death a horse belonging to a man of this place. He begged that I would shelter him, in case of danger; his being claimed by an Englishman, he said, would be a sufficient security. I found, however, that I had no occasion to interfere. He hurried me away from this place without delay, and gallopped furiously towards a village, which, he said, was four hours distance, which was all I could undertake in my present weak state; but village after village did he pass, till night coming on, and no signs of another, I suspected that he was carrying me on to the munzil; so I got off my horse, and sat upon the ground, and told him, 'I neither could nor would go any further.' He stormed, but I was immoveable, till a light appearing at a distance, I mounted my horse, and made towards it, leaving him to follow, or not, as he pleased. He brought in the party, but would not exert himself to get a place for me. They brought me to an open verandah, but Sergius told them I wanted a place in which to be alone. This seemed very offensive to them; 'And why must he be alone?" they asked; ascribing this desire of mine to pride, I suppose. Tempted at last, by money, they brought me to a stable-room, and Hasan and a number of others planted themselves there with me. My fever here increased to a violent degree; the heat in my eyes and forehead was so great, that the fire almost made me frantic. I entreated that it might be put out, or that I might be carried out of doors. Neither was attended to: my

servant, who, from my sitting in that strange way on the ground, believed me delirious, was deaf to all I said. At last I pushed my head in among the luggage, and lodged it on the damp ground, and slept.

"5.-Preserving mercy made me see the light of another morning. The sleep had refreshed me, but I was feeble and shaken; yet the merciless Hasan hurried me off. The munzil, however, being not distant, I reached it without much difficulty. I expected to have found it another strong fort at the end of the pass, but it is a poor little village, within the jaws of the mountains. I was pretty well lodged, and tolerably well till a little after sunset, when the ague came on with a violence I never before experienced. I felt as if in a palsy, my teeth chattering, and my whole frame violently shaken. Aga Hosyn 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.

"6.-No horses being to be bad, I had an unexpected repose. I sat in the orchard, and thought, with sweet comfort and peace, of my God; in soli

tude-my company, my friend, and 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 any thing 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."

Scarcely had Mr. Martyn breathed these aspirations after that state of blissful purity, for which he had attained such a measure of meetness, when he was called to exchange a condition of pain, weakness, and suffering, for that everlasting "rest which remaineth for the people of God." At Tocat, on the 16th of October, 1812, either falling a sacrifice to the plague, which then raged there, or sinking under that disorder, which, when he penned his last words had so greatly reduced him, he surrendered his soul into the hands of his Redeemer.

The peculiar circumstances, as well as the particular period, of his death, could not fail of greatly aggravating the affliction of those friends who, amidst anxious hopes and fears, were expecting his arrival, either in India or England. He had not completed the thirty-second year of a life of eminent activity and usefulness, and he died whilst hastening towards his native country, that having there repaired his shattered health, he might again devote it to the glory of Christ, amongst the nations

of the East. There was something, also, deeply affecting in the consideration, that where he sunk into his grave, men were strangers to him and to his God. No friendly hand was stretched out-no sympathising voice heard at that time, when the tender offices of Christian affection are so soothing and so delightful-no human bosom was there, on which Mr. Martyn could recline his head in the hour of languishing. Paucioribus lacrymis compositus es*— was a sentiment to which the feelings of nature and friendship responded; yet the painful reflection could not be admitted-In novissima luce desideravere aliquid oculi tui. The Savior, doubtless, was with his servant in his last conflict, and he with him the instant it terminated.

So richly was the mind of Mr. Martyn endowed by the God of Nature and of Grace, that at no period could his death be a subject of common lamentation to those who valued the interests of the Church of Christ.

"He was in our hearts," observed one of his friends in India, "we honored him—we loved himwe thanked God for him-we prayed for his longer continuance amongst us—we rejoiced in the good he was doing: we are sadly bereaved! Where such fervent piety, and extensive knowledge, and vigorous

* Thou art composed to rest with few tears: i. e. a very few chosen friends afford the expressions of their sympathy in the agonies of dissolution.

In the hour of death, thine eyes longed for some object on which they might rest.

The Rev. Mr. Thomason.

ap

understanding, and classical taste, and unwearied plication, were all united, what might not have been expected? I cannot dwell upon the subject without feeling very sad. I stand upon the walls of Jerusalem, and see the lamentable breach that has been made in them-but it is the Lord-he gave, and he hath taken away."

"Mr. Martyn," (remarks another* of his friends, in describing, more particularly his intellectual endowments,) "combined in himself certain valuable, but distinct qualities, seldom found together in the same individual. The easy triumphs of a rapid genius over first difficulties never left him satisfied with present attainments. His mind, which naturally ranged on a wide field of human knowledge lost nothing of depth in its expansiveness. He was one of those few persons, whose reasoning faculty does not suffer from their imagination, nor their imagination from their reasoning faculty; both, in him, were fully exercised, and of a very high order. His mathematical acquisitions, clearly left him without a rival of his own age; and yet, to have known only the employments of his more free and unfettered moments, would have led to the conclusion, that the Classics and poetry were his predominant passion."

But these talents, excellent as they were, are lost in the brightness of those Christian graces, by which he "shone as a light in the world, holding

*The Rev. C. J. Hoare: