Chapter 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.

TO HIS SISTER.

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.”

* * * * *

Extracted from a letter to his sister, dated May 17, 1817:—

“Happy in married life.

“Should your union, my beloved sister, with Mr. H. prove to you what
mine has with Mary, you will be disposed to consider with myself that
this ordinance is not merely divine, but to be ranked amongst the
foremost of God’s gifts to man.”

Extract of a letter, dated June 2, 1817:—

“As to myself, I feel that I have increasing cause for gratitude in
all that concerns me. I think I never felt so truly blessed in any
former period of my life. I really have no earthly desire
unfulfilled; my cup literally runs over. God is also very graciously
pleased to prosper me in my ministerial labours. I have the
satisfaction of seeing fresh trophies of the Redeemer’s power to
save; and my heart is rejoiced in seeing those whom the Lord has
gathered around me, walking, in some measure at least, as becometh
the Gospel of Christ. To these, indeed, there are, as there is
reason to fear there ever will be, some painful exceptions; but, upon
the whole, I have abundant cause for thanksgiving and praise. In the
midst of all these causes for joy, I have many a memento that the
excellence of the power is of God, and not of men; the cracked
earthen vessel is but too apparent. For this, however, I hope I feel
grateful; for what is so great a blessing to a poor, proud, selfish
being, such as I am constrained to acknowledge myself, as occasional
humiliations? They are the very medicine of my soul.”

After referring to two cases of affliction in his family, he writes to his friend abroad, dated August 4, 1817:—

“But out of all the Lord has most graciously delivered us; and I can
look back upon the whole with real gratitude to God. There was not a
stroke or a drop too much; all was merciful in the design, and I hope
the benefits still remain. Tribulation working ‘patience,’ a calm
waiting upon God. Patience an ‘experience’ of his divine support at
the time, and an experience of his eventual deliverance. Experience
‘hope,’ an expectation of future help and future deliverance; and
this hope will not make me ashamed. There were times in which I felt
this to be a weary land; but still I found the shadow of a great
Rock, and this shade was truly refreshing to my soul. Oh, that I
could ever there abide!

“I think I mentioned to you that our mutual friend Cox had the living
of Bridgenorth presented to him. He has been there now some months,
but he labours under very great discouragement, owing to the little
effect resulting from his ministrations. A few weeks ago he wished
that we should exchange duties, hoping that my Methodistical zeal
might arouse them. After an enumeration of the probable consequences
to which he must make up his mind, I at length consented, and, as I
supposed, the stir has been great; rascal, villain, ranter, field
preacher, are the usual epithets attached to my opprobrious name. A
petition has been drawn up, with many signatures attached, requesting
Cox to forbid me his pulpit; in short, the whole place has been in a
hubbub. Inquiry, however, begins to take place, the stagnant waters
are moved, and after the working off of the scum and the grosser
particles, we may expect to see purer and even living waters. Cox
answered their petition with becoming spirit, united with pleasing
conciliation. It has, I find, given great offence, notwithstanding
all; but we wait for the issue in a spirit of prayer. It is somewhat
remarkable that Bridgenorth was the place in which Richard Baxter,
author of the “Saint’s Rest,” met with such decided opposition, that
as he went out of the town, he shook off the dust of his feet as a
testimony against them; and, since that time, no preached gospel has
prospered among them. The Dissenters and even the warm-hearted
Methodists have hitherto laboured almost in vain. But who knows how
soon the curse may be removed? We keep encouraging Cox all that we
possibly can, but he seems determined at present to leave. Unite
your prayers, my dear friend, with ours, that he may not be permitted
to desert this wilderness and solitary place, but that he may
patiently wait till he rejoices over it as a peculiarly verdant spot
in the garden of our Lord.”

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, 21st Nov. 1817.

