Exclusion upon the general scale is certainly no part of our intention; we are thankful, therefore, for your friendly hint. * * * * * * * * We all unite in kindest love to you and yours, and I remain, Your truly affectionate Friend and Brother, G. MORTIMER. TO THE REV. JOHN ARMSTRONG. Wellington, Salop. May 1st, 1815. My dear Friend, YOUR last letter gave me an account of dear Mrs. A.’s indisposition. She has been much on my mind of late. I feared lest her protracted illness should be the forerunner of something worse; and my mind shrunk from the idea of the painful circumstances in which yourself would be placed, should her removal be the ultimate issue. But I have left the whole in the hands of our wise and loving God, and I have no doubt but that all will be well. To be a stranger in a strange land, oppressed with cares and surrounded with more than ordinary difficulties, and at the same time reft of his bosom friend, the sharer of his troubles, and the assuager of his griefs; this is a trial from which the mind revolts. But still, “God is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able.” He will proportion our supports to our trials, and with Christ’s strengthening us we can not only do, but bear all things; and, therefore, all that we have to do is to shut our eye, and to yield our hand, and to suffer our kind Lord to lead us whithersoever he shall please. We have nothing to do with anticipation respecting the future. Grace is indeed promised to us, not however in advance—not as a stock which we may possess beforehand, but as we need it. “As thy day, thy strength shall be.” I have found this consideration a great source of comfort to my own mind when I have been recoiling at the painful possibilities of the morrow; for, though I could not bear this and the other trial to-day with my present strength, yet to-morrow’s strength may and will be sufficient for me, provided I do but look for it. Were a martyr’s trials in reserve for me, a martyr’s grace would also be prepared for me. With regard to myself all at present is peaceful in the extreme; my mind calmly reposing on the God of all my mercies in tranquil dependence. My wife, my children, my servants, my property, all so suitable, so calculated to administer to my comfort, and to leave me no reasonable earthly wish unfulfilled. All, my dear friend, is so well; all so mercifully regulated, that I sometimes look around me with surprise, and am almost led to suspect lest the treacherous calm should be merely the forerunner of some tremendous storm. But the consideration does not alarm me; for “God is love.”