is perpetually piercing those who lean on it with sorrow; but which affords our people so ready an excuse for refusing to come forward to our aid; so that of all classes of emigrants, ministers, in a pecuniary point of view, are by far the worst off: they cannot, with propriety, go into the woods, for they must fix in the more populous and more cultivated districts, where land of course is high, and thus one of the chief sources of prosperity is cut off; and, as to trade, from this of course they are excluded, but still they are the class of settlers most needed. And, in the midst of occasional pique and disappointment, I cannot but feel thankful to God who directed my steps to this country, and who, by the property which he has previously given to me, gives me the prospect of enjoying, in this land of cheapness, a great increase both of comfort and temporal prosperity. At present, indeed, we are anything but outwardly comfortable: the house we formerly mentioned was found too inconvenient, and therefore given up, and we are still in the lodging I occupied previous to the arrival of my family.
Thornhill, Toronto, Upper Canada,
July 14, 1835.
My much-endeared Brother,
We were in some measure prepared for the communication conveyed to us by your letter of the 20th of April, and which reached us yesterday evening; for our Shropshire friend had heard the report of our beloved mother’s departure, and had made allusion to it in communications received some weeks since. Well, her happy, holy spirit, is at length released. Fulness of days has been granted to her, and, though they have not been unattended with labour and sorrow, yet has her kind Saviour been with her, and as much of outward alleviation and inward serenity and peace have been experienced by her as her circumstances and state of body would admit of. And now has she entered into the fulness of her gracious reward, and her sainted name must ever be inhaled as the precious perfumed ointment, by all who know how to estimate her deep, consistent, and exalted piety. And where shall we now look for her fellow? For the race of the distinguished and peculiar few seems now to have become extinct. In vain shall we look for a Cooper, a Rogers, a Fletcher, a Lefevre, or one like our equally distinguished mother. A prophet indeed is no where so little esteemed as among his own kindred. And yet I am persuaded that there is that in the heart of my endeared brother, which will fully respond to the encomiums which have thus unintentionally escaped me. * * *
Your letter bears the goodly inscription of “Thornhill Parsonage;” but, alas! it is a sound without locality. It exists in my kind brother’s imagination, but nowhere else. A house indeed has long been talked of, and was at length erected, but a mere laical abode. But I am happy to say that matters are now likely to be on a proper footing. I have purchased four acres of land (at £50 an acre!!) near the church, for which the Lieutenant-Governor in Council has consented to allow me an equivalent in wild land, as well as for a sum not exceeding £500 for the erection of a parsonage. And operations have commenced, but when they shall be terminated I know not. The lumber must be sawn and seasoned, and continue seasoning till next spring, and we are told that a finished habitation will be ready for us in the fall of the next year, October the 1st, 1836. But what a distant period! my hand misgives me while I write it; for my whitened locks and weakly frame point to a far different abode. May my affection combine with my judgment, and may my short residue of days be so numbered by me, that wisdom’s lessons may both diligently and effectually be learnt!
When I sat down I was purposing a tolerably close imitation of your own very lengthy (eleven-lined!) epistle, and was about to find some convincing, or at least plausible, reason for my shabbiness. Happily, however, my pen has kept sliding on; and finding myself so near the conclusion of the third side of my closely written sheet, I may assure you with a tolerably fair and unblushing front, of our unabated and most affectionate regards to yourself and all your endeared family, and not least, those of your sincerely devoted brother,
George Mortimer.
P.S. Our kindest love also to all our endeared relatives.
Thornhill, August 21, 1835.
