A Missionary: Rev. Charles Albert Janson

I rom the accidental circumstance of being a near neighbour and intimate friend of the late Mr. Charles Janson’s family, I was unexpectedly requested to undertake the writing of his Life and editing of his journals. Such a work, for various reasons, must for the present be postponed. But I readily so far respond, to insert, appropriately in these pages, a brief outline, and feel it only a privilege to do so. The early death of one, thus known by me, is in perfect harmony with the rest of the volume.

Charles Albert Janson was born at Tottenham, in 1 849, so that at the time of his death he had only completed his thirty-second year. His earlier school-days were passed at St. Leonard*s-on-Sea; his subsequent education was completed at Tottenham.

His father, who died in 1868, was a lovable and philanthropic Christian, possessing much of the humour and sprightliness which was inherited by his son. It has often been remarked in varying words, how much the Church of Christ has been indebted to “the glorious company of Christian mothers.” This was true also in the case of young Janson. His mother, who predeceased him by eight months, was a lady, — all who knew her would testify, — much beyond the ordinaiy type in intellect and culture. A casual call upon her was seldom allowed to degenerate into flippant gossip. It mattered little whether the topic might be historical, aesthetical, metaphysical, ecclesiastical, or political — no theme came amiss to her. Added to a well-stored mind, she was aided by a retentive memory, with a remarkable aptitude for clothing her ideas in ready and felicitous language. Though she would have been the first, in her modest way, to disown the resemblance, one could hardly help classing her with “the brilliant society” of a bygone generation, of which Lord Macaulay speaks in connection with Holland House or that of the Montagues, “who quoted, criticised, and exchanged repartees.” She occupied in this respect a niche peculiarly her own.

Under such fostering influences, and others we need not particularise, Charles Janson grew. Without perhaps his mother’s intellectual depth and penetration, he had compensating ’ forces.’ As might almost have been inferred from his dark — intensely dark and diamondsparkling eyes, he possessed quickness of perception, unfailing buoyancy and vivacity; in a word, all the charm of at once a clever and sunny nature; a sunshine, too, which he carried with him wherever he went, whether among the society of his own companions, or by the bedside of an invalid sister who shared much of his time.

affection, and inteusely sympathetic nature. The writer of these lines, if allowed a personal allusion, must always associate him with one long forenoon spent together and alone, on an auspicious public occasion in London. He retains the memory of pleasant talk, genial wit, and unflaggLQg spirits. A similar remembrance is in connection with a literary reading-club, which met alternately in several members’ houses in Chiselhurst, and of which Janson formed the energetic centre. All these charms of vivacity and mirth, sobered and tempered and elevated, followed him to the last. There were gleams of them even on his dying couch of suffering, as he gazed within the portals.’

The extreme ncUurcdness of his character comes out in the long Journal and letters he penned. Indeed, to the latest weeks of his life, we only see in these the cheeiiness of the Traveller brimming over, when we know that the saintly Christian and missionary was behind all. The portrait of the warm friend, with the old genial spirit, presents itself almost exclusively; the sacred halo he kept hidden.

We need not dwell on the details of his early life. He entered the University College of Oxford in 1868, and took his degree in 1873, the yetir I first became acquainted with him. He had selected as his profession that of a barrister, and from his own talents, energy, and perseverance, and with the aid of business friends, he had every promise and prospect of a successful career.

Man proposeth, but God disposeth.’ Shortly after this fair start in the world, a sorrow — not in itself deep or lasting, which the writer has no desire either to know about or to penetrate — suddenly clouded his young morning. It was, however, the first step, undoubtedly, though only the first step, to the Higher life and to the quickening of nobler impulses, — grasping loftier ideals than had yet been dreamt of. From his boyhood he had never omitted or slurred over the duties of religion taught at his mother’s knee. But of the fuller saintly experience he knew nothing. God was preparing him for greater things, though the voice was as yet only feebly heard, “Friend, come up higher.” He was brought at all events at this period, by a combination of circumstances, to know, as he had never known and realised before, in the words of a distinguished writer, that “There is another life, a life which once believed in, stands as a solemn significant figure before the otherwise unmeaning ciphers of time, changing them to orders of mysterious untold value.”

He had been advised, in the meanwhile (as, added to other reasons, his health had been somewhat impaired) to fulfil the wish of long years, by undertaking a journey through some of the cities of Europe to Egypt, the Desert, Petra, the Holy Land, and Damascus. This he accomplished in the society of congenial friends. The old elasticity of spirit, amid these fresh scenes, seems wonderfully to have revived. His minute journals are full of interest, specially the portions embracing Upper Egypt, and a longer sojourn he was able to make at Damascus.

On his return, and while sharing for a time, with a Mend, a home in London, new sacred influences seem to have been brought to bear upon him, and further awoke the still slumbering spiritual nature. A yet more pronounced voice came, and that too in a very unlooked-for way. The life of prayer subsequently so remarkable and exceptional, had already commenced, and had revealed to him its own sustaining and quickening power. One evening after service in the church of St. Andrews, Wells Street, while still on his knees, he tells us the Voluntary sounded from the organ. Art, in its various forms, deny it who will, has often its calm, persuasive, and energising religious mission. Both painting and music have not seldom been employed as ministering angels, and become

* aids to faith.’ What painting recently was to one personally known to me, to whom Holman Hunt’s

* Light of the World ’ became a solemn preacher — a monitor and help to the Great Decision, — so did the organ’s strains, at the close of that evening service, become to Janson regarding his life-future. Perhaps this was all the stranger, as he was not what might be called musical. But these cadences, whatever they were, came wafting a message to his receptive soul. It recalls Milton’s lines in “II Penseroso:” —

Storied windows richly dight.
Casting a dim religious light;
There let the pealing organ blow.

Dissolve me into ezstasies.

And bring all heaven before mine eyes.”

Not the words, but the spirit and meaning of them at that silent hour fell upon his ear, and rang their chimes ever after, “Son, go work in My vineyard.” Then and there he felt the solemn call. His resolution was taken. Then and there the determination was made, to abandon his secular pursuits and give himself to the work of the holy Ministry. Much had been tending and combining recently to wean him from earth and earthly things: much had occurred to depress and sadden, yet to stir within him “the pools of deep thought; “in a word, he had reached a crisis-hour in his life-history. At such critical and momentous seasons, there are — and specially with ardent temperaments like his — only two alternatives; — to lapse into a sickly, morbid condition; or, by the grace of God, to seize the poet’s banner with its Excdsior motto, and take the heroic, upward, arduous steep; even though at the early mom of existence he may be found (as came in his case to be too true) grasping its folds round his lifeless frame. Charles Janson adopted the nobler resolve — yielded to the gracious summons. He read the old Prophet’s double lesson; he listened to the two prophetic voices ;-^but the latter one prevailed.” The Voice said, ‘Cry.’ And he said what shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodlinsss thereof is as the flower of the fuM. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth; BUT the Word of our God shall stand for ever “(Isa. xl. 6, 8). The unmet — indefinite longing and quest of months and years, — the dirge of a seeking yet unsatisfied soul, passed, on that memorable evening, at once into a magnifical: —” Why art thou cast down, my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise Him who is the health of my countenance, and my God! ’

On the advice of a reliable friend, he entered immediately thereafter Cuddesdon College. There, the true life-work was begun — “life in earnest;” — a life of self-abnegation and of God-consecration. All his worldly ambitions were finally quenched. Whatever his varied soul-conflicts — we may say trials — may have been, he was taught, in the words of a well-known hymn Q Go bury thy sorrows ‘), to inter these; — not in gloom and isolation; — not in ‘cloistered cell,’ ‘bidding his neighbour and his work farewell; ’ — but * Go bury thy sorrows ’ at the foot of the Cross, and in work for God! Self-denial, self-sacrifice, prayer and service, were to be henceforth from this hour the fourfold chords in a life of harmony. The Principal of his college writes of feeling a kind of reverence for him. “His was the most rapid growth in holiness I ever saw. It was the orange-tree with fruit and flowers on the same branch.”

But the Excelsior banner in its final and grander form had yet to be taken up. Hitherto he had no thoughts of missionary work. We believe, as a true soldier, he remained open to the acceptance of any post of duty. In simplicity of faith he had said, “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?” While thus humbly and reverently waiting for the response from the Divine Oracle, the answer came — “Depart; I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles.” It was the accidental meeting with an old Cuddesdon student, — one who had returned home invalided fit)m the mission field in Africa, and his earnest appeals, — which kindled the new fiame in Janson’s soul, and led him to fresh resolves in what we must call, though he himself disliked the term, the path of self-sacrifice. The reply and acquiescence were quickly given: “Behold, here am I, send me!” He offered himself to Bishop Steere.

I have now before me the Bishop’s reply from Zanzibar, in which, with kind Christian prudence and courtesy, he deems it right faithfully to set before his young brother the arduousness of the duties he had proffered to undertake, and the difiiculties and discouragements he might expect to encounter. His services, however, I need not add, were heartily accepted, while the encouragements were not withheld. “There is room for a great variety of talent, and in every one for good steady work.” After entering into more important and vital matters, he was probably unconscious how accurately he proceeded to photograph his young friend’s personal qualifications, while stating the general ones of au African missionary: — “A pleasant address and ready speech:... clear ideas and a bright eye:... the power and will to oblige and make yourself agreeable to white men who are not quite congenial to you: ... a well-ordered temper very, very necessary.” If Janson himself waa too modest to vouch for these secondary particulars: all who knew him could have answered for him with a very decided affirmative.^

It could have been with no light heart that Charles Janson’s final answer and acceptance was returned. It implied the abandonment of a cherished home of happiness, I may add of luxury. Few could so enter into the deep meaning, — few could more sensitively estimate the cost involved in the Master’s saying — “If any man come to Me, and hate not his father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple.”

A second letter, at a considerably later date, while beginning with a hearty “May God prosper all your good desires,” — renews the salutary cautions; giving at the same time more minute details as to how the great cause they have both at heart may be best farthered on the spot. The Bishop’s main hope seems to have been in religious teaching and civilising influences being brought to bear specially on the yoM and adults, * Evangelistic tours occasionally north and west, but counselling the retaining of Masasi as a central station. “We may in time expect to reach other objects and places, but we must not beat out our gold too thin, if it is to the work of the young men of the land itself that we must look for permanent progress.”

But there were words and an injunction which were to him higher, holier, more sacred even than a mother’s, and from that hour did he live them and act them out — “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.”

We need not linger on the time which intervened; his ordination to the ministry; his temporary work, and its abiding fruits in the church of St. Philip’s and St. James in Oxford. Here he seems to have had real happiness and encouragement in his labours, from church and pulpit services to the Sunday schools and mothers’ meeting; — the old vigour and energy of boyhood and youth now “baptized with the Holy Ghost and with fire.”

The longed-for day of departure, yet of mingled and conflicting feelings, at last came. The Holy Communion was partaken of at a very early hour, — the blessed pledge of abiding fellowship with those he was leaving, it might be for ever. The mutual farewell with his dearest earthly relative was taken at Oxford Station — too surely in both cases the final one here.^

Here may be the befitting place to give, in the briefest form, for readers who are not conversant with the subject, an outline of this special African Mission.

The great and good Dr. Livingstone, whose name is

I was privileged some time before, to be at a large gathering in connection with the African Miasioni in his mother’s drawing-room at Raggleswode.

imperishably associated with Africa; also with the Scotch Mission Settlement (‘’ Livingstonia “), on the immediately opposite shore of the vast Inland Lake on whose eastern side Janson’s grave Hes-was the first to roase the two great English Universities to a sense of their responsibility to that benighted region of the globe. Specially in addressing the University of Cambridge in the Senate House in 1861, did he appeal, in his own earnest yet quiet way, to the Undergraduates, to offer themselves as ambassadors of the Cross, and proclaim to these debased heathen the Everlasting Gospel. Also, following in the wake of the * glad tidings,’ to raise them from their degradation, morally and socially, as well as spiritually, and accomplish, — chief among other triumphs, — the gradual removal of the curse of slavery.

The call was not in vain. Bishop Mackenzie, of a weU-known Scotch &mily, was the first in responding to the appeal of a Presbyterian missionary, and to head this army of Academic workers. Let special emphasis, moreover, be put on the fact, that one distinctive feature in that accepted field of arduous labour is, that they go out unremunerated — “having neither purse, nor scrip.” A virtual sun-ender is made of their worldly all, save what is needful for food and raiment, and other necessaries. Nor need it be added, are the volunteers in this work composed of the residuum, but of the very flower of University intellect and promise. Let Bishop Steere tell in his own forcible words: “We have amongst us those who are most able and learned; those who have been the ornaments of their own University; those who have this world’s goods in abundance; those who might have commanded a position here at home; those of whom men do not scruple to say that they are too good to be spared for the work of preaching to the heathen. But can there be any one who can be too good to do the work of Christ on earth? Can there be any one that is so rich, that, leaving the comforts of his life, he leaves anything like so much as Christ left for us? And if it be grudged that one and another should lay down his life in such a work as this, is not this the very thing that Christ has done?”’

