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time there were loud shouts in the distance, and on entering Dr. Livingstone said :
" Are our men making that coise ?
“No,' replied Susi, 'I can hear from the cries that the people are scaring away a buffalo from their dura fields.'
"A few minutes afterwards he said slowly, and evidently wandering
66Is this the Luapula ?'
“Susi told him they were in Chitambo’s village, near the Molilamo, when he was silent for a while. Again speaking to Susi, in Suaheli this time, he said-
“Sikun yapi kuenda Luapula ?' (“How many days is it to the Luapula ?')
ho. Na žani sikutatu, Bwana' ('I think it is three days, master') replied Susi.
“A few seconds after, as if in great pain, he half sighed, half said, 'Oh, dear, dear !' and then dozed off again.
“It was about an hour later that Susi heard Majwara again outside the door, *Bwana wants you, Susi. On reaching the bed the Doctor told him he wished him to boil some water, and for this purpose he went to the fire outside, and soon returned with the copper kettle full. Calling him close, he asked him to bring his medicine chest and to hold the candle near him, for the man noticed he could hardly see. With great difficulty Dr. Livingstone selected the calomel, which he told bim to place by his side ; then, directing him to pour a little water into a cup, and to put another empty one by it, he said, in a low, feeble voice, 'All right, you can go out now.' These were the last words he was ever heard to speak. It must have been about 4 a.m. when Susi heard Majwara's step once more. • Come to Bwana, I am afraid ; I don't know if he is alive. The lad's evident alarm made Susi run to arouse Chumah, Chowpere, Matthew, and Muanyaséré, and the six men wentimmediately to the hut. Passing inside, they looked towards the bed. Dr. Livingstone was not lying on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew back for the instant. Pointing to him, Majwara said, When I lay down he was just as he is now, and it is because I find that he does not move that I fear he is dead.' They asked the lad how long be had slept. Majwara said he could not tell, but he was sure that it was some considerable time. The men drew nearer.
“A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of the box, shed a light sufficient for them to see his form. Dr. Livingstone was kneeling by the side of his bed, his body stretched forward, his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. For a minute they watched him—he did not stir, there was no sign of breathing; then one of them, Matthew, advanced softly to him and placed his hands to his cheeks. It was sufficient ; life had been extinct some time, and the body was almost cold : Livingstone was dead.
“His sad-hearted servants raised him tenderly up, and laid him full length on the bed; then, carefully covering him, they went out into the damp night air to consult together. It was not long before the cocks crew, and it is from this circumstancecoupled with the fact that Susi spoke to him shortly before midnight-that we are able to state, with tolerable certainty, that he expired early on the 1st of May, 1873."
Thus died Dr. Livingstone, the greatest and best of all the great men who have devoted their lives to African exploration. He had not accomplished the work to which he had set himself, and which he so ardently desired to finish, but his work was done nevertheless. He was cut off in the midst of his labours, undertaken for the good of humanity and for the glory of God. The Master had said to him, “ Well and faithfully done, enter into thy rest.” He died in the attitude and perhaps in the act of prayer. All earthly resources had failed him, and now he betakes himself to that source of help which he knew so well could not fail, and he was not, for God took him. “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them.”
We all know how his few faithful followers mourned over him, and how loviugly they preserved his mortal remains, taking out the heart and burying it in the very centre of that great continent he loved so well, while his body they embalmed and carried as a sacred trust, from the farthest point of his travels, where he fell, during a period of ten months' incessant marching, to the coast, and delivered it into the hands of her Majesty's officers appointed to receive it, and who conveyed it to Zanzibar. We also know how it was afterwards , brought to England, and, after being identified, was buried in Westminster Abbey, to mingle with the dust of many of the wisest, best, bravest, and most noble of our race, at the nation's expense, and amid the universal sorrow and affection of the whole kingdom.
(To be continued.)
THE GRAVES OF EMINENT MINISTERS.
" There is a low and lonely place of rest,
Upon whose couch the worn and wearied frame
EPITAPHS express either the estimate by the living of the dead, or some trait of their characters, or embody some wish or hope, or state the moving principle of their character and lives. These statements are sometimes beautiful, sometimes elegant, sometimes quaint, sometimes humorous, sometimes witty, and sometimes odd. Epitaphs link as to the dead, and the dead to us. They are an evidence of
our desire of immortality, and of our desire to cunfer immortality. We think the dead are living, and we call them to mind by monumental inscriptions. We perpetuate their history as long as possible by gathering up into some short, pithy, pungent sentence or entences the gist of their characters, to engrave on stone
man emblem of durability.
The scholars of Linus, the Theban poet, composed after his death some verses in lamentation on their deceased master. These verses were called Ælinum. Similar verses were called Epitaphia, because sung at funerals and engraved upon sepulchres. The composition of such verses is a very ancient practice. The Athenians, the Greeks, the Romans, and the French were accustomed to inscribe over the dead some terse expression of good-will. The Lacedemonians granted epitaphs only to those who died in battle, and the Spartans only to their great men. Tombstones are of ancient use in Britain, but Pope Gregory in the year 590 authorised relatives to erect tablets on the tombs of their friends. Christianity soon gave rise to the custom of putting some expression of faith or hope, some simple record of affection on almost every Christian's tomb. Proof of this is afforded in the catacombs of Rome, where many of the early Christians sought refuge from their persecutors, and where they were both baptized and buried, their whole lives being spent in those dark subterranean passages. After death, the relatives buried the body in niches in the sides of the passages, and then closed up the mouth with bricks or tiles. Inscribed on these are the brie records of these great and noble martyrs, such as :
“In Christ ALEXANDER is not dead, but lives beyond the stars, and his body
rests in this tomb."