* * * * * Your account of dear Mr. —’s increasing infirmities, and their necessary effect on yourself and Mr. G. W., has given rise to many a pensive, perhaps I ought to say, melancholy, feeling. Indeed, I hardly dare think of the breaking up of connexions, comforts, health, and so on. My foolish heart too frequently deceives itself with delusive hopes. I say, too generally, “I shall die in my nest”—the soft downy nest of easy pleasant dissolution. But when anything reminds me of the thorn, the sharp-pointed, piercing thorn, which is mostly found there, then I start, and my spirit almost sinks within me; and I have little either of manly fortitude, or of Christian magnanimity; at least, the subject is so unwelcome, that I rather turn from it, than submissively await it. At times, indeed, I feel willing that the taking down, the unpinning of the tabernacle, and the loosening of all its cords, should take place under any circumstances which my gracious God shall appoint, and I feel a persuasion that his faithful love will so adjust everything, that he will in nowise “suffer me to be tempted above what I shall be able” to bear; and it is to this point that I have of late so frequently directed my prayers, that all the preparatory circumstances of death, the undoing of that which has been inexpediently or criminally pursued, the pulling down of vain and worldly hopes, the detaching of the soul from even the last of its too-much-clinged-to objects, the patient endurance of the bodily evils which, as the precursors of death, in some shape or other await me; that all these may be so met, and so peacefully and cheerfully borne, that, instead of grieving the Spirit of my God by any unhallowed feelings, I may surrender everything with cheerfulness, and endure all in his blessed order. For the melancholy fact must not be withheld from you, that, after all I have known, and felt, and preached, I shrink from very many of the circumstances attendant on dissolution: and what, perhaps, will surprise you more, and what I am still more ashamed to be obliged to acknowledge, is, that I am frequently conscious of a kind of latent infidelity, as to the reality of the coming world. I do not absolutely disbelieve; for revelation assures, and all my reasoning confirms, and yet it is one of those points on which I am constrained to say,—“Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.” But how I have ventured to touch upon these topics I hardly know; for I carefully keep them from my own self, hardly daring to acknowledge their existence; and I am so ashamed of them, that I keep them still more carefully from others. And yet it has produced a strange relief to me, thus explicitly to advert to them; it has given to them more precision of shape and locality; I see with more distinctness what my enemies really are, and I seem encouraged to hope that, by the grace of God, even these may be overcome: and I trust also, that, by thus unfolding these weaknesses of my nature, I shall awaken in my kind friend that decree of sympathy, which shall call forth from her an occasional prayer on my behalf. I never more needed prayer, nor never so much estimated its value, as I have done of late; it is truly wondrous in all the branches and bearings of its beneficial influence.
But I must turn to other matters. I often think of your self-imposed silence when we were leaving England, evidently not approving of our step, and yet not wishing to enter into any enlarged reasoning or discussion; and I as often think, was my endeared friend right in her non-approval? I am ready to acknowledge, that we were never so out in our calculation as in many of the results of our Canadian migration; and in the estimation of observant friends we must appear, I should think, to have strangely missed our path. And yet so marked are all the leading circumstances which have transpired, that we cannot, for a moment, question either the permissive or the appointing mercy of our God. It has been of essential benefit to myself; it has been of especial good to — also; her views and feelings have undergone a most material change, so that I quite marvel at the wise and gracious process; and in various ways has the removal been beneficial to our children. But all this is hidden from outward observation; no one perceives either the needs-be, or the result, but the outward appearance it is which puzzles them—all is completely in contrast with our former selves, and so little in accordance with our property and with what we have a kind of right to expect in the shape of accommodation from our parishioners. We would, indeed, without much difficulty, should we see it to be our duty, bring ourselves into altered circumstances; we could retrace at once our migratory steps and reach our native land richer by, at least, a thousand pounds than when we left it. We could also leave our present unaccommodating people, purchase or build on some advantageously situated spot, retire from the peculiar awkwardnesses of Canadian ministrations, and more privately exercise, without cost to any, the exposition of God’s word, and the visiting of the sick and needy. We might also build, at once, in this place, at our own cost, and, without pecuniary regret, let slip a few hundreds of pounds on the impolitic speculation of procuring somewhat more of suitable and becoming accommodation. We might dash also through some others of our temporary unseemlinesses, and be able to write in an altered and more gratifying strain to our now wondering friends—might encourage our sons, for example, to launch out into avocations, or attempt other branches, which, while they have more appearance of gentility, would only sap the foundation of their future respectability and comfort. We might do all this and much more, and pride would suggest its partial or total performance; but we should be either forcing our way, or premature in our movements. Grace and duty bid us calmly and patiently to await God’s time; and we are not without hope, that he will at length bring us into his wealthy place. All is well: with our hearts, we can say so, and with this conviction, we may and ought to be content. And I say this, not to justify our procedures (for this really has become to us a very small matter), but to bring an endeared friend into a more correct estimate of what is actually passing among us—to show her that, while discomfort appears to be in some respects outwardly surrounding our little edifice, much of God’s blessing, with peaceful acquiescence and comfort, is still found within.
I need make no mention of the termination of our endeared mother’s earthly career, on whose account we are at present in mourning; we have heard no particulars of her last moments, nor, indeed, are these necessary in order to assure us that her end was blessed. You and ourselves have known her in her married life, and in her widowed state. But even in this her limited sphere, we have seen her as a most distinguished and honoured servant of the Lord; but, from all I have heard and read, almost all the brilliancy conspicuous in her unmarried life was then suffering an eclipse; and so those of the brightest and most dazzling rays of the Miss Richie of former times, were nearly forgotten in the conjugal and domesticated Mrs. Mortimer. Her life, you know perhaps, is in the course of publication, and I shall look for it with much interest. I fear, however, that it will be wanting in incident, though her diary, which she has kept for many years, may supply much of unexpected material. Her published letters I read many years since with peculiar pleasure. * * *
Yours,
My dear Madam, ever gratefully
obliged,
George Mortimer.
Thornhill, July 28, 1836.
My dear Madam,
I am becoming so sadly neglectful of my duties, as a correspondent, that I not only richly deserve from my friends their censure, but a total discontinuance of their kind communications. To yourself and respected sister, however, my neglect assumes the aspect of ingratitude; you have so diversified and heaped on me your kind and delicate attentions. I can say so little that is apologetic, that I will not make the attempt; but, as in my approach to a Higher Power, I would at once acknowledge the fulness of my delinquency, and solicit from your united kindly feelings that indulgence which I am in nowise entitled to expect. I trust, however, that your forbearance will not be exercised in vain, and that it will be long before I again trespass to a similar extent.
But though I have no apology to offer for my long silence, it may in some measure be accounted for in the present uncertain state of our affairs; for I have long been hoping that something definite would arise, and I was unwilling to write to you before. But week passed on after week, and we are still in statu quo. The B—s have probably informed you of our intention to remove to some other situation, for the sphere is exceedingly limited, and the church-people unusually few; so that, after a four years’ trial, I should hardly feel justified in spending my little residuum of strength in a spot where the deficiency of proportionate result is so great. Our accommodation, too, in our confined lodgings, are far from suitable, and all our personal attempts, as well as expectations from others to amend them, have hitherto failed. This minor matter, indeed, would not, of itself, have been sufficiently strong, to induce us to remove, but, taken in conjunction with all the other matters, I have, at length, felt it my duty either to fix in some other mission, as our cures are here denominated, or else to retire altogether from public to more private engagement. I have written to our good bishop on the subject, expressing a preference for the vicinity of our children, or some more southerly and more genial part of the province near the lake shores. He has kindly promised to do all in his power to meet my wishes, but he has not hitherto been able to succeed, and we are waiting the result of his further endeavours. You have heard enough, I doubt not, of our political affairs to need any enlargement on this point. Very nearly, indeed, were we on the point of provincial ruin. But through God’s mercy the decision and good sense of the Lieutenant-Governor have saved us from anything immediate, and, I hope, also, from ultimate evil; for there is a strong conservative feeling brought into exercise, which is not very likely soon to subside. In our last Parliament, which the Lieutenant-Governor dissolved, there was a large Radical majority; but from the recent return for the ensuing Parliament, out of sixty-two members forty-four are Conservative, and only eighteen Radical; so that we have good reason to expect an amended state of things. It will be months and years, however, before we attain to a sound, healthy, and flourishing state; for emigration is very nearly at a stand; capitalists, of course, have no courage to venture among such a set of revolutionary ruffians. The less monied, who are compelled to go somewhere, proceed to the States to the far west by hundreds and thousands. Labourers and mechanics not only turn aside from us, but leave us after settling among us from want of employment, or, rather, from want of money to pay them for their labour. Toronto, for months past, has had quite an appearance of gloom; so many shops shut up, and so little trade done; and other towns complain in like manner. Farming, too, where farming labour is paid for, is so losing a concern, that, if it were not absolutely necessary for the supply of their family in country places, there is scarcely a gentleman but would give it up. I have annually lost by mine—little indeed, but still, lost; and the general cry among my neighbours is, Nothing is to be got by farming. Indeed, were it not for the comparative poverty of the settlers, the tide of emigration would soon set homewards: but, to realize the means of return would, on a general scale, be impossible; were they to attempt to sell, no sufficient number of purchasers could be obtained, and the sum realized would go but a little way towards living in the same style in England; so tarry they must. Still, the hearts of many are turning towards their beloved country, and they would soon rejoin their friends if they could.
