Chapter I: FEEL somewhat puzzled as to what I ought to say with regard to

emigration. As to agriculture, employment can easily be procured in the upper province, and the wages are good; but the state of destitution in which some of the families arrive is very distressing, and keeps them back for a considerable time. I cannot recommend any family to come out unless they have £9 a head for each individual. It happened to one young man who had paid £1. 15s. for his passage to Quebec, and yet with one and another charge he had only a few shillings left out of £12. At Kingston I heard of a family of emigrants whose baggage was sold by auction to enable them to find the money to proceed to the agricultural districts. If emigrants can proceed with their baggage, and a few shillings in their pockets, they soon feel thankful for their altered circumstances. As to the two men and their families, I must leave it to your decision, and to influence them as you judge best. If they come, it should be as early as possible: leave England in February and get to Quebec in March.

TO MRS. MORTIMER.

Thornhill, Jan. 18, 1833.

As to emigration I feel at a loss what to write. There is in fact hardly a man living but in some way or other may succeed in this fine country, and yet there is scarcely a man who may not fail and suffer disappointment, so that I dread recommending; but were I in the condition of nineteen out of twenty, I would make every effort to come out. Most have to rough it for about a year; few need do this much longer; that is, if thoughtful, prudent, and moral: their wilderness soon begins to smile, and comforts one after another crowd around them. I must turn to my log-book for something to say on this score.

“Of all settlers the medical profession seems to have least
encouragement; they are worse off than even ministers; for in this
country the population is so scattered, and the roads so
impracticable, that they slave and toil beyond all endurance for a
scanty pittance, and finding so small a remuneration, they are
obliged to merge their professional engagements into those of the
largely cultivated farm. Should they speculate on more extensive
practice and larger returns in some of the towns there, so many have
anticipated them, that they half starve before they can get into
practice, and, after paying dear for their rashness, are compelled to
return to the country, and to rough it like others in employments for
which their previous habits have but little qualified them. Another
evil is that all the three branches are here united, there not being
a sufficient call to admit of a division; and then, again, we are all
so healthy, excepting, indeed, the whiskey drinkers, who die by
inches, but who have no peculiar _penchant_ for bitter drugs; so that
had it not been for the cholera, which so extensively visited us, I
fear the medical gentlemen must have had no great cause to
congratulate themselves on their speculations. The best description
of settlers are young persons with or without families, married or
single, who can command about £1000 in cash, and have about £80 or
£100 per annum, on which they can regularly calculate. These can
purchase a fair quantity of land in cultivated districts, where there
is good society and English comforts; can build their house ample,
commodious, and well-looking; and can realize from their farm what
will enable them to live as gentlemen. I know two or three families
of this description, in this neighbourhood, who have freely exhibited
their finances before me, and they are just what I have noticed
above. And if these do well, much more those whose income is larger.
Such are the settlers we most need, for improvements follow so fast
in their train. Capital and taste are in their case combined, and
their respective neighbourhoods start into notice and comfort.”

As to young men of the more respectable order, they must be willing to go into trade, and in this they have abundant encouragement, not so much in specific trade as in the keeping of stores, both wholesale and retail, and to such they give a salary for five or six years, and then either take them into partnership, or else set them up in some country store, furnishing them with goods on easy terms to begin with. Farming will not do for young men of this description, till they are of age to farm for themselves, and then they may begin, if they have a small capital to purchase land and stock it. They want very little of any previous training; the advice of some friend or neighbour on the spot is quite adequate, if he be of any tolerable capacity. As to settlers I can say little beyond what I have intimated before. With £10 or £12 a head, they need not hesitate a moment. The principal thing is raising sufficient money to bring them far enough into the country, and without this it is almost cruelty to say a word to induce them to leave England.

* * * * *

To finish these remarks on emigration, from one who knew what it was from his own experience, I shall add one other short extract from a letter dated Feb. 21, 1835, addressed to Mrs. D. Whitmore:—

But with all this improvement in society and literature, the matter of emigration puzzles me more than ever. Produce is sadly falling; my wheat I sold last year for 4s. 3d. a bushel; the same sample would now fetch only 2s. 6d., and all other farming produce of course in the same ratio. Farmers, therefore, are crying out that they shall now be ruined. Stores also abound so greatly, that a very small profit can be obtained, where competition is so great. Fortunes, therefore, are not, as they once were, so easily procured; and most classes of emigrants are sadly disappointed. Those who come out with ample means will easily succeed; for living is so cheap, and capital wanted, and amply remunerating interest in various ways obtained. But then, again, those who already have fortunes, or ample means, will mostly prefer the good old country, and well they may.

