en, yet the
merciless Hassan hurried me off. I was pretty well lodged and felt
tolerably well till a little after sunset, when the ague came on with
a violence I had 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, came hastily to
render me assistance if they could. These Persians appear quite
brotherly after the Turks. While they pitied me, Hassan sat in 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 6. No horses were to be had, and I had an unexpected repose.
Sat in the orchard and thought with sweet comfort and peace of my God:
in solitude my companion, friend and comforter. Oh, when shall time
give place to eternity--when shall appear that new heaven and earth,
wherein dwelleth righteousness! There, there shall in no wise enter in
anything that defileth; none of that wickedness which has made men
worse than wild beasts, none of those corruptions which add still more
to the miseries of humanity, shall be seen or heard of any more."

Here abruptly closes the journal, with pantings for the glory and the
purity of Immanuel's land, into which he was admitted by a blessed
translation, released from all the sufferings of life on October 16,
1812, at Tocat, Turkey. The manner of his death is not known, whether
it resulted from the sickness described, or from the plague, then
raging. Whether Hassan was cruel and driving to the last, whether all
his heartless Turkish attendants deserted him or not in his hour of
final agony, we cannot tell. No relative or friend was there, no
tender voice of sympathy, no woman's soothing hand, no alleviations
from medicine. Even the commonest decencies and necessities of
civilized life were lacking. Earth gave nothing to Henry Martyn in his
mortal need, but we are sure heavenly consolations were unstinted.

"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."

And Jesus was there! And Henry Martyn was satisfied, and is forever
satisfied! "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his
saints." And the most priceless legacy of the blood-bought and
commissioned church is the memory of a life, so gifted, so unselfish,
so consecrated.

It is wanting in no element of moral heroi