The Last Four Months — Summer Work — Plans for Rest — Buisson Luzas — Illness — Death

In May, 1882, 1 went to Paris, and spent three
weeks with him. I found him in the midst
of his accustomed work, with the prospect of
an unusually busy summer, but looking forward to
a time of rest in autumn.

I saw that he needed it sorely; for he was thin, and not altogether like his former self; jaded and harassed, as if his strength had been overstrained, and his placidity taxed to the uttermost. His appetite was giving way, his headaches frequent, and his general health by no means vigorous. He was frequently very late at meetings, and yet, after returning from these at midnight or later, he would set himself to make up arrears of correspondence, it might be in French or it might be in English. Sometimes he tried to keep himself awake by strong tea, and, then when sleep overpowered him, he threw himself down upon his bed or sofa without undressing, that he might, after snatching a short sleep, get up and resume his writing.

His system was enfeebled, and the night’s sleep was insufficient for re-invigoration. He needed not one month’s but six months’ rest. Yet he would not believe it, and was not a little annoyed when entreated to spare himself. The machinery could not stand still, the mission-work could not take holiday. If he did not work, others must. Daily arrangements must be made, and these were often difficult and complicated, needing both skill and patience. Letters must be received and written, tracts, books, and Bibles distributed, visitors received, meetings held, addresses written; — most congenial work, — not a task nor a weariness, and perhaps not too much for him, had he retained the elasticity of 1877.

About this time he wrote to his brother regarding the unhealthy air of one of his stations: “I got your letter on Monday evening, lying on my bed with a very bad headache. In one of our halls there is an” egout” (sewer). I stood there for nearly two hours on Sunday evening with my head on a level with the gas-jets. A man gets rather poisoned, and it ’s a wonder that some of us are not worse than we are! I ‘m all right now, but was really poisoned for a day.”

But that elasticity was gone; whether it would

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return was doubtful. At any rate the extent of the evil was not realised, and he could not see his way to more than a month’s cessation from labour. But what would a month do for him; or how could he hope that such prostration would be removed by an ordinary season of retirement? The repose he needed he would not take, nor indeed would he believe to be necessary. “Wait till this pressure is past,” he would say when asked when he would rest. But the pressure did not pass nor diminish: and the increasing rush of work hurried him on from day to day.

I dreaded a collapse in some way and a blow in some quarter, but I did not anticipate the sorrow that was so near at hand.

His daily forenoon conferences with Mr. M’All
about mission arrangements were pleasant and
refreshing, though he might come away with his
hands full of letters and his head full of business,
perhaps vexation.

I said to him one day, when visitors, letters, telegrams kept pouring in without ceasing, “Is there not a want of repose about the work here?”

He admitted it in part, but asked how the evil was to be remedied. The work is of such a nature, and spread over so wide an area, with so many workers, involving so much superintendence and arrangement, that constant motion is inevitable, and for any of those who have the direction of the work to fold their hands, even for a short time, might involve the derangement of the whole machinery.

Of course the only permanent remedy was the
increase of labourers; and where were they to come
from? To curtail the work itself was not to be
thought of.

The present staff was over- wrought, and an overwrought workman must turn out imperfect work. Words come feebly from over-wearied lips, and our power of stating truth depends not only on our spiritual health, but on our bodily vigour and elasticity. Rowland Hill used playfully to give as a receipt for making a long-lived minister, “preach every day of the week and three times on Sunday;” but he (good man!) had the whole of each day for rest, and a man, who has such a daily rest, may easily preach every night. In Paris, — especially with those at the head of the Mission, — there could be no such rest. All day long, in some form or other, the work was going on; and each night brought with it the crowded meeting, sometimes two miles off, sometimes six, sometimes, as at Versailles, twelve. The meeting itself was calm and soothing but the journey and the preaching, and the late hours, and the earnest conversation with the people

Suni7ner Work. 2)Z1

at the close of each service combined to make the fatigue great. Even Rowland Hill would have succumbed to it; and had he known the French work, he might have modified his “receipt for a long lived minister.”

In the case of the Paris Mission, the temptations to extension were many. The invitations poured in on all sides, and with great urgency. But expansion without consolidation would be full of danger to the whole enterprise. Extension, with inferior workers and half-educated evangelists, to whom not only theology but the Bible itself was a new thing, would be the introduction of superficial teaching and a questionable Gospel, resulting in imperfect conversions and the production of stony - ground hearers. To run before God, or without being sent, — to carry on the work with self- manufactured labourers, instead of waiting on the Lord of the harvest for first-class reapers, — would be as unscriptural as unwise.

