and another Persian, on their way here from Constantinople, going to Abbas Mirza, whom I had just before been visiting, came hastily to render me assistance if they could. These Persians appear quite brotherly, after the Turks. While they pitied, Hasan sat with perfect indifference ruminating on the further delay this was likely to occasion. The cold fit, after continuing two or three hours, was followed by a fever, which lasted the whole night, and prevented sleep. "October 6th.-No horses being to be had, I had an unexpected repose. I sat in the orchard, and thought, with sweet comfort and peace, of my GOD; in solitude-my company, my friend, my comforter. O, when shall Time give place to Eternity! When shall appear that new heaven and new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness! There-there shall in no wise enter in anything that defileth: none of that wickedness that has made men worse than wild beasts-none of those corruptions that add still more to the miseries of mortality, shall be seen or heard of any more." Ten days later Henry Martyn was dead. On the 16th of October, at Tocat, the struggle was ended; but whether he succumbed to the plague, fever, or exhaustion, was never ascertained. He lies in an unknown grave, with no memorial to distinguish his last resting-place. In the judgment of the world, no doubt Martyn's life was a failure. But was it really so? Did he accomplish nothing for CHRIST and his fellow-men? Oh, infinitely better and nobler such a life of self-sacrifice and devotion even with such an end, than that of the drawing-room idler, immured in frivolities, or of the man of business, with "gain" as the pole-star of all his efforts, or of the warrior who rises to power and glory at the cost of infinite human agony and suffering! In Holme Lee's "Her Title of Honour," which is founded on the story of Henry Martyn, two characters are introduced as conversing thus: "No man," says one, "ever more literally fulfilled the Divine command to forsake all, take up the Cross, and follow CHRIST." "If self-renunciation," says the other, "be the first of Christian virtues, he practised it, and also he imposed it upon others. He was holy, just, and true-but what profit was there in his life? You call him missionary—where are his witnesses? He held disputations with several learned Eastern scholars-did he convert any? With the help of native scholars he made translations from Holy Writ. I believe he baptized one poor old Hindu woman. I know he bore much ridicule, scoffing, mockery; I know he suffered a martyrdom of sorrows; I know he died alone-in a strange land-alone. If GOD accepted his sacrifice, where is his witness ?" "His witness," rejoins the first speaker, "is the loving admiration of all good men. His noble example has drawn many after him. The seed he sowed is springing up a hundredfold. His name will be a light to the world for many generations." "Well, then, take his journals-let the world know how he laboured and sorrowed, and saw no fruits of his labours." "It is not true," is the answer, "that success makes the hero. Some day you will be satisfied that what Henry Martyn did was well done; you will not call his journals only a pathetic record of a disappointed life. He was hap pier than you or I, for he fulfilled more perfectly the will of his heavenly FATHER." "The sweet peace in his SAVIOUR that he felt when dying, worn out in His service, is, I suppose, the moral of his story." "It is a beautiful story," concludes the first speaker, “a noble story, look at it as you will. Yes-take that for the moral of it. So GOD giveth His beloved sleep." A beautiful and a noble story, for it shows to what heights religious enthusiasm may attain, how it may conse crate intellectual gifts, how it may elevate and purify the character, how it may make a man broader and higher than the system in which he has been bred. The weakness of Martyn in his character and work came from the narrow theology in which he was nurtured; his strength came from his absolute devotion to the service of CHRIST. His mind and heart glowed with a pure and holy enthusiasm that beautified all it touched, just as the sunshine gilds every object on which its transforming light is poured. An enthusiasm, like in its kind if different in degree, to that of our LORD and SAVIOUR, which, as the Jews supposed, perished miserably on the Cross of Calvary. An enthusiasm like that of the martyr Stephen, over whose death as over a great victory his persecutors rejoiced and were glad. An enthusiasm which of apparent failure makes real success; because, fed by the fire that burns on the altar of GOD, it cannot be dimmed or put out by any worldly trial or sorrow or disaster,-looking ever for its reward, and the fruition of its effort, to the Eternal Rest which is in CHRist Jesus. |