My dear Mary,

THE case of conscience with which your letter begins is such as would puzzle a much more expert casuist than I ever expect to be; and, therefore, after reading all that you have written upon the subject, as explanatory of your views and feelings, I feel more disposed to commend you in prayer to the teachings of God’s most Holy Spirit, than attempt to darken counsel by words without knowledge. I am sensible, however, that this may originate in an unwillingness to meet a difficulty from a consciousness of the scantiness of my spiritual information, and from a fear of the consequent poor opinion you might entertain of me for my want of success, I will, therefore, hazard a few remarks. It has always struck me that the creature occupies an improper place when we consider it in any way essential to our good, when we fancy that there is any absolute and positive necessity for the presence of any one thing in order to constitute us happy. It was God’s declaration to Abraham, “I am the Almighty [_the all-sufficient_] God; walk before me, and be thou perfect.” And St. Paul so fully realized this, that he lived, as it were, completely independent of the creature; he found his God an all-sufficient portion, quite adequate of himself to satisfy the largest desires of his soul. He could, therefore, _take pleasure_ in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, &c.; for he experimentally found that, as his afflictions abounded, his consolations did much more abound. In a word, he discovered in his God a happiness which was not merely independent of the creature, but which flourished and abounded under circumstances most likely to interrupt or destroy it. The fact is, that the creature is only an _arbitrary channel_, the pipe, if I may so speak, which a God of love has been pleased to choose, in order to convey his benefits. The pipe is neither the benefit, nor the source; and, of course, though it is conducive to our comfort, though it may in many respects be _subservient_ to our welfare, yet it is by no means _essentially necessary_, for God is the God of all consolation, whether intermediately or immediately conveyed, and should He, on any occasion, see fit to remove the medium, the same and even more abounding happiness _may_ be received immediately from Himself; and since God is infinite in his wisdom and in his love, this _will_ be so, provided it be for our good. And if we need not the former quantum of happiness, if it would prove injurious to us, is it not a mercy that it should be denied? But perhaps you will ask, How are we to know whether we love the creature too much or not? How is it to be ascertained whether we regard it as essential to our good, or merely subservient to it? This may be ascertained in two ways—1st, How do we feel when our channels are removed? Does it seem as though our all were gone? If after a prop has been removed from under us, we immediately fall, it is evident that our _whole weight_ has been placed upon it; if we stagger and stumble, though by dexterity we may recover ourselves, and not actually fall, yet we show that _too much_ of our weight was resting on it; but if, after its removal, we stand upright as before, it is manifest, as Archbishop Leighton observes, that we have been leaning not on our prop, but on an invisible arm for support. The application is easy. But I suggested another means of ascertaining the same point. What are our feelings under any probable expectations of the removal of our channel? This, however, is so closely allied with the former that it needs no separate enlargement or elucidation. It is evident that the man who is filled with alarm at the bare idea of the removal of his gold, is too much in love with it, and, more or less, is making it his god. And he who, with more specious refinement of taste, dreads the interruption of his social pleasures, or the removal of some of his wonted sources of good, follows but too closely in the same steps. God must be owned and felt as our all in all. He must be regarded, not merely as our _supreme_ good, but as our only good, as that which is _alone_ necessary. In a word, all I have to say is summed up in those two expressive lines in the Methodist hymn-book,

“Lead me where I my heaven may find,
The heaven of loving Thee alone.”

* * * * *

About the end of the year 1817, Mr. Mortimer entertained serious thoughts of going out to New Zealand as a missionary, and for this end corresponded with the secretary of the “Church Missionary Society” on the subject; and it so happened that about this time also two New Zealand chiefs, Tooi and Teterree, arrived in England, and it was proposed that they should abide for awhile at Madeley, which they accordingly did. The providence of God, however, did not seem to open his way for removing to a far-distant land, and he acquiesced in the result with his usual loving submission to the will of God. The following letter to the writer gives some account of the way by which he was led to contemplate the step referred to:—

Madeley, Nov. 26th, 1817.