TO MISS E. FORD.

Lockport, State of New York,
May 1, 1833.

My dear Madam,

IT was very unexpectedly but most joyously that I received your kind communication respecting the sailing of the _Bristol_, {196} and I lost no time in leaving Thornhill for New York. I am now on my way thither, and hope to find a few leisure intervals during my journey to fill my sheet, reserving merely a small space for a postscript, that I may communicate, should all be well, the tidings of the safe arrival of the endeared party: they have much occupied my thoughts of late, and, sometimes, with too much of anxious solicitude, for which I have as often felt reproved; for such has been God’s mercy to us hitherto, that it is not merely infirmity, but positive sin to be distrustful of his faithfulness and love. I feel much indebted to you and Miss Ford, for your peculiar kindness to my dear Mary. I am never surcharged with feeling, I wish it were my habit; but still great kindness quite affects me, and as requital will be ever out of my power, I must look to the beneficent and faithful retributor above, and would give vent to the utterance of my heart in the language of the holy and grateful apostle, “The Lord grant that you may both find mercy of the Lord,” and especially “in that day.”

Your kind present of the newspapers, &c., will be very acceptable, and yet, perhaps you are hardly aware of the extent of either our political or literary information. We have two monthly magazines published in York, and three or four newspapers, and from New York we have two weekly newspapers, designed expressly for English readers—the _Albion_ and the _Emigrant_, full of English news and English literature; so that in a month or six weeks, we have all the cream of the London and country news, as well as the best of the lighter articles from the British periodicals. The _Edinburgh_ and _Quarterly Reviews_ are reprinted at two-thirds of the English price; also the _Christian Observer_, and other standard and monthly and quarterly works. Messrs. Harper, also, in New York, reprint the best of the English works in the _Family Library_, at three and sixpence each, executed like Murray’s, and their series amounts already to fifty-three volumes. Another series is furnished by Lee and Carey, at Philadelphia, and a third of a religious sort at Boston; so that in a few months, when I can spare a few pounds, I hope to be able to furnish my family with an extent of literature far beyond my capabilities in England. Among my own congregation we have also a book society, well supported and well supplied; we are, therefore, not a little chagrined when your boasting Englishers think of us as in a semi-barbaric land of literary destitution: for we not only feel ourselves a part of the great nation, but regard ourselves on nearly an equal footing as to the comforts and luxuries, while in many respects we feel that we have the most decided advantage, so we warn you not to treat us either politically or personally with scorn.

On the day I left York, government despatches had just arrived, which announced the dismissal of our two Crown Officers, the Attorney and Solicitor General, owing, it is supposed, to too great freedom in debate in our House of Assembly—the ferment it excited was almost ludicrous—“_delenda est Carthago_” was emphatically pronounced. The Whig Ministry must be annihilated. The province, though hardly prepared for such a measure, must at once be severed—such despotism could not be endured. I acted, as I generally do on such occasions, as pacificator, and smilingly quoted the well known lines of old Dr. Byron, in the conclusion of his _Bedlamite_—

“Kill your enemies’, kill a fool’s head of your own,
They’ll die of themselves, if you let them alone.”

It is whispered also that our excellent and deserving governor (Sir John Colborne) has not escaped censure; this I am truly grieved to hear, for his services cannot be too highly estimated, and our province is indebted to him beyond all expression. I fear, however, that his removal is not very remote; he is too pious, and too tame a politician, to give satisfaction to the administration at home; but my contracting limits oblige me hastily to conclude, and to assure yourself and Miss Ford how truly I remain,

Yours, gratefully,
GEORGE MORTIMER.

P.S. June 6, New York. Yesterday the dear party arrived all in health and safety. Never did I feel more truly thankful.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

Rochester, State of New York,
May 2, 1833.