The Island of Zanzibar, on the western coast of the Indian Ocean, if not the first post occupied by the earliest batch of missionaries, was decided upon, subsequently, as the most desirable chief station. Slaves, freed by the British cruisers, or rescued inland, were, and are, placed there; — the young in schools, while the youths and adults are sent to acquire a knowledge of various kinds of handicraft. Many of these are afterwards imported into towns in the interior, to carry with them, hand in hand, the blessings of civilisation and Christianity.

These twin elements can never be dissevered — but let there be no doubt as to which of the two pre-Sermon in Support of the Society: 1882.

ponderates in importance, in the minds of the missionaries.

“If,” says Bishop Steere, in one of his ablest speeches in his last visit to England — “If we are to raise Africa, it most be by means of a knowledge of which they are altogether ignorant; by a knowledge of the Eternal and Invisible. We must raise them by means of religion out of their present worldliness, in order that we may make them to be worthy citizens of the world itself. The first work must be to Christianise the people, and I don’t despair of the others, — the extinction of slavery — the opening of all Afiica to European commerce and civilisation. We shall do it all as time goes on, but we must begin at the beginning.” ’

It was to Zanzibar, this “Key of the African position” — to which Janson sailed. Here he got his first initiation into missionaiy life, and began at once by taking his place in one of the schools made up of “little emancipated slaves.” It must have been a cheerer to him to see a large church rising upon the former site of the slave-market, where human beings “to the amount of thousands a day,” were bought and sold as oxen in the shambles!

Space will not allow the insertion of the minute entries in his journals and letters, describing, at sub-

“That Blavemarket, where I saw the slaves lying in dozens and in scores, some of them chained, and all of them bearing on their faces and emaciated limbs the stamp of servitude.” — Speech of Sir Bartie PrtTt* sequent periods, his movements from place to place. Christmas, with its holy memories and associations, had ever been a bright season to him. We must find room for one extract, on account of its simple naturalness, from a letter to his mother, describing his first African Christmas at Newala. He begins with Christmas Eve: —

‘* When I had finished all the little arrangements for to-morrow, I went up hill with the double object of enjoying the view and getting flowers. It was very beautiful up there, though the atmosphere was not so suited for the view as the previous time. I read my little book of carols, and tried to feel ‘Christmasey.* On my way down, I secured a number of small white flowers, with some slight scent, and we put them in an old vegetable tin, as we did not like the Communion Table to be quite without flowers on Christmas day. It was a clear, beautiful night, and one could realise the habitual associations better than in the blazing sunlight; though I have had that before, for I hav« spent two Chiistmas days at Naple& But Christmas then did not seem to be the same as it does now. One felt a kind of pity for the stars and all the rest of creation, which could not know what that nigJU was, and what it meant’

It

We have to note the sadly frequent recurrence of fever, to which all his previous life he had been a stranger. An attack of typhoid, soon after Easter, 1 88 1, seems specially to have undermined his constitution, and from its efiects, indeed, he never thoroughly rallied.

Leaving, for the present at least, a long gap unfilled, we come at once to the approaching end.

His second Christmas in the land of his adoption, seems to have had’ imparted to it much of the olden joyous yet sacred feeling; although, only three months before, he had got tidings of the death of her, who, at his Chiselhurst home, had imparted to it its main brightness.

Masasi, 400 miles south of Zanzibar, in the interior, is one of the settlements composed mainly of slaves freed by the help and intervention of the missionaries. There he had now fixed for some considerable time his residence. The place looked its greenest and best at Christmas time, with its wealth of lemon and citron blossoms.

He seems to have been wonderfully interested, in common with his brother missionaries, in the opening of its new church. * Christmas Eve of this year (i 88 1) had been selected for the solemn occasion. We have, from a kindred brother missionary and devoted fiiend, a detailed description of the ceremony: — The gong sounding for a quarter of an hour at 2“30; then the bell, during the ringing of which a large procession was formed following the processional cross, which was borne in front. Then came the five clergy, behind them the baptized converts, then the catechumens. As the procession started, the appropriate hymn was raised — “The Church’s one foundation.” After this, while the last verse was being sung, the female portion were brought to their assigned places; and the Holy Trinity were separately invoked in prayer. Then came a pause and silence, followed by the singing of the famous old chorale in the Swahili version, “Now thank we all our God.” Special psalms and prayers succeeded. The same beloved fellow-labourer stood up and declared the church open for the worship of God, in the name of the Holy Trinity. There were from 300 to 400 people present. At the conclusion of the service the procession left as it had entered, singing, “Onward, Christian soldiers.”

Christmas day was ushered in by early communion at 6.45. Subsequently, the Yaoos and their chiefs came in numbers and seated themselves to breakfast round the missionaries’ table. Breakfast finished and Christmas greetings exchanged, the bell sounded at ten, and the people in their gayest attire proceeded to the newly-opened church. When all were assembled, the ‘^ Adeste fidelis “was played, the same strains accompanying the procession of clergy from the vestry : — the refrain is noted as having been peculiarly impressive, “Oh, come let us adore Him; — Christ the Lord.” Six catechumens were publicly admitted, and an appropriate semon was preached by a singularly able missionary still in the field, directing the thoughts of these sable children of Africa, ranged before him with their chiefs, to Him whose incarnation for their sake was that day commemorated. All was followed by a Christmas feast for the multifarious guests, consisting mainly of “fowls and porridge.” Then evening service, before the throng were dismissed to their several and in some cases distant homes in the moonlight. Those that remained appropriately filled up the close of the day by the singing of carols. Of these Janson speaks very specially in connection with his last Christmas spent at Oxford.

But for the very specific allusion and description made in the foregoing, of the clergy ’ procession ’ and

* processional cross, &c., I would not have ventured so much as a reference to what may be called, in the conventional language of the day, Charles Janson’s

* Ecclesiastical School.’ If I do so now, it is not to offer any opinion of my own, but rather, in the case of some whose eyes may fall on these pages, to disarm prejudice.

I have undertaken this brief souvenir, independent of all party considerations. I have an eye only for one phase of the character I now describe, which I know to be faithful and true, and in which, in common with the wide brotherhood who own the Christian name, I can thoroughly rejoice. The writer of these lines is not one of those who would attempt to minimise the importance of Church questions, or compromise his steadfast and growing convictions. But this is not the place for these, and it would be alike presumptuous and unworthy to obtrude them. That the subject of this notice had very decided proclivities towards ceremonialism and symbolism in worship, there cannot be a doubt. “To his own Master,” in this, and in

greater things, “he standeth or falleth.”

