would have exhausted, as Mr. Martyn unconsciously records to his own praise, the patience of any human being; generally without a friend with whom to take sweet counsel, and in whose society he might have experienced, that "as iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the countenance of a man his friend ;"-blown upon by such adverse winds from every quarter, is it to be wondered at, that this tender plant shook sometimes even to its roots. Rather is it not to be wondered at, how he withstood such agitating storms at all; how with grief, solitude, bodily indisposition and those sorrows which are peculiar to the Christian, and which Mr. Martyn eminently felt all at once expending their force upon him, his harp was so often attuned to joy, and his accents those of one who had his songs in the night; and how he was enabled to withstand such, and not only withstand but to grow under the apparently adverse influence of such a tempest of trial. In the end it was too much for him; but the orchards of Tocat, which witnessed the last blast that blew, witnessed also his last and highest gain; the tempest which spent its fury in carrying him out of existence, transported him to the garden of God, and there for ever secure, and for ever blessed, without a storm to ruffle its leaves, or a wind to molest its blossoms, this plant of the heavenly Father's planting, now rears its head and blooms serene in calm, undisturbed, and ever-enduring repose.

Blest is the memory of the just,
When to their rest they go,

And dear the place where now their dust

In Jesus sleeps below.

A heavenly light shines bright amid the gloom,
And points to Calvary and Joseph's tomb.

Yes, the Redeemer, through the shade
Of death's dark valley passed,
The ransom for his people paid,

He loved them to the last.

And death can now no more one soul retain

That hopes in Him who burst its cords in twain.

If precious to us be the spot,

Where rest the holy dead :

That land will not be unforgot,

Whence Martyn's spirit fled.

TOCAT! beneath thy hills his ashes lie,

But He has reached the eternal hills on high !

In May 1809, it was, that Mr. Martyn was removed to Cawnpore. The following are a few extracts from letters written at that period.

'Respecting my heart, about which you ask, I must acknowledge that Henry Martyn's heart at Cawnpore is the same as Henry Martyn's heart at Cambridge. The tenour of my prayer is nearly the same, except on one subject-the conversion of the heathen. At a distance from the scene of action, and trusting too much to the too highly-coloured descriptions of missionaries, my heart used to expand with rapture at the hope of seeing thousands of the natives melting under the word as soon as it should be preached to them. Here I am called to exercise faith-that so it shall one day be. My former feelings on this subject were more agreeable, and the same time more according with the truth; for, if we believe the prophets, the scenes that time shall unfold, though surpassing fable, are yet true. While I write, hope and joy spring up in my mind. Yes, it shall be. Yonder stream of Ganges shall one day roll through tracts adorned with Christian churches, and cultivated by Christian husbandmen, and the holy hymn be heard beneath the shade of the tamarind. All things are working together to bring about that day; and my part in the blessed plan, though not at the first exactly consonant with my wishes, is I believe appointed me by God. To translate the word of God is a work of more lasting benefit than my preaching would be. Besides, I am sorry to say, my strength for preaching is almost gone.'

'Dearest Brother,

6 Cawnpore, Nov. 6, 1809.

"This must I think find you at Pertabghur, though the last did not. I have had another summons to Cul

pee, which I shall attend to, as I may kill two birds with one stone. There is some force in what you say about our refusing to go on these expeditions. It did not occur to me before. I have had Europe letters, one from Godfrey, another from Col. Sandys. Godfrey mentions his removal from Wellington to London, Hensman's marriage, his visit to Dr. Buchanan, Cecil, &c. Cecil is dying, full of love and humility. Col. S. gives a delightful account of my former acquaintances in Cornwall-old and young are turning to the Lord. His accounts have filled me with wonder and joy. England will take the lead in bringing on the Millennium. His mother (80 years old) whom I and every body else thought incorrigible, has voluntarily given up her cards and gaiety in order to live with her pious son, and she now says she was never so happy in her life. Lydia Grenfell's brother, a most amiable man, and one of my prime favourites at school, is become a truly converted man. Though he is a merchant in London, he exerts himself like a minister, warning all around him to flee from the wrath to come. Her mother also, once so hostile, contemplates the change in her children with satisfaction, and observes, 'Of what use are worldly riches without the Gospel in the heart?' The old Mr. Hitchens, whose two sons are evangelical ministers, lately died, having a good hope that he was received at the eleventh hour. He sent for his sons, confessed his own ignorance, formality, coldness, and indifference to the ministerial office. Thus the Redeemer goes on conquering and to conquer. The old man was one of the wise men of this world, a great astronomer: nothing afforded him so much amusement as to ridicule his sons, and he used to distort and exaggerate their Calvinistic opinions in such a way, that one would have thought that he wished to be the reputed father of two lunatics. His elder brother was brought to the truth a short time ago by the piety of his children also. When will the Spirit thus poured out on England be vouchsafed to India. Let us never

cease to expect it, pray for it, talk and write about it. I have sent home to Godfrey a sharp rebuke, for not having so much as mentioned the subject in his whole letter. Sabat and myself have had many quarrels this week also, but good has come of it I think. Last evening he went to visit a Christian of Aleppo, and found a Christian Turk of Constantinople, but this man must be a Greek I suppose, for I never heard of a Turk converted to Christianity. What he heard seemed to rouse him, for he came back full of desire to get on in his glorious work. Mr. Brown has sent me a letter from Mahommed Rasheed, a Calcutta Moonshee, containing his opinion of Sabat's work. It appears to me almost scurrilous, insomuch that I have not yet dared to show it to Sabat. Accompanying it came fifteen chapters in Persian by the hand of the same genius. Such stuff as I never saw from the pen of a Hindoo Kaith. This he has sent as a model for Sabat. Mr. Brown has been strangely perverted by Mr. Harrington (whose Moonshee this luminary is) if he really wishes that Sabat should alter his work to make it more like Mahommed Rasheed's. Sabat is going to Lucknow again. It will be high triumph to him to be able to exhibit the Hindoostanee's learned production to the literati there. But I shall not give it him till he goes. It would turn his head and our work would stop. We hope to finish the revisal of the Romans in Arabic to-day. Yesterday at sunrise I preached to the dragoons: at 10 at head-quarters; several ladies were present, and but few else. On account of the cold weather the sepoy guards are changed for Europeans, so that I had not half my men of the 53rd last night. The Padre Julio is come to Cawnpore, and will call I suppose to-day. My compliments to Major and Mrs. Maxwell and all enquiring friends. Do not cheat me of a letter on pretence of being on a journey, nor fear that I shall cheat you of your rupees, for I am overflowing.

'Your's, ever affectionately,

'H. MARTYN.'

6

Dinapore, Nov. 23, 1809.

'DEAREST BROTHER,

'Mirza wants to go to bring his wife, and I am not willing to let him till he has finished correcting the Parables and we have done with the Epistles. So he works like a man in earnest, and keeps me so employed that I have hardly time to set pen to paper for you. Col. and Mrs. P. passed on Friday. We dined on board their budgerow. Sabat was delighted with the Colonel, not having often met with a faithful man, as he said, among the gentlemen of the sword, and I was also much gratified and comforted in him. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson from Allahabad have sent me a letter. The disputes this week with Mirza and Moorad Ali have been more than usually interesting: there seems a real interest in Mirza to know whether Mahommetanism is founded on any rational evidence or no. Though he is always for identifying the two religions, yet I can often prove to him, of course, that if he is a strict Mahommedan he will perish, according to our word. One day when he confessed it, he said in great earnestness, Sir, why wont you try to save me? On my asking what I should do for him, he wished me to go to Phoolwaree to discuss the subject with the learned men there. I told him I was willing to go, but did not see why he might not ask for himself. Mirza said to Moorad Ali one day, "It is absolutely impossible that the Scriptures could have been changed,' and I believe that Mirza thinks so, hence the passages he meets with in the Epistles and those which I read to him from the Prophets, strike him very forcibly. Still the divinity of Christ and the Trinity are stumbling-blocks to him. For Moorad Ali also is staggered. He confessed with seeming earnestness that they had received Mohammedanism only on a blind faith, and that if some great Shekhool-Islam, whom he mentioned, could not give satisfactory evidence for their religion, he should embrace the Gospel. All this is since the coming of Sabat. He is a precious acquisition