Wellington, April, 1813.
My dear Friend,
I HAVE of late been obliged to give up all thoughts of missionary
exertions; my _present_ ministerial labours (small, alas! as they are
when contrasted with the more extended operations of my dear friend) are
a weight which presses very heavily upon my mind; they drink up all my
spirits, and have so completely transformed me from the cheerful happy
individual which I formerly used to be, that could you break in upon me
accidentally and unawares you would hardly recognise me for the same.
Ah, my dear friend, could I have foreseen these things, I should scarcely
have dared to have encountered all the anxieties and perplexities
attendant upon the ministerial office. I feel indeed that I have to
sustain a burden; but there is one cheering consideration—it is the
Lord’s burden; it is placed and appointed by him, and if patiently
sustained, not only his glory, but my own eternal welfare, and perhaps
that of others also, will be advanced. But if I feel the burden so great
at present, how little am I cut out for so great a work as that which you
have the honour and the privilege to be employed in!
In the service of the sanctuary there were hewers of wood and drawers of
water. I seem to be of this description. But, though these individuals
were mean and insignificant, compared with others, yet were they useful
in their way; and, if God do but bless my labours, I trust I shall be
content and be willing to be employed by him to the end of my days. I
would gratefully acknowledge some of his gracious manifestations in this
respect. Two individuals have, I trust, been savingly brought to the
knowledge of God, and some few have, in other respects, been benefited.
This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.
But though my ministerial duties are thus oppressive, I have reason to be
thankful in other respects. I have a dear wife, whom I tenderly love,
and God has been pleased to present me, about three months since, with a
sweet and interesting little son. He is healthy, animated, and vigorous,
and proves to me a source of comfort which, I must frankly confess, I but
little anticipated. I feel I have an important deposit placed within my
hands; but I trust God will enable me to train him for the skies, and
then all will be well. We have named him “Cecil,” after our trusty,
excellent, and most valuable friend. I should have preferred to have
prefixed in its stead that of my good friend whom I am addressing; but
its length, as well as the number of consonants which compose it, render
it as a Christian name somewhat harsh and sonorous.
Since I last wrote to you, I received a letter from our friend F—, of
Trinity. It was the bearer of melancholy tidings; the cup of this
excellent young man seems to be composed of sorrows peculiarly severe.
He lost some time ago, as you will doubtless recollect, a tender father,
under circumstances truly afflictive, and now he has lost his still
dearer mother.
He heard, by letter, of her illness, rode to Inverness, where she then
was, without the least intermission; but when he arrived, she was dead.
The weight of this calamity upon his mind, together with the accumulated
pressure of temporal and domestic concerns, have caused him to pass
through deep waters; but God has given to them a sanctifying influence:
you would be truly gratified at the genuine stream of piety which
pervades the whole of his letter. It characterizes a real child of God.
I have lately been turning my attention towards botany. Should you ever
be sending a packet to your brother, would you be so kind as to enclose
me a few seeds of some of your choice and beautiful flowers; I mean those
which are peculiar to your climate? You will favour me still further by
affixing the names by which they are commonly known. If you have never
amused yourself in this way, you will be surprised at the inexhaustible
source of pleasure of which it is capable. I walked out with my Mary
this morning through the adjoining country. We were pleased and
exhilarated on various accounts; but our botanic pleasures were by far
the greatest. Little, exquisitely tasty beauties were discovered by us,
which before had completely escaped our notice; they lie before me on my
table; and while I look at them, I am led to adore the Hand which so
elegantly and ingeniously formed them.
* * * * * *
My best wishes and my constant _weekly_ prayers attend you. I greatly
love you—am tenderly concerned in your welfare, and shall always rejoice
on being able to congratulate you on its realization.
From your ever sincere Friend,
G. M.
* * * * *
About the middle of the year 1814, Mr. Mortimer was joined by a coadjutor
in the curacy of Wellington, of a kindred spirit with himself, and one
with whom he seems to have taken sweet counsel, walking to the house and
service of God as friends. This was the Rev. John King, already
mentioned in the preface. In a letter to his sister, on the 3rd of June,
1814, is this short notice of the event just referred to:—“My dear friend
King has joined us—he is beloved by all.” In another letter dated the
30th of the same month, he mentions his great attachment to Mr. King,
their delightful opportunities of studying together, and that he esteems
his coming under his roof as one of the greatest blessings ever
vouchsafed. His intimacy with this gentleman was formed at the
University; “being introduced to him,” as he mentions in a letter to the
writer, “the very first evening of his coming to college, and we have,”
he adds, “ever since remained in the closest bonds of union.”