One remark alone I would make, which I trust may not be misunderstood: that it appears to me, what might be deemed dubious or more than dubious for many strong reasons at home, need not, by the extremest school, be stigmatised when made to apply to the unlettered slaves of Africa. These, different from the subtle, intellectual Hindoo, have to be treated and taught very much as children. Symbolism is to them one of the indispensable gates of knowledge, whether secular or sacred. All African travellers, it is well known, have found their way in establishing secular relations and intercourse with the chiefs and their followers, by means of beads and trinkets, tinsel, and gaudy cloth garments. The procession and processional cross which would form a ground of offence to many in England, may be regarded as a legitiipate “factor” in opening the way to better and more valuable treasure among these untutored races. May not the introduction and sanction of such accessories be accepted as in accordance with Paul’s accommodating spirit and practice in minor things? “Nevertheless, being crafty, I caught you with guile” (2 Cor. xii. 1 6). “To the weak became I as weak, that I might gain the weak. I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some” (i Cor. ix. 22). This so-called “craftiness” and “weakness” having one grand object and result, “Nevertheless, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is preached, and therein I do rejoice; yea, and will rejoice.”

Were I not assured that this was the outcome of Janson’s work, to save souls and lead sinners to Christ,’ no such tribute, as in these imperfect pages, could be paid him. Had symbolism been the “be-all, and the end-all” of his labours in Africa, it would have been a poor travestie indeed, — unworthy of the cause and its magnitude. But it was not so. Not of any material symbol was this adopted as his life-motto and watchword — “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ!” Nay, more; I believe had he listened to the harsh verdict that his was religion only in its SDsthetic, symbolic, histrionic form, he would have been disposed in righteous repudiation to reply in the words of the gifted Baroness Bunsen — “I am, and ever have been, much attached to those external decencies now become the very idols of worship; but if they are to become all in all: if all churches are to become what many are, I should end with following the ultra Protestants to field-preaching.” 1

I may only further append the testimony that neither he nor his coadjutors had any narrow ecclesiastical exclusiveness; for more than once, reference is made to brotherly sympathy in the work of the Livingstonia Mission on the opposite shores of the Lake: — while Bishop Steere, in his Liverpool address, acknowledges with characteristic courtesy, the help and kindness he

Baroness Bunsen’s “Life and Letters,” ii. 87.

had received at the hand of the Church Missionary Society.^

1 This wu amply reoiprooated; for at his death the following extract was sent to the Secretary of the Universities Mission, from the minutes of the Church Missionary Society: — “The Committee and the Missionaries of the Church Missionary Society have more than once expressed, and have many times felt, the warmest gratitude to Bishop Steere when he was with us on earth, for the kind and important help which in many ways he had afforded to the Society’s work. His hospitality, his advice, his encouragement, and his countenance, not to speak of the example of his missionary zeal and Christian spirit, were highly prized, and will be long remembered.” As these pages are passing through the press, the writer happened to attend the formation of a branch of the London British and Foreign Bible Society in the parish of Charles Janson*s English home. One of the speakers — a member of committee — mentioned in gratifying terms the obligations expressed by Bishop Steere to that noble Society, and that at his death he had bequeathed a precious legacy to it of the New Testament, translated by him into the Swahili language. This has since been published by them. A similar tribute for his Christian worth and labours was engrossed in the minutes of this Society also.

Farther, it may not be out of place, but the reverse, to add, that I find in the first of those letters from the Bishop previously referred to when Mr. Jan son offered himself for the work — there is this brief but emphatic and satisfactory compendium of divine truth — a muUum in parvo creed: “In theology, the primal questions of good and evil; God’s Being; Sin; Redemption; are specially wanted; and superficial treatment will not do.”

In a word, if I interpret aright the spirit in which the University Mission is conducted, I would say that its agents, while conscientiously holding to their distinctive tenets, would cordially endorse as their own the following words of the late Primate: — the one sentence, forming the conclusion of his first charge as Archbishop in 1872; the other, among the very last words he publicly penned. He speaks of this as the great desire of his own and of all true Churches — “To bring souls to God; antagonistic to no Church or individual, so far as that Church or individual is faithful to the Lord Jesus Christ;”...•* holding.

But to return from this digression. Two days later (St. John’s Day), Janson was busy in preparing for what proved to be his last journey. He and his friend Mr. J were desirous of accomplishing their long-projected route to the West, in order to explore for a new settlement at or near Lake Nyassa. The caravan with forty porters — (released slaves) — was organised; and at 8.30 he left the scene of his too brief labours, never to return. A devoted associate in the work accompanied his colleagues to “the bathing place,” two miles distant, where they * had their last prayer together.’ There seem to have been grave doubts, on one side at all events, if they would ever meet again.

I shall let some brief extracts from his own journal speak for themselves. They only deal with the ordinary secular topics of his varied journey, but on that very account with the greater pleasure they are quoted. Deeper and holier thoughts were in reserve. I have specially selected those passages that recall and illustrate his old intense love of scenery, — his eye for the beautiful, nurtured in England, and which never forsook him to the last.

“Jan, 6th, 1882. — Entered on fresh ground for me to-day, always a pleasure, and our waJk to-day was specially pleasant, the path running along the level space, which here extends some way from the hanks of the river through a country which really deserves

for dear life, to the Divinity of Christ, and deeply imbued with the spirit of St John’s Gospel.” — See article in Quarterly Review, January that often-applied, but seldom deserved epithet, of park-like. Fresh green grass dotted about “with innumerable clumps and shrubs, with euphorbias, and palms, and similar trees rising out of them, made a very refreshing change.

“Jan. Stk. — [After mentioning the Sunday halt and rest, and partaking together of the Holy Communion ‘in the wood for quiet.’] Very peaceful and happy it was, and we were fortunate in having neither dew nor wind; no less than four native communicants are travelling with us on this journey. Then matins, with a

short address from J, and then a quiet day on the side of

an ant-hill and in thick shade — very acceptable to both of us.

“Jan, loth. — A somewhat long morning walk, leaving the water’s side, and passing through the ordinary type of African wood, brought us to a sandy river bed, where a party of monkeys were discovered feeding upon a kind of wild fruit, called the Maungo — something like our lemons: they were soon dispossessed and succeeded by their human brethren. On again, near the river bank during the afternoon walk, and through a fairly populous district, little bits reminding one more of English wood and grass than most we had seen lately. The numbers of white ants’ nests in this part of the world are enormous; they often rise to a very considerable height, and form a natural series of obelisks wherever the eye turns. In the evening we found some very friendly

and festive natives, with whom we stayed, and J gpt a good

number together for a discourse.