Thornhill, near Toronto, Upper
Canada,
November, 12, 1836.
* * * * During most of the time since I last wrote to you, we have been in great uncertainty concerning our movements. At one time I felt so sinking under my ministerial duties, combined with the peculiarities of the climate, that my wife and Cecil were strongly urgent on me to retire from all public and obligatory duty, and to do no more than what my strength or spirits would enable me occasionally and privately to attend to. With this intention, after inspecting numerous places, we made a purchase in the salubrious and delightful district of Niagara, and were just on the point of removing thither; but, on inspection, the title did not appear satisfactory, and, at the suggestion of the solicitor, I did not complete the purchase. While, however, this matter was pending, my people, at a public meeting, strongly expressed their hope, that I would not adhere to my intentions of removal, and so unanimously and affectionately pressed my continuance among them, that I at length consented; and have since made arrangements for building a house at my own expense, on some land I had previously purchased near the church, and am intending now to go on with as much prudence as I can; but still to go on, and to die, if it please God, in the harness. Of late, however, the Lord has been pleased so to enable me to use appropriate exercise in the open air, and so to husband my little strength, that all the unfavourable symptoms under which I was labouring some few months ago, have altogether disappeared; and with present adequacy of physical powers and with more than usual encouragement in spirit, I am proceeding with my work, and trust all will be well.
After speaking of his family, he adds,
* * * * * Much have we, indeed, of God’s temporal smile, nor is the light of his gracious countenance withheld. All, all is love, and we would not only submissively, but gratefully adore. Permit me to assure you of our best wishes for the months or years, which may yet be in reserve, may they prove pre-eminently the best! “For such power belongeth unto God;” and believe me, Yours, my dear Madam, very sincerely,
G. Mortimer.
Mr. Mortimer left England in part to avoid the storms and tempests which overhung that country, little thinking that in attempting to avoid a possible danger, he ran into an actual one; so very dim is our foresight and so weak our power of resistance. A destructive rebellion took place in Canada in 1837, which, from his residence being on one of the main roads to Toronto, whither the rioters were proceeding, put even the personal safety of his family in great jeopardy. He refers especially to this event in the following letter:—
Thornhill, April 3, 1838.