We had frequent conversations on one very important point connected with the permanent usefulness of the Mission, — I mean the religious instruction of the young. The schools, under the efficient superintendence of Mr. Greig, are doing much for the three or four thousand children whom the Mission

has gathered in. The hymns, also, which they sing ;^^S Alemoir of Rev. G. T. Dodds.

so heartily, and which they carry to their various homes throughout the city, are doing a mighty work, far beyond the circle of the little ones who chant them indoors and outdoors, on the streets, in the lanes, and on the stairs. The texts, too, which they read upon the walls so splendidly blazoned, or carry with them as rewards for proficiency and attendance, are sowiog seed for eternity in a thousand places and hearts. Above all, the Bibles, the Testaments, the penny portions both of gospel and epistle, are working with a power which promises all permanence.

But what we considered specially needful for the young was some Catechism, simple and sound, comprehensive and intelligible, which would lay hold of their memories, and be a life-time’s store of heavenly wisdom. Whatever some theological theorists have argued as to such manuals, they are of vast importance, especially in the consolidation of such a work as that of the Paris Mission. Sooner or later this matter will have to be taken up. The sooner the better. Selected questions from Calvin’s Catechism, which was once well known in France, and which did such good service in Huguenot days, could be easily knit together, and put into the hands of the French children. The hymn and the catechism should go together.

A creedless mission, though suited to the theory of

“advanced thought,” whose “evangelism” insists on being untrammelled by definite beliefs, would really be to France no mission at all. It might satisfy the ideal of the free-thinking philanthropist, in whose eyes a fixed faith finds no favour; but it would not be a Christian enterprise, — hardly a benevolent one; and whether worth the inevitable toil, might be questionable. It might be scientific; it would not be apostolic. It might help to smooth the broad way for the poor ouvrier; but it would not lead him into the narrow one. As civilised heathenism is the tiltimatum of the missionary philosopher, so polished ouvrierism is the heau-ideal of the missionary aesthetic in France. The cross, with its inflexible and unaccommodating dogmas, is rather out of place in any scheme, the object of which is to work by means of religious colourlessness.

Another subject of conversation between us was as to suitable tiads for France. It is not easy to write a good, readable, and interesting tract. Many of our own English tracts fifty years ago were bald and uninteresting in the extreme, as well as badly written. The last thirty years have seen a wonderful change in this respect. A tract should be a careful literary composition, as well as a clear statement of Divine truth. So with regard to France. The tract must be written for the nation, by one who knows it. It must suit the tastes and peculiarities, or, it may be, the weaknesses of the people.

His correspondence upon the subject of tract distribution was very wide. He wrote to all who could help in the preparation of French tracts; and he was written to by many who were interested in this important matter. One of the latter was Mr. Cheyne Brady, who writes to me as follows: “It has occurred to me that it would be of interest to you to have the enclosed letters of your lamented son-in-law. How devoted he was to his Master’s ’ work ‘! Even his vacation was allocated to the service of the Lord. Nothing seems so inscrutable as the removal of such labourers. But the time will come when all will be made plain, even as already to the submissive heart all God’s dealings are wise, and good, and kind.”

The letters which he encloses are as follow. They show his ideas of what such tracts should be. In oLher letters to myself he dwells on this at greater length. His desire was that they should be thoroughly “the messengers of peace,” or rather, I should say, of the peace, containing no indirect or circuitous gospel, with a vague evangelical sound, which leaves the sinner’s conscience as far from the cross as ever. What he wanted was the clear statement of what had been done for the sinner by the Son of God upon the cross. The completeness

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of that work is not by any means an intelligible or a credible thing to one who has been steeped in Popery, and taught that his acceptance with God is to turn upon what he himself is able to do, and upon the way in which he performs this doing of his; that his religious performances are to be his recommendations to God. It seems incredible that a man should owe everything to the merit of another, even though that other should be the Son of God; and it seems unreasonable, or rather incomprehensible, that another’s life and another’s death should be so completely substituted for our own that God should regard that life as if we had lived it, and that death as if we had died it. Hence the necessity for reiterating and illustrating and simplifying the Gospel of the Substitute. Mr. Dodds felt this. Frequently in conversation with myself he dwelt upon this; and in his addresses enforced it. He thus writes to Mr. C. Brady: —