“Jan, nth, — Large slave caravans crossing in the opposite direction. I had hardly seen slave sticks and chains in regular operation before; it is certainly a trying and painful spectacle.... The women are chained together. I had a chat with the owners. ‘Tis something like Spenlow and Jenkins in * David Copperfield ;• the man you talk to never deals in slaves himself, but there is a poor misguided fellow, who t(nll take slaves down to the coast, and he happens to have joined caravans with him.

“Jan, i$th, — Managed Holy Communion in one of the honsea It was so close that I broke down with my old enemy, faintness, but fortunately recovered.... Matins and sermon for our people was attended by many of the village people, a good lot of whom understand Swahili — including Chip, himself — and then we both had a talk with some of his people. After which we g6t a little quiet before the afternoon start, which took place about twa The path was generally near the river, and two hours brouglH; us to a shamba on the banks, where we camped, and enjoyed a delicious bathe. Mosquitoes are getting somewhat frequent, but the stinging flies are less trouble than in the country we passed through first. Had a slight fever in the night.

“Jan, 19th. — A severe fever last night made me feel it was all I should manage to be able to start in two days, which we had allowed to this place for buying provisions for a long tramp through houseless and foodless wood.

“Jan, 22d. — For an hour or so the route lav close to the river, a broad, still, quiet part; I thought nowhere lower down had it shown to such advantage, the yellow water changing to quite a pretty blue in the early sunlight, while thick wood clothed the opposite shores. Hippos were blowing and snorting in all directions, three or four brown snouts above the water at once. The morning’s walk was pleasant, all up and down with water not unfrequent; one river-bed with large ipools, where we made some stay, being with its big rocks, still water, and overhanging trees a most picturesque spot. The flowers these two days have been more abundant and beautiful than any time before, but the sweet-scented jessamine-like tree, with its white flowers, so delightful near Masasi, does not seem to extend here.

“Jan. 26th. — I suppose it was yesterday’s exposure which gave me a fever last night, which made to-day’s walk a painful struggle for me, as I was rather all to pieces; and I was very thankful to manage to get on so as not to be left behind, and most fortunately it was an unusually short march — thirteen miles. The chief point of interest was a broad river in the afternoon, the Luchalinga, across which I was carried, as I was rather afraid of wading with the fever. It was about up to the men’s waists in parts, but the current was not particularly strong, and the bottom as level and free from rocks. To-day we came amongst abundant traces of elephants, their enormous footprints marking the path incessantly. Quite largish trees torn up by the roots marked their presence along the path. To-day too we lighten on the masuka fruit-tree, one of the most useful wild fruits, which will be a great help to our men, as they are already short of food.

*’Jan. 27th. — A fine night and a beautiful morning helped to make us feel quite fresh to-day. The view in front not so extensive, but showing wood and hill combined again. A steep descent led into a picturesque valley, where smoke, rising through the trees, showed the place of our camp, and Africa really looked quite at her best

“Jan. yh. — It did rain this morning, and no mistake, beginning about dawn and lasting till ten o’clock. It was so intense that a start was impossible, and we sat huddled up, while the wet penetrated one defence after another, and the men huddled round, perfect pictures of woe.

“Jan. 2i8t, — Alongishwalk through a valley, with high hills on each side, and a succession of small brooks (some very picturesque with rock and fern and grey water) hurrying down the side, brought us to lunch; our short repose after which, for digestion, was disturbed by a most terrific storm. It did not last very long, but made the path nothing but mud and water, while there was a whole succession of small rivers to be crossed this afternoon, which were so swollen and turbid, that to be carried over was an impossibility, and one had to plunge through one after another; sometimes so fierce wee they that a chain of hands seemed the only way of getting across quite safely. When we got close, however, a few houses, apparently deserted, appeared near at hand; some shouting natives appeared, and we plunged through our last river, the Luhulesi, and found a fine large house belonoing to the chief, and unused, into which we subsided at once, as we were too done to go farther on, or do the polite to-night, and it was now close upon sunset. In fact, I subsided into fever on the spot.**

“Feb. 18t — We slowly made our way up a long steep ridge, crossing several rushing brooks, and at what seemed the top we emerge’l upon a really lovely scene. A long upland valley with hills of the most brilliant green, quite worthy of the Emerald Isle, looking down on a rushing stream, whose hanks were clothed with a perfect wood of what seemed a kind of African cedar, at least a tree with some characteristics both of the cedar and the stone-pine. From point to point along the course of the stream rose a pile of grey rock so regular that one might almost fancy them ruins of some old keep or abbey, while in all directions over them spread bananas, apparently wild, but, I believe, planted by a late solitary inhabitant, who has now left. Other wood was scattered about, thick rank grass covered the bottom of the valley, and in the folds of the hills here and there a dark-green streak of vegetation marked a tumbling rivulet, and altogether it was not a scene to forget, lighted up by a sun which had just struggled out through the heavy clouds. Life was all it wanted, and one longed to see a great herd of cattle on the hills, as on the Alps, and hear their bells; but for wild solitary beauty it was very effective. The flowers to-day have been very new, and seem very beautiful, varying from delicate hot-house productions, to what seemed closely to resemble our own cherry pie (scentless), groundsel, and balls of thistle-down, while fern abounds in shape exactly like our bracken, but without that delicious fresh smell one enjoys at home. ... I was very tired and hungry, both perhaps coming from the fresh hill air; and though one divided one’s night between a hard floor and wet bed, it was a sound one.”

Feb. $th. — Early morning found us in the midst of clouds damp and cold, but soon tinted with the rising sun, and finally rising bodily, and leaving all fresh, sunny, bright, and windswept. We had Celebration in our hut and made it a half-day of rest, taking a Sabbath-day’s journey in the afternoon. Oh! it was a delightful morning, sitting out and looking up that broad valley (for my days of rest for three weeks past have consisted of nothing but fever), with a brisk wind and a temperate sun, while one’s things were actually getting dry.*’

At last the longed-for sight of Nyassa greeted him.

“Farther on, the lake appeared to the left, and a sudden turn found us on the seaward side of the last high hill, looking down on the great liquid plain, lying quite white under black thunder-clouds, while reddish light in the west marked the approaching sunset We made our way down a very stony path, and camped at the first water below, though it was long past dark before our temporary home was ready. Walked nineteen miles at least.”