You kindly allude to the circumstance of apparent danger in which we have been placed during our recent revolt, but God has been very merciful to us, and, not merely screened us under the sheltering wing of his good providence, but graciously kept our minds in sweet serenity and peace. You may judge of the apparent peril to which we were exposed, when I tell you, that on the afternoon of the evening on which they (the rebels) proceeded to Toronto, two parties passed our door, the one consisting of 200, and the other of 300 persons; and were, under God’s providence, kept from the execution of their murderous and destructive designs against the persons and houses of the more loyal and opulent, merely in consequence of their being obliged to hurry past us to Toronto two or three days sooner than they had anticipated. As a clergyman too, and more especially as a beneficed one, noted and vilified as possessing one of the obnoxious rectories, concerning which they have so loudly clamoured; on this account I was a doubly marked man; my name was inserted in their list of intended arsons, and my family as well as myself were to be shot, as we were attempting to escape the flames; at least, such were the pleasing tidings which were widely circulated among us, and the fearful and timid found it no easy matter to restrain their feelings, or to exhibit calmness of spirit, or manliness of conduct. Many passed sleepless nights, and all around us gave indication that there were solid and extensive grounds for alarm. Colonel M—, the person who was shot on the first night of the revolt, was an attendant on our church and a resident in our neighbourhood, and, in the very midst of the excitement, was brought to our churchyard for interment. A hostile attack was expected by many, and the mob, who assembled to pay the last sad offices to their veteran friend and neighbour, came accoutred in their swords, daggers, pistols and fowling pieces. A novel and a painful scene, but which was altogether uncalled for; no attempt having been contemplated. My eye glanced on one of the assembly; a loyal, but strange and penurious man, whose habits had never suffered him to become possessed of anything in the shape of arms, and he was leaning on his trusty lengthened pitch fork, a weapon, of which I heard, he was afterwards vaunting that there was nothing like that. His presence, however, to my mind at least, was far from pleasing; it ill-accorded with the scene before us, and seemed so ridiculous, that I could hardly refrain from a momentary smile. Of the general and more public details you are doubtless most fully apprized; for I perceive that our Canadian affairs are exciting a peculiar interest in our fatherland, and are commented on with an accuracy, which shows that they must have been perused with every means of the fullest information lying before them. All is now, through God’s providence, in a state of quietness; while, therefore, we feel indebted to our friends for their kind sympathy, and their affectionate expressions of hope, that our provincial troubles may cause us either quickly, or eventually to retrace our steps towards our beloved native land, we must still assure them that nothing is further from our thoughts; our path has been deliberately chosen, our objects have been extensively gained, much of God’s temporal smile is resting upon us, we are now established in our ample, commodious, and, I might say, beautiful house, the society around us is superior to what is found in most country places in England; our income is ample and enough for all exigencies. Life is gliding gently along with as little disquietude and as much comfort as we can ever expect to find in the present world; peace and tranquillity reign in our domestic circle, God’s spiritual blessings are experienced by the majority of our family, and some hopeful indications given by all, and, therefore, why should we wish for a change? Of myself and my own immediate duties, I would say, but little good is being done. Ministers are much wanted, and, were I in England, it would be only to extrude and thrust out some of the partially engaged or wholly unoccupied with which you are overburdened already. No, my endeared sister, much as we love our native land, much as we value our still more beloved friends, we ought not to close our eyes on our present mercies, or so mix up the cherishing of regret with causes for thanksgiving, as to destroy their efficacy, or to diminish their heart-stirring effect.
While Mr. Mortimer’s friends did not approve of his expatriating himself and family, so some of them, who visited him in Canada, were by no means convinced of his having improved on his lot and position in life by his change of country. The Rev. B. Luckock was one of these, who was so struck with the inferiority of everything which he saw, that he afterwards wrote to him in no very measured terms of his dislike and almost detestation of what he called his wretched situation. These condoling and sympathizing notes produced no echo in the mind of Mr. Mortimer, and he wrote to his friend in the following playful terms, united to strains of piety and seriousness, very expressive of his own satisfaction with the change which he had made:—