My dear Armstrong,

MANY incidents have occurred since it has pleased God to separate us, in which I should have regarded it as an exceedingly great comfort to my mind could I have consulted you, and obtained from you either your veto or procedas; but I think that I never felt the want of it more than at present. I hardly know whether I ought to puzzle you with a long detail, pro and con., of what has of late been passing in my mind, or to wait till I come to some conclusion. But as I feel that I should unbosom my mind to you in the fullest freest manner, were you now sitting by my side, I will use the same freedom, though you are at a distance. You must know, then, that I have lately been exerting myself among my parishioners on behalf of the Church Missionary Society, have read in my different exposition-rooms the very interesting accounts published in their quarterly papers and missionary registers, and, to make myself somewhat master of the matters upon which I spoke, I began to go regularly through the whole of the volumes which they have hitherto published. A great sensation has been excited among my people. I thought we should do exceedingly little; but God has opened the hearts of my people, and I rejoice in the event. This, however, is not the only effect which has been produced. My own heart has been so completely won over to the missionary cause that I am inclined to think, I shall not easily be persuaded to remain quietly and cozily at home, while so much remains to be done abroad. The call to continue here must be much stronger than it has hitherto been, or my struggling spirit will be found to burst its ties and make its escape to more needed labours. I trust I shall not force my way; this, under no circumstances, can be desirable, but I think that hitherto my mind has leaned too much one way, and has been too ready to interpret the suggestions of some, and the oppositions of others, into providential intimations of its being the will of God, to hesitate and eventually to abandon my object; but now I feel very differently. In the spirit of sacrifice, with our lives in our hands, and almost our all of earthly good at stake, we shall hold ourselves ready to proceed whenever we can with any consistency make our escape. You will ask, perhaps, what are our plans? I have often thought of joining my very very dear friends at Honduras, but the unhealthiness of the climate, and the stings of your musquitos quite deter my good wife, and she shrinks from your shore with feelings which I dare not any further attempt to correct. To speak honestly, I fear your climate would soon bring her to her grave, and therefore I should not think myself at all authorized to press the point further than I have already done. New Zealand is the place which we have in our minds, and though the inhabitants are cannibals, and though the ill treatment of the Europeans has exasperated them to a degree of determined retaliation, which might deter the mere worldly calculators from venturing to settle among them; yet as we trust that the spirit of love and kindness will ever actuate us in our intercourse with them, we trust likewise that our gracious God will become a wall of fire round about us to keep them from injuring us. A very amiable, interesting, and truly pious young man, who has lately been through college, and is now waiting till he becomes of age for orders, has fully made up his mind to join us so soon as his friends can be persuaded to part with him. Ever since I have been in the parish the Lord has been pleased to knit his heart to me in a very singular way. His mind has been turned to New Zealand for nearly three years.

The whole circle of my friends, together with myself, feel much obliged to you for your communications to Mr. Pratt, which he has published in the last _Missionary Register_, October, 1817. They greatly interested us, and we could not help rejoicing in all the good which the good Lord is effecting through you. May all this be only the promise of a more abundant shower.

* * * * *

Letters passed at sea some time about the beginning of this year, between Mr. Mortimer and the editor, each asking, without knowing the intention of the other, that his friend would become sponsor for his next-born child—a circumstance which explains the allusions made to the subject, in the three following extracts:—

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, June 1, 1818.

THE honour which my dear friends have conferred upon my unworthy name affected me greatly, and the more so, as within three or four weeks of the time your letter reached me, two other similar instances of the very great affection of my friends here had occurred. Unknown to me, many of them put their contributions together, and forwarded them to the Church Missionary Society, for the support of two African children, to be named after myself and my dear Mary; and a young man among the Quakers, to whom the Lord has made me (his most unworthy servant) a channel of good, has likewise taken my name. What shall I say to these tokens of love? I know not what to say—but that I am ashamed and confounded before God, to think that any mark of love and respect should be shown to me whom _He_ sees as so abject and polluted; and as to my dear friends, all I can say is, the Lord reward them a thousand fold for all that their hearts contrive, and their loving conduct so fully expresses.