* * * * * * * Your fame, my frater, has long ago reached this far distant province, and I ought gratefully to acknowledge that it has, in more instances than one, proved the passport to gracious and kindly reception. It was to this, I think, that my boys were principally indebted for the footing they obtained in Kingston, and many other little turning points of good are pleasingly associated in my mind with the high estimate and kind feeling, which has been cherished towards you as a minister, or an author. Once, indeed, it appeared rather the precursor of evil; for our good bishop, previous to my introduction, fancied that I was the _actual man_; the great Mr. Mortimer himself, the author, the distinguished preacher in London. And many a congratulation had he cherished within, to think that he had obtained so goodly a fish in his Canadian net. “Then you are not Mr. Mortimer from London, the author.” “No, my lord, his brother.” “Oh, only his brother!” was the consolatory adjunct; and the dismayed little man was left in his own littleness, unpatronized, unbefriended, to make his own way; and to this day is, in all probability, reaping the bitter fruits of the unhappy prepossession; for, though his self-complacency keeps him from concluding, that his diocesan regards him as a mere blank, yet he cannot but be aware that the rich prize still remains in the wheel, and which he had fondly imagined had been proclaimed as his very own.

My ministerial matters, however, notwithstanding this inauspicious commencement, are pleasingly progressive. My salary has been fixed by our good governor at £100 per annum; £20, or £25, I obtain from the rental of pews; a house is provided for me by my congregation, free of expense; arid I have a promise of some good glebe land, which, in a few years, will be of considerable value. My people are kind; ministrations seemingly acceptable; church and expositions well attended; temporal matters encouraging; living cheap; and two tolerably advantageous purchases secured for the children; so that the good hand of the Lord appears to be resting upon me. Indeed, never for a moment, that I recollect, have I repented of my step since I have been here. Once or twice, during our voyage, “when no small tempest lay upon us,” when the raging billows seemed on the point of ingulphing us, so great did my responsibility seem, as connected with the immortal souls of my little unprepared party, that I almost wished that I had never ventured on the perilous step. But, never for a moment, since our arrival here, have I had the least cause to retrace; and my only regret is, that I did not proceed before. But, perhaps, all is right, as to time also; and, indeed, when I glance upon some few of the deterring circumstances which intervened to retard me, I cannot doubt but that these also were from the Lord; that the deed, the time, the place, have all been under the direction of an agency superior to our own; and what a comfort does this assurance impart!

I forgot to mention, in my last, how much I felt obliged to Mr. Hartwell Horne, for the sundry introductions, and other tokens of kindness, which his parcel conveyed to me, just on the eve of my departure from England. Be so obliging as to convey to him my sincere thanks.

As to tuition, I have, I believe, myself altogether done with it. Hundreds of pleasant hours has it, in various ways, procured me, and during some few of the weeks I have been in Canada, have my classical studies been resumed with peculiar interest. This, partly for their own sake, and partly as a preparation for any opening that might arise in the college, or elsewhere. But I have now taken my final leave, not in dudgeon, nor with painful regret; but in calm surrender to the will of a superior power. Dear King, was, I think, in his kind and affectionate counsel in the matter, quite wrong; such employments are not so much my duty as my snare. The scales have at length fallen from my eyes, and though I cannot say, I can now see clearly, yet I see enough to convince me that, for the residue of my short life, I ought to give myself wholly to my one grand and absorbing avocation. Let, therefore, collegiate honours be sought and enjoyed by others. With these altered views, perhaps, were I permitted to gain the ear of an endeared relative, whom you well know, I should whisper certain cautionary monitions in reference to similar points; for though from his endeared lips the confessed “weakness of his heart” has had a charm and a persuasive influence which won my full approval, yet now that the syren notes can no longer bewilder me, I see, as in my own case, the snare rather than the duty, and the couplet of the almost forgotten Dryden, in which he cautions the aspirant parson, chimes in with my own overlate, but salutary musings:

“Those who contend for place and high degree,
Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee.”

Whisper, then, in my stead, in some auspicious moment, to this endeared individual what I am so desirous to convey; but mind that you whisper it in tenderness and love.

But my sheet is filling up so fast, that I have hardly left myself room to assure you of the interest which I still, and I hope, ever shall feel in all the concerns—personal, domestic, and ministerial—of my endeared brother. His opportunities of leisure are so few, that I must not often expect any direct communications, but whenever conveyed they will be most grateful. Accept then yourself, and convey to our dear mother, Eliza, and all your beloved family, the sincere and warmest love of your ever attached brother.

GEORGE.

TO MRS. D. WHITMORE.

Thornhill, near York, Upper Canada,
August 18, 1833.

