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.