“Both your letters found me at Thornhill, and from the same miserable and deserted place, I date, as you will perceive, my present letter. It is difficult to determine what class of feelings we should indulge in at the accumulated epithets of loathing and abhorrence with which you speak of our delightfully happy sojourn; our disposition, however, to merriment prevailed, and we all laughed most heartily at your intemperate and ill-timed abusings, so completely and so pleasantly had the whole class of our own feelings and circumstances been changed since your visit to that anything but “happy valley.” I need not detail to you the various incidents which, through the kind providence of our God, have tended both to fix our steps and to settle our minds; the hundreds of miles which were previously travelled—the ineligibility of every spot and every abode in some important particular—the striking Providence which put some unexpected and final stop to our negotiations in each of the matters on which we were disposed to venture—the altered feeling and conduct discovered by my people, when they perceived me fully resolved to leave—their solicitations, accompanied with proffered, though not accepted, pecuniary liberality to remain among them—the erection of a large, commodious, and tasty, not to say beautiful, house, on the few acres of my own, near the church, which I had some time before purchased—the settling of a most esteemed, and delightful, intelligent, well-educated, Christian family, within a few stones’ throw of our residence—and, finally, the induction and installing of the long unbeneficed curate into that most lucrative and honourable piece of preferment, “the Rectory of Thornhill.” Happy consummation of the most ambitious wishes, or only to be credited by the envied and enviable dignitaries of our Church, of which “I am proud to think” that my valued and respected friend is one! But I wander; there, then, we are at Thornhill; but, through God’s mercy, under circumstances of great comfort, much, very much, indeed, which calls forth our gratitude and praise; so that what I partly smilingly, partly ironically, and partly believingly, predicted, has been strongly fulfilled; the course adopted by the Abyssinian Prince has been closely followed by ourselves, and not an atom of wish do we now feel to exchange the place of our abode for any other in the province, and we may say even in the world. Of the younger branches of the family, I am not of course speaking; they may possibly be far from the rest and quiet, a and satisfaction of the older folk. As to ourselves, however, we wish for no change; to live and to die where God’s good providence has now at length fixed us is the ultimatum of all our wishes.”
Thornhill, Upper Canada,
Feb. 11, 1840.
My dear Armstrong,
I feel much indebted to you for having complied with Mr. Ditcher’s suggestion, as well as to Mr. D. himself, for so kindly and judiciously making it. [226] And I hope that now we shall be able to enjoy a little occasional intercourse, not perhaps to the same extent, or with the same buoyant energetic feelings of our more youthful bygone days, but with the spirit of those who are drawing nearer and nearer to life’s peaceful termination, and who, while grateful for the attached intercourse which has characterised a few of their past years, must still feel that in this world of severings and perturbations we form our several friendships, not so much to enjoy them on earth, as to renew and perfect them in heaven.
What you mention concerning your dear family has greatly interested me. God has been very very gracious to you and them, and I do sincerely praise him on your and their behalf.
I have thought a good deal on the hints you throw out respecting my namesake and endeared godson, and hope the best wishes of your heart will be realised with regard to him. Canada, however, does not strike me as being the place for him, at least in a pecuniary point of view. £150 sterling, with a house, and three or four acres of land, is the utmost he should calculate on. Though a rector, I have no more than £135 sterling, and have no parsonage house, but am dwelling in one erected by myself, at my own cost. The general allowance made by the bishop at present is £100 sterling; and this is paid out of the sum contributed by the different societies in England, principally the Propagation, or by the fund arising from the sale of clergy reserves. In addition, however, to this £100, the bishop expects that the congregation should provide four acres of land, build a parsonage, and pledge themselves to give a salary of £50. But this pledge is too frequently merely nominal, the money being very seldom fully, or at all nearly, paid, and little more is obtained beyond the bishop’s allowance, excepting what may arise from surplice fees and the rental of church pews. Something in addition, however, may be expected when the vexatious matter of the clergy reserves shall be settled; but as these will be uncleared land, no immediate advantage to any extent would of course accrue. Upper Canada, indeed, I consider as one of the most necessitous of all our provinces, and none offer so little in the shape of just and equitable remuneration. Much, therefore, as I should rejoice on many accounts at Mr. George’s coming here, I am afraid he would find it very difficult to procure the means of adequate support. Orders, indeed, if only tolerably qualified, he might with ease and without expense obtain. Important spheres, also, of ministerial engagement are numerously presented. And to one who has no thought of entering on a married life, or is prepared to rough it, or contentedly to sink below the customary grade of his profession—to one so prepared, the missionary field of Canada is the very place. But to those who are otherwise minded, we ought, in Christian charity, and even in common fairness, to present the salutary cave. Sir George Arthur, no doubt, would do all in his power to assist him, should we be permitted to retain him among us; but in Canada his means of this description are exceedingly limited, and I should almost think that he could exert a more beneficial influence on his behalf by endeavouring to obtain, through his English friends, some appointment as chaplain to one of the colonies, or, should this be questionable, some benefice in Australia, or elsewhere, under circumstances of more encouragement than we are authorized to hold out in our poor, neglected, harassed province.