My dear Madam,

WE were much indebted to you for your last most kind and welcome letter: most joyfully was it received and opened, and with peculiar interest were its instructive and interesting contents perused. So long and so closely written a letter, however, must, we fear, have been sadly trying to your eyes; and we fear this the more, as we learn from Miss E. Ford, that you have recently been experiencing somewhat of failure in your sight. We know how peculiarly trying this circumstance must prove to one, whose enjoyments have been so principally derived from this source; and we tremble at the least intimation of its probable diminution. But we would still say in the language of the man of God, “But the Lord is able to give you much more than this.” And, from what you have experienced under past seasons of privation and discipline, you may still expect that, should God be pleased to try you yet further in this most painful visitation, he will not withhold from you that superabounding grace, which in its blessed issue of spiritual and eternal good is more than tantamount to the most valued of our other joys. My endeared mother, as you well know, has been called to the acuteness of the same trial with yourself; but, O, how sweetly does she bear it—so cheerfully resigned—so peacefully yielding all to the wise and loving discipline of her kind and compassionate Lord, saying, in the language of her favourite hymn:—

“All that I prized below is gone,
Yet, Father, still Thy will be done.”

But to return to your letter. Your decision respecting York (now Toronto), exactly corresponds with that adopted by ourselves; and, therefore, we have no intention of going there; nor, indeed, any present intention of fixing in any other place, though many outward circumstances are far from being inviting. We are sadly cramped together in a wooden frame house, consisting of only four rooms, and these, owing to the badness of their construction, peculiarly hot and oppressive in summer and more than usually cold in winter. Nearly half of our things too are unpacked, and our landing and other places crowded and littered by the boxes and trunks, which contain them; in short an air of untidiness and discomfort meets our long-trained English eye, wherever we turn it, and, at times, our heart almost sickens at the sight; and, were it not for the counteracting influence of better feelings, we should adopt some hasty measure to accomplish a retreat into some situation, which might authorize the expectation of somewhat more of outward comfort. On Mrs. M’s. arrival we were in hopes of being settled in a far more suitable abode, and had, in fact, engaged to take it; but its distance from the church and the mass of our population was so great, and so many other inconveniences attended it, that we decided on remaining for the present where we now are. They promise, indeed, to build for us a small house near the church, which is to be ready by spring; but their promises have hitherto been so fallacious, that I hardly know how to trust to them, and the plan of the building is so small, that I am not without strong misgivings, lest we should feel it our duty to decline it. And if so we must either build for ourselves, (seldom either a wise or lucrative act), or else, in true Canadian style, must turn out and seek other quarters. The people, indeed, are kind to us, and the attendance on my ministry is far from discouraging; but if they so little prize the residence and settled ministrations of a clergyman among them, as to refuse to accommodate him with a plain and commodious residence,—while for themselves many of them have built elegant and spacious mansions,—they must not be surprised, if their miscalculating selfishness terminate in his withdrawing from among them.

Our temporal matters are encouraging; for living here is so cheap, that our income is far more than adequate to our regular demands. I have purchased two cultivated farms of 100 and 105 acres, with clearances of forty and sixty acres respectively, and out of my savings have already paid off the first instalment of £250, and in a few days hence shall pay £150 more; in all, £400; so that, through God’s blessing, we are already beginning to reap the benefit of our expensive removal, and, without being over sanguine, we may perhaps indulge a hope, that still further mercies are in reserve, if not for ourselves, still for our dear children. We are very rapidly advancing as a province. God has been very gracious to us in our Lieutenant-Governor, Sir John Colborne, a pious, discreet, and sound intentioned man. Capital also is gradually finding its way among us; so that we are beginning to attract the notice of our jealous neighbours, who see the rudiments of a vast empire rising up close beside them. And, hitherto, we have been singularly prospered. A radical party, however, of considerable strength is, as you will perceive by the public prints, beginning to trouble us: it is headed by the discontented worthless —. Without this drawback, we might almost be tempted to exclaim, “O nimium fortunati.” But I must conclude. Our kindest and united love attends yourself and all your party, and

Believe me,

Yours, ever gratefully,
GEORGE MORTIMER.

* * * * *

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.

TO MISS E. FORD.

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.

TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER.

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.

TO MRS. D. WHITMORE.

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.

TO MISS E. FORD.

Thornhill, July 28, 1836.

My dear Madam,