As to myself, I am of course in uncertainty; but I feel confident, that as I have hitherto been guided by the wisdom and goodness of my condescending God, so he will still point out to me the way in which I should go.
You speak of the mine of paper and print, and, like too many others, comfort yourself with considering that your work is but a little one. But good, my brother, beware, beware! Three services on a Sabbath, occasional weekly ministrations, and numerous official employments, should almost entirely exclude every kind of preparation for the press. With kindest love &c,
In the spring of 1825, Mr. Mortimer visited his London friends, one of whom writes as follows:—
“Your dear brother appeared so full of love and tenderness, and, at the same time, so interested himself in everything that appeared to interest us, that we could not help wishing for a much longer enjoyment. I heard him preach but once: his sermon was truly edifying. I will transcribe a brief outline of it, as you may find it a word of consolation in some season of sorrow. Matt. xv. 28, ‘O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’ The advantages resulting from strong faith were pointed out in four important particulars; viz.—I. It yields to no discouragement. II. It bears and even overcomes the most humiliating discoveries. III. It receives the strongest marks of the Saviour’s approbation. IV. It is put into eventual possession of every needful good. Each of these points was marked out as strikingly illustrated in this affecting and interesting narrative.”
His brother, the Rev. Thomas Mortimer, has kindly furnished me with the following communication respecting the same sermon:—
“On Sunday, the 27th March, 1825, my beloved brother preached for me at my lecture at St. Olave’s, Southwark. I shall never forget that sermon. Being the only church at that time usually open in the Borough for Sunday evening service, there was generally a large attendance, and that evening the church was crowded. On entering the pulpit, my brother’s diminutive figure excited attention; and, in some, produced a smile. When, however, he had composed himself in the pulpit, his fine countenance, beaming with intelligence, evidently inspired some with respect, who, at first, had looked up with indifference, if not with scorn. His announcement of his text was most solemn and yet most tender; ‘O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’ From that moment the silence of death reigned; and, after a few minutes, every eye seemed fixed upon the preacher, and every ear listening to his voice. The scoffer soon discovered that the preacher was no ordinary man: the candid inquirer felt interested in the subject: the timid and weak believer took courage: and the mourner drank in the water of life, with the eagerness of the thirsty soul. Many a time, during subsequent years, have the tenderest and most grateful reference been made to that sermon by those who were accustomed to converse with me on the great concerns of their souls. Though nearly twenty years have rolled away since that memorable night, the recollection of my beloved brother, of the touching words that fell from his lips, and the ‘unction of the Holy One,’ which evidently attended them, is still vivid and delightful, and will, I doubt not, accompany me to my grave.”