TO THE REV. THOS. MORTIMER.

Madeley, near Shiffnal, July 20, 1818.

My dear Thomas,

WE think of naming the dear little one Phœbe, a name much endeared to us, as borne by one dear relation now no more, and by another still reserved to us, whom we sincerely love. It is a name likewise which has not as yet been introduced among us. We were thinking of joy and gladness, but this we have left to be, as we hope, long enjoyed by one already in our family, and to be in reserve in case it should be wanted for another, on whom we should rejoice to see even an equal portion of her parents’ spirit. A servant of the church is what we claim for our little one, and may the claim be abundantly realized!

If Mrs. T. M. would not object to become one of the sponsors for our little girl, and would permit us to employ some one as her proxy, we should feel ourselves much obliged by her compliance. My dear Honduras friend has kindly consented to take upon him this charge for one, and we purpose applying to Mr. John Eyton, as the third. Perhaps you will be so good as drop me an early line, and thus set me an example I so much need.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Aug. 3, 1818.

WITH regard to myself I have nothing to write to you but a continued series of failure and disappointment; and, if I might speak of the future from the present, I should say, that the Lord is calling me to remain at home rather than to go anywhere abroad. The state of the case is simply this:—When first I proposed myself as the servant of the Missionary Society, I did not apprehend anything like difficulty with regard to a supply for Madeley—the vicar, who is not resident, had always consulted the wishes of the people, and had given them the choice of their minister. No sooner, however, was it known by him that I had some thoughts of leaving, than he declared, in the most positive terms, that he would not admit to a curacy a person of my recommending, and he quite wondered that I should ever think he would, or, in other words, he did not intend to have a person of my stamp. It soon, however, occurred to me, that if an application were made in behalf of my young but very dear friend, — —, the vicar would, for the sake of his father, permit him to succeed me: this he in fact promised, but when he found out that the son was of a different stamp from the father, and that the wrong kind of person was thus most unintentionally selected, he drew back and would not take another step; and Mr. —, hurt at the whole procedure, declares that he will not, upon any consideration whatever, make another application, and thus matters are completely in _statu quo_. I dare not leave my people to an ungodly successor, and therefore the present intimation seems to be, “stand still.” I feel it a time of suspense, but I am quite persuaded that all is in the very best hands, and of course that all will be sweetly ordered for good. I need not request you to pray for us; I am assured of your love, and love will necessarily lead you to a throne of grace on our behalf.

About a fortnight ago my dear Mary was confined, and safely delivered of a little girl, whom we purpose naming Phœbe, and may God grant she may prove a servant of the church, as that honoured individual whose name stands prominently distinguished in the Word of God—not, indeed, by becoming a lady preacher, as you designated Mrs. F—, in one of your letters, but in such a way as is becoming her sex; and in how many blessed ways this is possible we shall neither of us be at a loss to determine. We purpose availing ourselves of your kind permission to employ you as one of the sponsors, and we feel ourselves much, very much obliged by your compliance with our wishes. Indeed, everything which seems like bringing us nearer together affords us a degree of pleasure we cannot easily express.

* * * * *

The humility of my beloved friend was not only deep but uniform, and it was also most unfeigned. I believe no sentiments conveyed in his letters with regard to himself were more sincerely the utterance of his heart, than such as appear in the two following extracts; and a savour of which, indeed, runs more or less, through all his correspondence.

TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG.

Madeley, Oct. 5, 1818.