“Feb. Sth, — We passed close to a small bay, its shores diversi Bed by a thick mass of creepers and a kind of grove of baobab trees, then through tangled grass and rock, and in a moment one was out on a white pebbly beach, with the quiet waters plashing at one’s feet. We continued round a corner of the headland, along a terribly stony path — generally rather above the water, but full of delightful little peeps — down upon rocks where birds like cormorants were either sitting motionless or stretching their wings in a very conceited manner. While swallows skimmed along the surface, divers disappeared below with a splash, gulls hovered in the air, and the solemn fish-eagle watched the proceedings from the boughs of some lofty tree; thick bushes or long grass, very green, made the immediate foreground, with occasionally an immense baobab. A long sit on the beach, and then a bathe, as the sun set across the water, and the hills above one glowed with his light, ended up a most happy afternoon. Then came food, prayers, bed in rapid succession.”

One other entry after this and the journal comes here abruptly to an end. The too brave fight with fever, despite of which he had plodded on for weary days, at last had to be surrendered; and he lay down on the couch (alas! of sore suffering) from which he was never to rise. It would be of little use or profit to record these final hours of the supreme conflict. “He endured as seeing Him who is invisible.” “Lord, how long!” seems to have been the only pleading word regarding his own protra<^ed anguish he was heard to utter. Enough, that he was tended and soothed by all that brave hands — which are generally the most loving ones — could do. At Pachiya, on Shrove Tuesday, the storm was changed into a calm. Unspeakably touching must it have been, as told by the one present best able to describe, to hear the sobs of these African people as they stood around the silent couch, unable from their emotion to join even in the Lord’s Prayer; while the same loved brother, who had smoothed his last pillow, and been “as one whom his mother comforteth,” despite of his own weakness and fatigue, gathered the flowers his dead friend loved so well, and laid them with him in his grave.

Let the letter sent to his invalid sister, from the pen of another brother missionary and devoted friend, rehearse the impressive story.

“Masasi, April 17th, 1882. Although you will have already heard the sad news of your

dear brother C s departure from this world, I feel you will not

deem it any intrusion, if I add something now; for our hearts here are very full of him, and though he died some four hundred miles

away, attended only in his last hours by W J, who alone

can tell you the particulars you will have most desired to learn, yet I, who had the great privilege of living in close communion with him here for nearly a year, cannot but write and tell you how greatly we valued, honoured, and loved hiuL He was pre-eminently saintly in character. I may tell you, his sister, this, though you know it well already. His extraordinary devotion to our Blessed Lord impressed us more than anything; else about him, it was so entire, and pare, and tme. You know with what zeal and zest and energy the dear fellow, often having to fight against sad attacks of weakening fever and diarrhoea, threw himself into the work. His jonmalistic letters will have told yon all this: bat he will not have told yon how his calm wisdom and sober jadgment coutribated to steer this place safely throagh manyadifilculty and trying position in which we were broaght last year. He was a friend, a powerful, dear, faithful friend to me, true and faithful in the best sense. The fearlessness of his friendship was the best

proof of its depth and sincerity. Dear C, loving, as he did,

the exercises of devotion and spiritual communion far better than anything this world could offer, spent, day by day, hours upon his knees, and it was his wont (especially towards the fall of last year, when he enjoyed better health, and was altogether stronger than during its first half) to get up about 3 A.M., and wander out into the starlight for a whole hour, and often much longer hold intense communion with God. No one knew this but myself who slept in the same room, so careful was he to hide his best actions from the gaze of men; but ’ the secret of the Lord is with

them that fear Him,’ and of a truth dear C knew that secret,

as it has been given to few people, whom I have met or known, to know it. He recognised and realised, equally fully, the duty of active employment, and the constant care (such is the nature of our work) of what some would call petty trifles and trivialities. He loved work, and gave himself as cheerfully to the very humblest; — witness his taking the lead in cleaning out our cow-house, and in ‘sweeping -up day’ (Saturday) himself going round to room after room and plying the broom as vigorously, aye, and aa deftly, as the little band of boys whom he thus encouraged in their work.. His virtues were many, and shone out brightly, but I should pick out patience and gentleness as those which one felt to be his strongest ones. It is, I think, rare to find gentleness and firmness so beautifully allied and carefully balanced, as they were in the finely disciplined character of your dear brother. Mudi more I might say, but I fear to go too far. You, his well-loved sister, know all that I could tell you; and I say what I do, only that you may know that all that was beautifal in him seemed intensified as he came in contact here with many trials and petty annoyances, which, to his finely strung and sensitive nature, must have been pecaliarly hard to bear manfully. My dear Miss Janson, God has called to Himself one who was indeed ripe for Paradise. To you, his sister, I will dare to say this.

‘* Yesterday (Sunday), at mid-day, the large party of porters who had left here with C and W J on December 28th, returned; and we knew at once, by the quiet and unwonted way in which they filed into the village, that they had sad news to tell. Soon all was told, and it would have awakened a deep feeling in your heart could you have witnessed the solemn silence that prevailed through the village, and spread to every member of our community. The wives of our returning men, who would naturally have gone through the usual noisy demonstrations of joy on such occasions, quietly walked by with their husbands, and within five minutes after, the first man with his load — the load that told me at

once the sorrow (for it was dear C s box) had appeared, all was

silent in the village. Two hours later, our Sunday afternoon service took place, and all our Christians assembled at it. I bade them, in speaking on the sad subject that filled all our hearts, to learn to rejoice with us that God had taken one away from this world’s pain and grief, one, whom they as well as I knew, was indeed a man of God. Afterwards we all stood up and sang with all our force the hymn we had sung only that veiy morning —

* Jeans lives 1 — no longer now
Can thy terrors, Death, appal us.’

He will not soon be forgotten by our people here: for though it was not given to him to be with us long, he was a man of far too marked a power, and far too deep a devotion to the cause as well as to the glory of God, to fail making a great impression, and shed a strong influence for good with those of our people with whom he came in contact.” Before I went to Melo last year, dear C, when ill of typhoid fever, called me to him to tell me of some wishes he trusted I would see carried out The most important of them was one, on

which I have written to W. H, for it referred chiefly to him; the

other had reference to a thought that possibly his relatives would wish to have some sort of cross, memorial tablet, or the like, put up to his memory, either in England or out here. He said he did not like the idea of such a thing himself, but if his mother (we had not then heard of his bereavement) or brothers or sisters wished it, he would not thwart them; but he mentioned that he thought a plain simple cross was the best thing, and for a text, ‘See how He loved him’ — ‘and take care,’ he added smiling, ’ that the capital H is put in the right place.’ If there are any

other particulars about dear C s life out here, or anything

else you would like to know, be assured that it will always be a delight to me to recall and record the words and deeds of him whose life was so close a following in the footsteps of our Saviour.”