“SABBATIA is departed in the sleep of peace.”
How eagerly those noble souls, driven from their homes and torn from their friends in those persecuting times, turned to the dream of “ peace !”—“Here in peace; " "Sleep of peace.” And what wonderful power of consolation that grand doctrine of the resurrection had in those days of real faith and thorough devotion! “ Who believed the resurrection."
With regard to monuments and monumental inscriptions the customs of Christian nations markedly contrast with the customs of superstitious and idolatrous nations. In Africa the monuments are sometimes elephants' tusks planted at the head of the grave, sometimes all round it—sometimes the broken implements of the deceased
-sometimes mounds of stones in the shape of a haycock, surmounted with drinking and cooking utensils of rude pottery. Only where faith in a future life lends a sacredness to the present life, only where the spirit is believed to exist after death, is the body treated with reverence, and natural affection seeks to raise same monument to the memory of the departed—those good souls, emblemed by the cloud “ cradl'd near the setting sun," and which every “breath of eve” wafts" to the beauteous west”
“To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
Right onward to the golden gates of heaven :
And tells to man his glorious destinies." Very naturally, being Methodists, our thoughts recur first to the grave of John Wesley. He was born at Epworth, June 17th, 1703, his father being rector at the time. He was rescued from the fire at the rectory when six years of age; took his M.A. degree in 1727 ; and was ordained priest in 1728. Soon afterwards he began that evangelistic work which has spread so marvellously that now there are twelve to fourteen millions of people in the world who call themselves Methodists. In 1753 Mr. Wesley became so seriously ill that he wrote his own epitaph as follows :
A Brand plucked out of the Burning,
Praying, 'God be merciful to me an unprofitable servant.'” It were a curious problem to consider why a man of John Wesley's character should think fit to record in his epitaph the fact that he did not leave ten pounds bebind him, after paying his debts. Was it that he was by principle generous to self-forgetfulness, or that he thus protected himself from unjust aspersions ?
That sickness passed away ; but a sickness unto death seized him thirty-eight years afterwards. On the morning of March 2nd, 1791, he kept saying “ The best of all is, God is with us; " then with a whispered “ Farewell, farewell!” he passed through the gates whilst Joseph Bradford was repeating, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and this heir of glory shall come in.” He died in his own house, close to City Road Chapel, London, and as he lay dying he desired to be buried in nothing but woollen, and that his body might be carried in the coffin into the chapel. This was done, and for a whole day John Wesley lay in state, about 10,000 people seizing the opportunity to look their last upon his lovely face.
On the morning of the 9th of March, at five o'clock, it being yet dark, he was buried by. torchlight and lamplight, in a vault in the chapel graveyard, a vault which his own forethought had prepared for himself and for the London preachers. “I particularly desire," he wrote, “there may be no hearse, no coach, no escutcheon, no pomp, except the tears of those that loved me and are following me to Abraham's bosom." And the tears of those who loved him he had in abundance, for as the Rev.
Jobn Richardson, reading the Burial Service, came to the words, “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto Himself the soul of"-here he changed the word “brother” to “ father," at which the crowd wept. His coffin bore the simple inscription :
JOHANNES WESLEY, A.M.,
An. Æt. 88."
: Reading in English :
" JOHN Wesley, M.A.,
Died on the second day of March, 1791,
In the eighty-eighth year of his age." Mr. Stevenson, in his “History of City Road Chapel,” a most interesting work to all lovers of Methodism, states that Mr. Wesley's tomb is enclosed in a strong iron railing, and is kept in good repair. An elder-tree grows at the north-east corner of the tomb, from which many cuttings have been planted in different parts of the world. The inscription on the monument over his remains is the same in substance as that which Dr. Adam Clarke wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass in his study window in Manchester, on hearing of the death of Mr. Wesley, and is as follows :
“To the memory of
To enlighten these Nations,
And to revive, enforce, and defend
Primitive Church :
For more than half a century :
And, to his inexpressible joy,
And their efficacy witnessed,
Lived to see provision made,
By the singular grace of God,
To the joy of future generations!
Give God the glory!
March 2nd, An. Dom. 1791,
In the eighty-eighth year of his age.” Near the close of 1800 a tablet with an inscription composed by Dr. John Whitehead was placed within the communion rails of City Road Chapel, giving a more full account of his extraordinary labours in the Gospel than is given in his monumental inscription. When the vault in which Mr. Wesley was buried was filled up in 1828 by the interment of a London preacher, his coffin was found to have decayed. His remains were consequently put into a strong oak coffin enclosed in a stone sarcophagus, and the vault was finally closed.
Thousands of pilgrims have visited the grave of John Wesley. Eighty years after his death, according to Mr. Stevenson, Dean Stanley, his wife, and her Majesty's Secretary for the Home Depart. ment visited the City Road graveyard. “Is this consecrated ground ?" inquired the Dean. “Yes,” replied the chapel-keeper. “By what