My dear Armstrong,

YOURS of the 8th of August reached me yesterday evening, and afforded me much refreshment of spirit after the labours of the day, as your kind and interesting communications almost invariably do; but if they sometimes may fail in imparting refreshment, they are never wanting in interest and in solid instruction. The only effect sometimes produced, is in deeply humbling me, in abasing me before my friends, and in the presence of my God. I feel myself so wretched a sinner, and so completely unworthy of your least notice. Indeed, I sometimes think that if you could but see me instead of hearing from me—could we but renew our personal acquaintance—you would detect in me such evils as would almost make you ashamed of acknowledging me. In my letters, hurried as they generally are, you see me under assumed appearances. I step a little out of myself, sentiments are expressed, prayers and wishes are breathed forth, and statements likewise made, which are so very very far from being habitual, that you can know but little of me in this way. Were you actually to know me, even all the joy of meeting an old friend would soon give way to some such exclamation as that uttered by Æneas at the sight of Hector, “Oh quantum mutatus ab illo.” I thus write in consequence of the first paragraph in your letter, in which you speak of having looked over some old letters of mine. The reflections in which this re-perusal made you indulge quite startled me as I read them, and I cannot but still think that no small measure of hypocrisy must attach to my character, if my communications do really convey such sentiments to your mind as those which you express; for I dare not withhold from you the humbling confession that, gratified and thankful as I should be for the discovery, I cannot perceive the impress of truth on any of them. But I fear I shall tire as well as disgust you with so much about self, and therefore turn to some other subject.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, December 29, 1818.

My dear Armstrong,

WITH respect to myself, I can say but little, excepting what must tend to humble me in the dust before the Lord and my fellow men. I am still stationary here, and from all that has transpired, both within and without, I feel now convinced that whatever the duty of others may be, mine is to remain at home; and, I think, I shall not easily be induced to make any further effort to make my escape. I am now quite content to remain quiet here, and while set aside by the Lord, as an instrument in whom he has no such pleasure, can adore him for the greatness of his tender compassions, which intervened as an effectual barrier, and kept me from bringing chastisement upon myself and my family for my presumptuous folly, in thinking of stretching out my unhallowed hand in supporting a cause, which, perhaps, I should only have touched, to have impressed on it a mark of indelible disgrace.

But amidst these feelings which humble me in the dust, and even confound me before the Lord, I still find him most graciously condescending to visit me, and still perceive abundant tokens of his love in my parish, and in my family. All seems to wear a cheerful and exhilarating smile, and if ever I was convinced that my being hindered in my plans was from the Lord, I think it is now. The affection manifested by all classes among my dear people, when it was known that I had given up the idea of leaving them, was such as will long be remembered by me with gratitude towards my kind and loving God: for it is He, and He alone, who can thus give us the hearts of our people. O, may I serve in the Gospel of his Son more faithfully than I have hitherto done!

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, February 26, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

IF I recollect right, I just alluded in my last to the very striking and unexpected change which has taken place in my brother —. The more I think of it the more am I filled with astonishment and gratitude. Had I been required to select an individual, which, in my estimation, was the least likely to become a trophy to the powerful grace of our Redeemer, — would have been the person upon whom I should have fixed. The grace, however, of his so long despised Lord has at length triumphed, and he now delights to build up the faith which he once so malignantly endeavoured to destroy.

You will readily conceive that I have derived no small encouragement from these dealings of my gracious God with my dear brother. But the encouragement has been greatly increased by the change which has recently passed upon dear Tooi, one of my New Zealand guests. After they had set sail for New South Wales, in the _Baring_, the ship struck against a brake, and they were obliged to put again into port. During this interval, Tooi was taken dangerously ill, and, in the estimation of all who saw him, had not the least probability of recovery. This painful visitation, however, to his poor body, seems to have been the means of salvation to his soul. All the pious friends who surround him, speak of the change as most unequivocal; and Mr. Hall, who attended them while with me, and who is as far, as any one I know, from attempting to colour, speaks in decided terms of the divine change which he has experienced. Among other things in one of his letters, writing of Tooi, he says, “I cannot help mentioning one of his simple speeches, which I think will please you. ‘When I in New South Wales my heart no good: I come to England, and hear the word of God, and, I think, O dear me, I want a new heart; I begin to pray to Jesus to give me a new heart. In my own country, I sin very much, and, when in South seaman, the sailors teach me to curse and swear—miserable work. But the blood of Jesus runs down my heart, and washes away my sins, and my heart feel comfortable and happy, and I no fear to die. Believe in Jesus is the way to go up to heaven, and be happy for ever with Jesus, and all Christian friends; (naming many, and you and your’s amongst the number).’” O, my dear friend, how blessed is true religion, and how touching is this simple account, which shows, I think, that dear Tooi has become possessed of it.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, May 3, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

