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had finished his exhortations. The remaining hours of his life he spent in prayer, and broken conversation with some near friends; mentioning often the consolations of christianity-declaring they were the only true ones-that nothing else could bring a man peace at the last. He died on the fourth of March, 1583, in the 66th year of his age,

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HENRY MARTYN, THE MISSIONARY.
(From Sir Robert Ker Porter's Travels into Persia.)

As I drew near Shiraz, the image of my countryman, Henry Martyn, rose in my thoughts, seeming to sanctify the shelter to which I was hastening. He approached Shiraz much about the same season of the year in 1811, and like myself was gasping for life under the double pressure of an inward fire and an outward burning sun. He dwelt there nearly a year; and on leaving its walls, found no cause for "shaking off the dust of his feet," against the Mahomedan city. The people had received, cherished, and listened to him; and he departed thence amidst the blessings and tears of many a Persian friend. Through his means the Gospel had then found its way into Persia; and as it appears to have been sown in kindly hearts, the gradual effect hereafter may be like the harvest to the seedling. But whatever be the issue, the freedom with which his doctrines were permitted to be discussed, and the kindness with which he was received by the learned, the nobles, and persons of all ranks, cannot but reflect lasting honour on the government, and command our respect for the people at large. Besides, to a person who thinks at all on these subjects, the circumstance of the first correct Persian translation of the Holy Scriptures being made at Shiraz, and thence put into the royal hands, and spread through the empire, cannot but give an almost prophetic emphasis to the transaction, as arising from the very native country, Persia Proper, of the founder of the Empire, who first bade the temple of Jerusalem be rebuilt, who returned her sons from captivity, and who was called by name to the divine commission.

The son of the late Jaffier Ali Khan came out to meet me; he hailed me more like an old friend than a stranger; and received myself and people into his house with the greatest hospitality. My fever had gained an alarming height; but the attentions of my host were so unwearied, that I never could forget that I was in the house of the near kinsman of two noble Persians, Jaffier Ali Khan and Mirza Seid Ali, who had shewn the warmest personal friendship for

our

"Man of God," for so they called Henry Martyn. When the weather became too intense for his enfeebled frame to bear the extreme heat of the city, Jaffier Ali Khan pitched a tent for him in a most delightful garden beyond the walls, where he pursued his Asiatic translation of the Scriptures; or sometimes in the cool of the evening he sat

under the shade of an orange tree, by the side of a clear stream, holding that style of conversation with the two brothers, which caused their pious guest to say, "that the bed of roses on which he reclined, and the notes of the nightingales which warbled above him, were not so sweet as such discourse from Persian lips."

RELIGIOUS AND USEFUL INTELLIGENCE.

EAST INDIES-MEERUT.-My native Christians are, (Mr. Fisher writes,) at present all with me. We have the sacrament on the first Sunday in every month, at which they regularly attend. Every Sunday, at eleven o'clock, they all assemble in my study, to read the Gospels. If I were to write down their conversations, they would indeed furnish interesting subjects for correspondence; but I have no time to be very minute. Last Sunday, we were conversing on the general feeling that prevails in all nations, that some atonement for sin is necessary. I related to them what my three sons had seen, as they returned with me from Hurdwar. A Fakeer was observed by the road-side, preparing something curious; which led them to draw near and examine his employment. He had several Hindoo pil grims round him, all on their way from the Holy Ghaut; who assisted in preparing the wretched devotee for some horrible penance, to which he had bound himself, in order to expiate the guilt of some crime which he had committed long ago. His attendants literally worshipped him; kissing his feet, calling him God, and invoking his blessing. A large fire was kindled under the extended branch of an old tree: to this branch the Fakeer fastened two strong ropes, having at the lower end of each of them a stuffed noose, in which he placed his feet: and thus being suspended with his head downwards over the fire, a third rope (at a distance toward the end of the branch) was fixed, by which he succeeded with one hand to set himself in a swinging motion, backward and forward through the smoke and flaming fire which was kept blazing by a constant supply of fuel, put on by many of his followers; with the other hand he counted a string of beads, a fixed number of times; so as to know the end of the four hours, for which he had doomed himself daily to endure this exercise for twelve years, nine of which are nearly gone. A narrow bandage is over his eyes, and another over his mouth, to keep out the smoke. By this means he says he shall atone for the guilt of his sins, and be made holy for ever. The last half hour of the four

hours, his people say, he stands upright, and swings in a eircular motion round the fire. On coming down, he rolls himself in the hot ashes. I asked my little congregation what they thought of all this. They sat silent, with their eyes cast down, and sighing heavily. At length, Anund turned to Matthew Phiroodeen, and, putting his arms round his neck, exclaimed, with the most touching expression of affection as well as of gratitude to God-"Ah, my brother! my brother! such devils once were we! but now (and he lifted up his eyes to heaven, and raised his whole person) Jesus! Jesus! my God! my Saviour!" It was very affecting.

LINES ON 2 COR. iv. 17, 18.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No trav❜ller ever reach'd that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briars on his road.
For He, who knew what human hearts would prove,
How slow to learn the dictates of his love,
That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still,
In pity to the souls, his grace design'd
To rescue from the ruins of mankind;
Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, " Go, spend them in the vale of tears!"
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!

O salutary streams that murmur there!
These flowing from the fount of grace above,
Those breath'd from lips of everlasting love.
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys,
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys;
An envious world will interpose its frown,
To mar delights superior to its own;
And many a pang experienc'd still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin;
But ills of ev'ry shape and every name,
Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim ;
And ev'ry moment's calm that soothes the breast,
Is given in earnest of eternal rest.

Printed and sold by A. FOSTER, Kirkby Lonsdale.
Price 7s per hundred.

FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. XLIX.]

OCTOBER, 1822.

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[VOL. IV.

PRINTED AND SOLD BY A. FOSTER, KIRKBY LONSDALE; And sold by L. B. Seeley, 169 Fleet Street London; by R. M. Timms, 85 Grafton Street, Dublin; and by the Edinburgh Religious Tract Society, at their Depository in East Register Street, Edinburgh:

Of whom may be had, in neat, stiff, printed covers, Vols. 1, 2, and 3; price one shilling and fourpence each: also the two first volumes bound together in sheep; price three shillings and fourpence.

PHOEBE HASSEL.

The newspapers mentioned some months ago, the death of Phoebe Hassel, of Brighton, at the advanced age of 107. They also gave an account of her life, and of the bounty of our present King towards her: who on hearing her history, allowed her a handsome pension out of the royal purse. There is reason to hope that she was called into the vineyard at the eleventh hour; and as this will add greatly to the interest of her history amongst my Christian readers, I shall proceed to give some account of her.

She was

Phoebe was born in March 1715. much attached to Samuel Golding, a private in a Regiment which was ordered to the West Indies; and at a very early age she enlisted into the 5th Regiment of Foot, commanded by General Pearce, and embarked after him. She served there for five years, without making herself known to any one. At length they were ordered to Gibraltar. She was

likewise at Montserrat, and would have been in action, but her regiment did not reach the place, till the battle was decided. Golding was wounded at

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