You speak of the possibility of giving us a visit; I need scarcely assure you how greatly it would delight us all; I fear, however, that Sir George will have left us, unless you are somewhat agile in your movements. I have been apprised by him (though quite confidentially) of his kind intentions towards yourself. How astonished should I have been at their realization, and how unspeakably rejoiced. But still all is well; and if time discover not this, faith can tell us of an important day that will.
You lay on me, my endeared friend, a next to impossible injunction; what a string of kind affectionate inquiries relative to my own procedures, personally, parochially, domestically.
My labours, I trust, are not altogether in vain in the Lord; our congregation has been increasing ever since I came here, and this year the church was enlarged to nearly double its former size, and the additional pews were all let in three or four days after they were offered for rental. Some few of my people seem to have been under gracious influence, and have given me much of encouragement and hope. And my people at large show me much kindness, and appear attached to my ministrations.
Socially and domestically we have much of comfort. Good house and premises, good servants, one of whom has been with us twenty-three years—and good neighbourhood—pleasant distance (twelve or thirteen miles) from Toronto—almost every English comfort within our reach, not to say every luxury. The only cause of regret, perhaps, is that in these matters we are going too much a-head.
We are far too gay, as a neighbourhood, for my simple liking. A few evenings since, one gentleman had a party of sixty persons present, many more invited, with a part of the band of the 93rd regiment, from Toronto. And very shortly after, another of my congregation had a still gayer and more extensive assemblage. But you will now begin to sigh over my interminable and undecipherable scrawl; and therefore, in simple pity to your straining eyes, I shall only add, that with most affectionate and Christian regards, in which my whole family unite, to yourself and dear Mrs. A.,
I remain,
Your ever attached, though unworthy
friend,
George Mortimer.
I insert the following address, not only because it may be generally useful, but because it may be as applicable now to those for whose use it was originally written, as at the time of its publication: and if a stranger may be allowed to urge their attention afresh to the warm and affectionate remonstrance of their late pastor, he would just remind them, that Divine worship, on the Lord’s day, being a paramount duty, an attendance upon both services is obligatory on all sincere Christians, except duties of mercy or necessity preclude such attendance. All other excuses or reasons admit of no justification, and in the great day will be viewed only in the light of positive neglect of God’s service, arising either from sinful disobedience, or culpable indifference. The partially formal observance of the Lord’s Day, by an attendance on the morning service, spending the rest of the day in pursuits entirely alien from sacred duties, is the Sabbath of the mere nominal Christian, not of the sincere disciple of Christ.
Thornhill, Oct. 1, 1840.
My much-endeared Parishioners,
I persuade myself you will receive with your wonted kindness a few words which I am desirous of pressing on your serious attention.
Our church, I am happy to think, has, through your own liberality and the kind assistance of our English friends, been so far enlarged as to admit of considerable increase in the attendance; and it affords me matter of much satisfaction, that even before its completion, the whole of the extra-sittings were secured. And though occasionally pained at the irregular attendance of some, still I cannot but feel gratified in meeting, on the Sabbath mornings, so encouraging a congregation as that which usually attends.
But here I am sorry to say that much of my satisfaction, as connected with our church attendance, terminates. For when the morning service is concluded, as though the Sabbath itself were also ended, we see no more of the mass of our congregation till we meet them on the following Sunday. A painful inquiry, then, as you will easily conceive, is often presented to our minds, as to the probable manner in which the remaining hours of your Sabbath are employed. Some few of you, I know, are kindly endeavouring to instruct the young in our Sunday-schools; some few also (oh that there were more!) make a point of instructing their own families at home; and some few more attend the evening service in the church. But what, I would affectionately inquire, becomes of our congregation at large, after the morning service? As consistent churchmen, I take for granted that you conscientiously confine yourselves to the ministrations of the church: for, convinced that the principles of dissenters are in direct opposition to—are altogether subversive of—the interests, if not the very existence of the church, you cannot but abstain from everything which may seem in any degree to support them; and as your attendance on their place of worship must be so considered, I may naturally conclude that you refrain from frequenting them. But as you go to no dissenting place of worship, and as only a very small number attend the evening service in the church, in what way must I suppose that the rest of the Sabbath is, for the most part, employed? Oh, think not that I am uncharitable, if I cannot help suspecting that it is too frequently frittered away in idleness, or in unprofitable pursuits; in unhallowed reading; in domestic amusements; in visiting or receiving visits; in Sabbath rambles; or possibly in some other still more decided profanations of this sacred day.
Under this impression, then, you will permit me to urge upon you the bounden duty of increased conscientiousness in regard to Sabbath-employments? Let the golden moments be duly appreciated and diligently improved. Religious reading, family instruction, and personal devotions, should, of course, employ a portion of your time, especially your Sunday afternoons; but as to your Sabbath evenings, I should hope that you will be convinced of the paramount obligation, to devote these to an attendance on the second service, which is now regularly afforded to you in the church: and that you will strive also so to arrange your other matters, as to admit of your being accompanied by as many as possible of your respective households.
I ought not, perhaps, to withhold from you, that much surprise has frequently been expressed by my clerical and other friends, that I should not as yet have succeeded in obtaining a more regular attendance on the second service, which, at so many different times, I had been attempting to establish: and our excellent bishop was much at a loss to account for the painful circumstance. I am hoping, however, that this reproach will ere long, by the Divine blessing, be removed from among us. Public opinion is now so universally in favour of having a second service in our churches, whenever the clergy have it in their power to give one, that I have no need to enter upon this point. But surely if it be admitted that it is the duty of the clergy to provide such a service, is it not equally a duty on the part of the people to attend it when it shall be provided for them?
Suffer me, then, to request your kind and willing co-operation in this matter, calculated, as it so evidently is, to promote the spiritual good of yourselves and of the neighbourhood at large. And will you permit me to tell you how repeatedly my heart has sunk within me, when I have adverted to the little I have hitherto been able to effect in this matter? How grieved have I been to look around our church on the Sabbath evening, and to see so many seats vacated, which in the morning had been so cheeringly filled. Oh how difficult do I then find it to believe that such absentees can feel much of affection either towards myself or my assistant—their church or their Saviour. But I try to check these feelings, and would hope for better things. I well know the kindness of your hearts, for many a proof have I received of your affectionate regards. And I trust you will not only bear with me in this expostulation and appeal, but so co-operate with me, that in my next report to our respected bishop, I may be able to convey the gratifying intelligence, that the attendance on the evening service is little short of that, which, with such pleasure, we so generally meet with on the Sabbath morning.
Believe me,
My much endeared friends and parishioners,
Your truly affectionate Rector,
George Mortimer.
Thornhill, Oct. 21, 1840.
* * * * * * * *
We congratulate you on dear Henry’s account. Oh, how glad should we have been had Canada been commiserated by him: had I twenty sons and should you ask, how I should wish to dispose of them, I would say, Oh, let them be clergymen—pious, faithful, useful ministers of our beloved Church, and let them all be fixed in Canada. I hope my dear nephew will be on his guard: caution him against a religion of forms and ceremonies, and high priestly assumption, none of which can be maintained without sapping the grand fundamental article of our Protestant religion, Justification by Faith. Once admit that there is anything inherently gracious in anything but what is simple faith, and Protestantism is virtually at an end: let anything be expected otherwise than from Christ by faith through the power and agency of the divine Spirit, and carry out this admission to its full length, and you are inevitably landed safely in Romanism. I fear much for the younger clergy.