SINCE I last wrote to you, I have been called to pass through some painful and unexpected scenes. About twelve months ago my dear father began to decline very rapidly in his health, owing to some serious reverses which he experienced in his temporal concerns, and which preyed very much upon his mind; the full extent we are none of us able to determine, but one of my uncles and his son who were privy to many of his transactions, can distinctly reckon up £75,000 which came under their own observation. All these losses had their measure of effect upon his spirits; but, there was a lawsuit pending, and which had been commenced some months since, which, if determined against him, threatened to sweep away all that remained, and even to leave him insolvent. Of this he informed no one, but kept it working secretly within, till, at length, it proved too much for him, and his constitution irrecoverably gave way. On the day of his removal, indeed, he was unusually well; was out in the garden a great part of the forenoon, and very cheerful while taking his tea, but about seven in the evening he was seized with a fit of apoplexy, and he was a corpse by a little after nine. His death much affected me, and especially as I had my fears lest it should have been produced by a mere sorrow of the world; but when I joined my dear mother, I was much comforted by finding that the Lord’s gracious intentions in all this apparently severe discipline, were mercifully answered; that they produced in him a gradual weaning from the world, and an increased esteem and relish for the things which concerned his soul. And in this effect, I hope, that we are all, at least most of us, enabled to rejoice, though, in order to produce it, it was necessary that he should suffer the loss of almost all things. To think of his departed spirit, as happy with the Lord, affords to us a balm of consolation which thousands upon thousands could not effect without it.

But amidst all this wreck and ruin of property which I have gradually been called to witness, what abundant cause have I for gratitude that it has not come nigh me. How graciously has God been pleased to provide for me and mine! For though my family is large, and its wants are continually increasing, yet I have all and abound. I have ever yet had enough, and a little annually to spare; and I have no doubt but that, with a little frugality, I shall be able to put by a little more towards the settling of my dear children when they shall come of age. Had I known of the present posture of affairs, I might have done a little more for them, but I am very thankful that I have done what I have. And may the God of love so regulate my conduct for the future, that I may never, in any instance, unnecessarily encroach upon their due; for I feel the force of the apostolic observation: “He that provideth not for his own,” &c.

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The following is a deeply affecting letter; but, like many of David’s Psalms, if it begins in complainings, it ends in praises.

TO THE SAME.

Madeley, July 3, 1819.