Let the befitting words of the revered Bishop, subsequently spoken — an echo of those we have already given in another place — emphasise the above touching tribute: — “If we had chosen one amongst our whole number, of whom we would have said that he was fit for the kingdom of heaven, we would have chosen no one more clearly and undoubtedly than Janson, whom it pleased God to take.”

Strange! that lonely, silent, isolated grave, seems almost in truest harmony with his own expressed wishes years before. Another of his sisters writes me: “At Wantage there was just a single grave in the new churchyard. Charles said, with such a look, “I like a solitary grave like that; it looks so much more solemn than a crowd.” “Obdormivit in Christo.”

Let me, in a few closing sentences, gather up the conspicuous lessons of a consecrated life.

To the feature which must most readily occur to all, I dare not again revert — as he himself disliked, and so far forbade the reference, — that of self-denial and self-surrender for the sake of his Great and Loving Master.

Not without good reason and profound significance, as I heard recently remarked by a thoughtful friend, does Mr. Buskin in his “Seven Lamps of Architecture” give the precedence, over all the others, to the Lamp of Sacrifice, Whatever may have been Janson’s own feeling, that lamp was by him assuredly lighted; and though we shall not, in deference to his wishes and scruples, pursue the reflection, — who can resist the conviction, in reviewing the pages of this “Story of Grace,” that life was dominated and regulated by one consistent resolve — “Yea, doubtless, I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord.”

If we are forbidden otherwise to enlarge on self-denial in connection with an individual standard-bearer, we are not prohibited from quoting Bishop Steere’s own public utterances in a noble sermon preached by him in St. Andrews, Well Street, the very church which had first heard and recorded Charles Janson’s vow of consecration: —

“I suppose,” says the Bishop,” it is the duty common to all Christians to be like their Lord; and to follow the pattern and example of His life, must be the highest work of every one of us. And if we are to imitate that which Christ has done for us, and if we are to do the same for the Brethren, I do not know that it would be possible for us

This, at all events, we may venture to add, — he would gladly endorse the testimony that his work came to him as happiness. Any former experiences of darkness were entirely past, and the true light shone. No fitter language could express or translate his experience than that of the stricken yet rejoicing soul of olden days: —” The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow. Then called I upon the name of the Lord; Oh, Lord, I beseech thee deliver my soul! Gracious is the Lord and righteous, yea, our God is

to do such a work more completely than as it is done by those with whom I have had to work.

*’ For what was it that Christ did for us? He saw us utterly helpless, He saw us sunk in utter ignorance, He saw us full of sin and evil, utterly unable to raise ourselves; and He left His own place in order that He might come and dwell among us, doing good day by day to all. that came to Him, and at last suffering death itself for our sakes.

“Now, if you would see what it is that we are asking for, what it is that is actually being done by our Mission, surely you would find something which is strangely like this life of Christ Himself. For who are these that go forth amongst the heathen? Are they npt those who have left what contents so many of their brethren at home? Are they not those who are willing to give up something which they might have had, and something which is highly prized?

*’ And we know that our Lord was not content even with living, but there was something yet more that He could do, something which more than all else, and above all, would show that love which surpasses all that belongs to this earth, for * Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ So it is not enough only to live, but one must die also.

“And this too we have seen. We have seen those who have gladly laid down their lives for this great cause. And they have not laid them down in vain. If we could see indeed what is blessed, the most merciful. The Lord preserveth the simple; I was brought low, and He helped me. Return unto thy rest, my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. For Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living.... What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits towards me? “He had discovered, in the appointed work for God and His Christ, the true philosopher’s stone. In the words of a sage of a very different school and age from that just quoted, he could say: —” Blessed is he who has found his work:

blessed of all things is not only the life, but the death in this great service.”

In similar general terms, speaking of the entire mission staff, here are the striking and characteristic words of a man of very different ecclesiastical leanings and sympathies from Charles Janson — the late Dean of Westminster: —

“I can hardly think of them without a verse coming to my mind which has been brought before some of us on St. Peter*s Day, though using it in a very different sense: * Verily, verily, I say unto thee, when thou wast young thou girdest thyself and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be * — in all reverence not * old,’ but ’ somewhat older, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands and another shall gird thee and carry thee whither thou ’ not ’ woiddest not,* but thoughtest not of.* ‘*

We have seen how willing and ready our young friend was to be ’ girded ’ and ’ carried * to those distant shores. And though in the literal acceptation he had not been called, as some others, to undergo for his Master’s sake a death of violence, yet, with no strained application, is the concluding line of our opening motto-verse really true of his life and its * legend ’ —

“Martyrdom crowned it I *

Z let him ask no other blessing. He has a work — a life-purpose; he has found it, and will follow it.”

When death came “he fell, and felt no fear.” It was only the completion, early, indeed, of the life-purpose; a solemn and triumphant Amen’ to a consecrated existence.

The second predominating feature in Janson’s character was the element of devotion. His own life seemed wondrously shaped and moulded in conformity with that of him, who must ever be regarded as the great ideal alike of the Christian man and the Christian missionary. There were three distinguishing features in the conversion of St. Paul, which had their reflection in his true, though youthful “Apostolic Successor.”

Let me give them in the words of Scripture. The first (already quoted), “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?” The second, “Behold, he prayeth.” The third, “Go thy way, for he is a chosen vessel unto Me to bear My Name before the Gentiles.”

We have already spoken of the first and the last — his own ready response to his own question, and his Lord’s answer.

We have now to note the intervening golden link; a link which seems, in the eye of his African Bishop and his brother missionaries, to have stamped his work with its peculiar value.

1 Carlyle’s “Past and Present.”

While lie had taken to himself “the whole armour of God,” he had given special heed to “the prayerpolish,” which kept all his panoply bright and shining. Each soldier has his place in the ranks. Each warder has his appointed gate in the Temple. Janson’s was par excellence the niche or Portal of devotion. The words of the historian of the Reformation, speaking of one of its English Worthies, had their appropriate appHcation in his case: — “Bilney’s vocation was prayer. Timid before man, he was fall of boldness before God, and day and night called upon Him for souls. But while kneeling in his closet, others were at work in the world.” We need hardly add it was the secret not only of his strength, but of his joy. He lived in the habitual, realised consciousness of his Saviour’s nearness and love. Breathing thus in the very atmosphere of prayer, we are forcibly reminded, though sharing none of her mysticisms, of the glowing personal testimony and experience of Madame Guyon: — “Hours passed away like moments, while I could hardly do anything else but pray. The fervency of my love allowed me no intermission. It was a state of confiding and affectionate rest in God existing without intellectual efibrt, for I had now no sight but of Jesus Christ alone.” This life of prayer seems farther to have sweetened, elevated, sublimated his whole being. The sunny natural disposition had an intenser brightness imparted to it from

D’Aubignj’s Befonnation, ▼. 33.

the ’ inner glory.’ His brother missionaries could not fail to note how he became bathed in love to all around. They might, from his daily walk and conversation, catch up the spirit at least, of the lines in “Aurora Leigh “: —

“Beloved, let us love so well,
Our work would still be better for our love;
And still our love be sweeter for our work,
And both commended for the sake of each,
By all true workers and true lovers born!”

