Thornhill, September 25, 1844.
My dear Madam,
IN compliance with the wishes expressed in your letter to Mamma, and at
her request, I proceed to retrace the latest years of my dear father’s
life. Though it is in some respects a painful task, and one for which I
feel myself incompetent, I shall be quite repaid if I afford any pleasure
to the respected and valued friends of my late beloved father.
I think you must have heard of the distressing nervous attack which my
dear father had about four years since, and which, for a time, entirely
incapacitated him for the discharge of his ministerial duties, and
obliged him to engage the services of a curate. When he had partially
recovered, but, at the same time, felt unequal to the resumption of his
ministrations at Thornhill, he undertook a service in a retired place,
nearly four miles distant, where no church service had been before held.
He felt very much interested in this self-imposed charge, which he
termed, in speaking of it to me, the nursling of his old age. Many of
the members of this congregation, which consisted entirely of farmers,
mechanics, and labourers, have frequently spoken in strong terms of
gratitude for his attention to them, and I hope that his labours there
were in some measure appreciated. When he afterwards gave Mr. Townley
some assistance in Thornhill Church, {252} he still continued his
exposition, as he was accustomed to call it, at the German Mills, but
then went only once a fortnight, and my youngest brother, with the
consent of the bishop, officiated as lay-reader, on the alternate
Sundays. At the end of June, in last year, my dear father having felt
very anxious to resume his charge at Thornhill, at length came to the
determination of dismissing his curate, notwithstanding the fears of his
family that he would be unequal to bear the sole burden of the then
greatly increased parochial duties. Connected with this determination,
was a resolution to devote himself entirely to his ministerial work, and
he re-entered upon it with renewed zeal and ardour. At the same time he
entirely gave up all his literary pursuits, and, as if to confirm his
purpose, removed from his study all the geological and other scientific
works, which had previously engaged and captivated his attention. This
was an evident and great sacrifice, but it was made with cheerfulness for
the sake of his Divine Redeemer; and the comfort and great peace of mind
which he enjoyed in doing his Master’s work, fully recompensed him for
this act of self-devotion. Our fears respecting his health proved to
have been groundless, for he frequently said that he never felt his
ministerial duties less oppressive than he then did. The good health
which he enjoyed was greatly promoted by the practice which he had
adopted of driving out regularly every day, and which he then continued
both for the benefit of the exercise, and also for the purpose of
visiting his parishioners, very many of whom lived at a distance of many
miles. His visits have been frequently alluded to, and they appear to
have been prized by many, as marks of kindness and condescension, when
they could not appreciate their spiritual advantage. During this last
year of my dear father’s life, owing perhaps to the exclusively religious
nature of his studies, his conversation much more frequently than before
took a serious turn. I was frequently much struck with the beauty of his
observations, and at times the thought occurred that his remarks were
those of one ripening for glory. At the end of last May, Arthur and his
bride came to visit us, and we then effected a family meeting, every
member being present excepting Maria. During the next week, my dear
father was present at the bishop’s triennial visitation, and at the
annual meeting of our Diocesan Church Society; and his apparent good
health was generally remarked by his clerical and other friends. The
ceremony of opening a church in our neighbourhood, occurring in the
following week, he thought it his duty to attend; but these exertions,
combined with the excitement of an enlarged family circle, affected his
health, and on that account, during the three last days he spent the
whole of his time in parochial visiting. The man-servant spoke with much
feeling of his conversation during their drives, and mentioned his having
said, each day, when they reached home, “Once more, Stephen, God has
brought us home in safety.” Some of the persons that he visited on those
days remarked to a young friend, that their minister spoke to them
particularly of preparation for death. On Saturday, the 15th of June,
having heard that his bookseller in Toronto had received a supply of new
books, he determined upon going there to select some theological works.
While he was waiting for the carriage, he returned to the dining-room,
and talked in a very lively manner till it was ready. He had only
proceeded about a mile on his journey, when the fatal accident occurred.
The newspapers gave a correct account of the accident, which perhaps you
have heard—that the horse ran away; that one rein broke suddenly, though
nearly new, which caused the horse to make so sudden and violent a turn,
that the carriage was overturned, and that the man, though thrown out as
well as his master, was only slightly injured, while the latter received
his deathblow on the chest, by being thrown with violence against the
stump of a tree. It had long been the practice of my endeared father,
and one which he recommended from the pulpit, to make death a daily
subject of prayer, and a part of that, I believe, daily petition, was
that he might, if consistent with the will of God, have an easy death.
The testimony of his kind and skilful medical attendant, is a decisive
evidence to the striking fulfilment of this prayer; for he told us that
no other death was so easy, excepting when occasioned by lightning, as
that which terminated the existence of my dear father, who, he assured
us, suffered no pain. He also mentioned that he considered it a very
remarkable circumstance, that he should have survived so long a time as
four hours: for that two hours was deemed the utmost length of time that
life could be prolonged, under such circumstances, and that instant death
was the frequent result of such a blow. That such was not the case in
this instance, we felt very thankful, and he himself expressed his
satisfaction at being brought home to his own bed, and his thankfulness
that none of his bones were broken; not knowing then the fatal nature of
his accident. He expressed a desire that some of his family should leave
the room, that he might be quiet, and we all therefore quitted his room,
excepting Dr. Paget and Arthur. He was perfectly composed, and resigned
to the will of God, whatever that might be, but expressed a wish that he
might fall asleep in Jesus. When he became aware, or rather suspected,
that his end was approaching, he sent for all the members of his family
who were then at home, mentioning us by name, and we received in
succession his last blessing. He was then perfectly calm, and in a
peaceful state of mind. Almost his last words were expressive of his
admiration of, and thankfulness for, the wonderful plan of redemption:
his words I do not remember accurately enough to quote, but his last
petition was for his beloved flock! Dr. Paget, though his affectionate
heart felt deep sorrow, said, that it was a privilege to witness such a
death. The testimony which has been borne by all ranks to the esteem in
which he was held, is very gratifying. The bishop came from Toronto,
though with great inconvenience, to pay the last mark of respect to the
dear remains of one whom, to the credit of both parties, he greatly
respected, though differing from him in many points. The church was
greatly crowded on the mournful occasion, and a deep feeling appeared to
pervade the assembly. The pulpit, &c. were hung with black cloth, and
all the genteel residents in the neighbourhood put on mourning. These
are the consolations which the world has in its power to offer to
mourning relatives, and very many have we received, nor were they by any
means undervalued by us, but, added to them, we had far higher sources of
comfort, in the perfect assurance that he whom we mourned had entered
into his rest, and in the full assurance that the event, deeply
afflicting as it was to us, was ordered by an allwise and gracious God.
Mamma desires her Christian respects to yourself and your dear sister, of
whose very afflictive state of deprivation of almost every outward
comfort, she was truly grieved to hear.
My dear father was much affected when he heard, through Miss B—, the sad
intelligence, and he more than once alluded to your dear sister’s
blindness with tears of sympathy.
Believe me, dear Madam,
Very sincerely and respectfully yours,
PHEBE MORTIMER.
* * * * *
The following letter, written by the same hand, repeats so much of what
was said in the foregoing, that at first the writer of these memoirs
determined, on the omission of one of them: but, upon consideration that,
though there was repetition, there was also so much variety of
expression, as well as of additional matter, he judged it best to insert
both—a judgment which he doubts not will be approved by his readers.