My dear Armstrong,

AS to myself, I can say but little: I seem to be more of a loitering formalist than anything else. Many things which I began when I first entered upon my charge here have gradually dwindled into the merest nothings, and these have at length been given up. And most of those which are still continued seem to have lost that interest and power with which they were once accompanied. As to my own feelings and conduct in the midst of all, they are my shame and constant humiliation. I am so accustomed to see this gradual deterioration in many instances, that I almost invariably expect it in all others, and this makes me less earnest in prayer and less zealous in action. In all the coldness of apathy, I seem anticipating nothing but eventual failure in everything; and then, when nothing further is to be done here, I as coldly anticipate a removal to some other scene, where similar efforts will be productive of similar results. These, my dear A., have been my general feelings for some months past. I have often paused to analyze my spirit and my conduct: sometimes I have been ready to imagine that my indifference argued a deadness to popularity and applause, and that while I was so content that others should see that I was nothing, I was gaining some increase of humility, and, of course, was making some little advancement in the Divine life. But within these few days, I have been awakened from my sleep of carnal security, and have been deeply humbled before my God on account of it. I see that, instead of stemming the torrent, I have too criminally suffered it to spread, till it has threatened ruin to all the plain below. Instead of propping I have rather undermined the tottering fabric, and thus aided the natural decay from time and seasons. Had spirituality been cherished in my own soul—had patient self-denying labours been uniformly pursued—had ardent believing prayer been constantly offered—who can tell how much this tendency to deteriorate might have been counteracted? Who can tell, rather, what increase of prosperity might have now called forth my grateful praise? My motto, therefore, has now become that of the cheerful, believing and animated Apostle St. Paul. It is said of him, “He thanked God and took courage.” Instead of dejectedly witnessing this natural process, and as despondingly anticipating still more and more, I feel, through the grace of my Saviour, enabled thankfully to adore him for all the good which yet remains; and, with a measure of cheerful courage, to devote myself to my future work. And I cannot tell you the sweet peace which has been imparted to my distrusting mind, and the animated glow which has been diffused through my cold and apathetical heart; but to think that this blessed peace and love should have so long been strangers within my breast, is cause of my humiliation before my compassionate Redeemer. May my endeared friend never have similar cause of complaint!

TO HIS SISTER.

Madeley, Oct. 4, 1819.

MY last informed you of the seeming health of our dear little Basil: on Monday last, we availed ourselves of a favourable opportunity of having him christened, and we all thought that, though a little fallen away, he was looking very well. On Wednesday, however, he was attacked with infantine cholera morbus, and on the morning of yesterday his happy spirit burst its way to God. To us, indeed, the scene was very affecting; it was the first inroad death had been permitted to make among us, and his entrance spread a degree of awe upon our minds such as we had not known before. The strong feelings of affection likewise, and numerous endearing recollections, kept making us weep till, like David and his men, we seemed to have no more power to weep, and even all the grateful expressions which kept bursting from our thankful hearts, could only be uttered amidst our quickly flowing tears. These stronger feelings, however, have now somewhat subsided, and a holy calm of gratitude has regained its seats within our breasts: our dear little one has, indeed, fled from among us, but he has fled to a far happier place—fled to the arms and bosom of his ever-to-be-adored Redeemer; and oh! how quick, as well as blessed, the transition!

“We scarce can say he’s gone,
Before his happy spirit takes
Its station near the throne.”

To-morrow, we think of committing his dear remains to the silent tomb. I have been selecting and marking out a suitable spot to be employed, should we continue here, for the successive members of our family, as they may be called from among us, and my prayer has been ascending to my blessed Redeemer that we may every one of us leave as firm a persuasion behind us of the safety of our eternal state, as our dear little Basil has. And, indeed, his removal has given me an increased confidence that this will be the case; for our united prayers for our dear children have ever been, that they might either live a holy life, or die an early death. My dear wife, though weak, is very mercifully supported in the season of our trial; she feels, and that at times very sensibly, but peaceful gratitude is still her constant companion: I say gratitude; for it is not mere submission, it is the peaceful grateful adoration of that gracious God who is too wise to err, too good to be unkind; and I am very thankful for all the support and consolation which our kind Saviour so mercifully affords her. I think of having a small head stone for my little boy, mentioning his name, the day of his death and his age, and, underneath, the following lines which I put down in my pocket book when you and I were at Enfield, little, indeed, imagining at the time that I should ever have a dear child of my own over whose grave they would be inscribed:—

“On Life’s wide Ocean sorrowful and pained,
How many Voyagers their course perform;
This little bark a kinder fate obtained,
It reached the Haven ere it met the storm.”

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Mr. Mortimer very kindly received the writer’s son William (now a clergyman, and British chaplain at Valparaiso, in South America) into his family, to be educated with his own children, and it is to this child that allusion is made in the following letter addressed to him.

Madeley, February 28, 1820.

My dear Armstrong,