As in the former papers and meditations of this volume the offc-repeated question presents itself. Why this early death? Why, when sword and shield had scarcely been assayed, should this young Asahel fall in the forefront of the battle? Why, little more than a Pisgah-view of the Land of Promise, when the unexpected summons comes, as it did to the ear of Israel’s patriot leader, “Get thee up and die?”

“Lord God, Thou knowest!”

We must be still, when the word falls from the lips of the Great Husbandman — “Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe.” Worth and goodness, in the truest and best sense, cannot be mown down. They cannot die. May not the holy “memories” which live and hover over the grave of that young missionary impart even a literal fulfilment to the words, “He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him” (Ps. cxxvi. 6). Charles Janson went to the land of his spiritual hopes, bearing the precious mission-seed. He died with it unsown; the hand which designed to scatter it is now mouldering in the dust. Do we look in vain for the fulfilment of the promised — the “doubtless” promised “sheaves?” Nay; these in his case, and others like him, may be made up of much which in a fragmentary form has been gathered in this notice ; — his self-abnegation; his simple, childlike trust; his intense and ever-increasing value for prayer, joyful obedience — life and soul surrender to that Saviour who made him so signal a monument of His grace. These cannot perish; these sheaves are garnered beyond reach of change or mortality. Being dead, his silent voice still speaks. May not his bright example and martyr -spirit stimulate others to a similar life of consecration, leading them to say in a nobler sense than Naomi’s daughter-in-law, “I pray you, let me glean, and gather after the reapers among the sheaves?” Africa may thus, in another form, reap the seed which the young missionary was only beginning to sow, and which apparently he had carried well nigh unused to his early tomb.

This we may well believe, that he has not lost his glorious recompense: “Whereas it was in thine heart to build an house unto My name, thou didst well that it was in thine heart” (i Kings viii. 18). Although deprived of the privilege by personal labour of “turning many to righteousness;” doubtless, He who delights to welcome “the good and faithful servant,” will bestow upon him a place among those in that bright galaxy of the heavenly firmament who are to “shine as the stars for ever and ever.”

More than this. Death is in a yet nobler sense not the final goal of such. It is wrong for us to speak of green ears which have fallen ere autumn tints mellowed them, * the fields unwhitened to harvest.’ It is wrong to speak of shocks of com stored in the heavenly gamer. They are not ’ stored.’ They are taken there as seed for a wider sowing and scattering. Is it too much for us to surmise — nay, to assert, that there is reapers’ work in other worlds than this; undreamt-of mission-fields, — loftier embassies and ministries of love on which death can put no arrest; where the saying is no longer true, “One soweth and another reapeth,” but where sower and reaper shall, through all eternity, “rejoice together?” Heaven is no scene of inaction, — of dreamy and lethargic repose. The services of the early-stricken in the ranks below, are only transferred to fulfil loftier. embassies in the Church triumphant. On the death of the great Dr. Chalmers — a born leader in God’s Great Army, whose one masterful thought was the reclamation of the thousands of home-heathendom — the briefest but perhaps most characteristic tribute paid, — one that might have been applied also to him who paid it at a similar moment, was that of Norman M’Leod, “One could imagine his spirit going straight up to the throne and bowing before it, saying, Any more worlds or masses to evangelise? ‘” May not this, we repeat, be a partial solution at least, of this mystery of early death, in the case of valued and valuable servants in the Church below, — that while these youthful * crowned ones ’ leave behind them hallowed reminiscenes of faith, and love, and heroic endurance, like the gleam of light which lingers on the mountain-tops when the sun has gone down, — in heaven they are embarked in loftier behests; devoting all the energies of the glorified body, and all the faculties of the glorified spirit in never-ending service to the Lord they love!

“Thus saints who seem to die in earth’s rude strife Only win double life: They have but left our weary ways, To live in memory here, in heaven by love and praise.”

The whole record of this early African grave is surely suggestive, encouraging, and strengthening. The final battle was a brief but a glorious one. In the words of perhaps his dearest friend and associate in the mission-field, “Janson sought no speedy release from the fight; but as God has given it to him, he now rejoices in a nearer and more constant gaze. It shows the true and assured victory over trouble and sorrow. Christian suJ0fering and death.” He had, at first, his Peniel struggle-hour, his night of darkness. But he rose from the ground, — wounded indeed in the conflict, but only with resolute mien, to do, and to dare, and to

KeUe.

36o A MISSIONARY.

die, for Him who had wrestled with him until the breaking of day. As a prince he had power with God and prevailed.

“And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes, and whence came they? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me. These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple, and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes!”

THE YOUNG MISSIONARY’S DEATH HYMN.

“The field is only entered when the loving Master calleth;

He calleth ere the promised sheaves my youthful hands can

bring:

But ere my voice be silent, and the final shadow falleth,

Uplift me from my pillow, while with dying lips I sing: — .... ...*•

Lift, lift the Cross of Christ: — Tell of grace abounding;

In every tribe and kingdom let His banner be unfurled.

Blow, blow the trumpet, loud and lofty sounding.

Till its tones of jubilee echo round the world 1

Sow, BOW the Gospel seed: — Forget the night of weeping; For open are the furrows to receive the precious grain: They that sow in tears shall yet have a glorious reaping, And bearing harvest treasure * shall rejoicing come again.’

Gird, gird the loins about, let the lights be burning; Be like servants waiting for the coming of their Lord: Lest the Royal Bridegroom find on His returning, Lamps of faith untrimmed, and the oil of grace unstored.

Work, work, while yet the flowers of spring bedeck the

meadows; While times of blessing linger, and working seasons last: Before the landscape darken with the evening’s lengthened

shadows, The summer sunshine ended, and the joy of harvest past,

Lift, lift the Cross of Christ: — Tell of grace abounding; In every tribe and kingdom let His banner be unfurled. Blow, blow the trumpet, loud and lofty sounding, Till its tones of jubilee echo round the world 1”