“Paris, U 25 Juilht, 1882. “Dear Sir, — I thank you for your letter of the 20tli July and for your kind interest in the work of evangelisation in France by means of tract distribution, and also for your generous offer to aid in printing translations of your tracts. I hope to be able to reply more fully at some future time. Meanwhile, let me say that M. St.-Hilaire, who is superintending this work along with me for the Religious Tract Society in London, is absent from Paris, and nothing can be done until his return in October. Further, we have just issued fifteen new tracts, and there are others almost ready to be issued; and some time must elapse ere we finish those on which we are engaged, and begin to translate others. But we are very glad to have yours; indeed, I ordered them lately from London. I have often wished to write to you and say how useful we have found your little book on the Second Coming. Many of the workers in our Mission cherish this blessed hope, and find it a very great — indeed, ilie great iresent — motive to work for Christ. One of our Bible-women distributed a large number in her district, and told me that there was much interest excited in it, and that the people asked for copies, having heard of it, I suiDpose, from their neighbours. One thing, let me ask you. Have you any objection to selected passages being taken from your tracts 1 We are more in need of tracts of four yages than of any other kind just now. Tracts need to be considerably shorter to suit the French. There is a very great ignorance of the Bible, and a lack of any deep religious feeling, and a terrible absence of conscience*... When the autumn is over and the winter fairly begun, I shall hope to let you know of some steps which we shall have taken for translation.”

The autumn came, but it brought no relaxation, no time for revision or translation. That July had been a very busy one. August was, if possible, yet more busy. The Paris work was heavy, and the correspondence quite oppressive. Another letter to Mr. Brady regarding the tracts we give. It possesses a melancholy interest, as anticipating a month’s rest, and, along with that, some quiet work of tract revision, which he was not to be permitted to do.

“Paris, U l() AoUt, 1882. “Dear Sir, — I thank you for your letter regarding the tracts. I am about to leave Paris for the country for a month, and intend taking four tracts along with me, when I shall have leisure to examine them and report to you. I entirely agree with you regarding Scripture in the tracts, and you may be sure that in that direction yours will remain intact. But after most attentive study of tract distribution in France, and continued personal experience, I am convinced that the reason why the tracts do not suit the people is that they are too long and too little evangelical. Life and graphic7iess are much needed. For instance, the tract known in English as ‘Mr?. Burton’s Best Bedroom’ has been greatly appreciated here. I know a man, very ignorant and yet very attentive when he came to our meetings, with whom I have had many a serious conversation, who had the two texts — ‘Thou God seest me,’ and ‘God is love ’ — fixed in his mind, and understood as never before. I am very glad and very thankful that you offer so much help in the publication of the tracts. I hope that in the autumn I shall be able to tell you what we are going to do.”

This autumn recess was what he eagerly looked forward to, not so much for the quiet refreshment it afforded, as for its opportunities of preparing for winter- work, especially in getting tracts ready. For he could not be idle, and his holidays were in reality only change of work.

But the expected quiet never came, as we shall see. The tract translation and revision were to pass into other hands. The London Tract Society, however, will not let the matter drop. The series of tracts projected by Mr. Dodds will not be lost sight of. There is a hunger for such literature all over France, and it must be satisfied. There are first-rate men among those connected with the Mission who will throw their hearts into the enterprise.

He was at this time entertaining the proposal of revisiting America in behalf of the Mission. His Transatlantic friends had become many, so greatly had he commended himself to them during his former visit. Their invitations to him were now renewed with great urgency. He had enjoyed his former tour much; and he was pleased with the prospect of another. American kindness and hospitality had won his heart; and American Christianity had attracted him. He was bent on a second invasion of the great western continent, and was planning a much wider circuit than formerly. He was resolved to rouse the Churches of the West in behalf of France. He had somewhat succeeded already; but he was satisfied that much more could be done, and that this would be a great blessing to the Churches themselves. He had experienced their warm-heartedness and their open-handedness in a measure; and he was bent on making an overwhelming appeal to them in the name of his adopted nation, in behalf of the forty millions of France. America he thought, must come to the rescue, and that without delay. She must ally herself with her mother-nation

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in seeking the spiritual emancipation of the European continent. The two great Protestant nations of the world must go hand-in-hand in the circulation of the Book of God, and the proclamation of His Gospel. British and American pleasure-seekers pour into Paris all the year round, and depart, leaving no blessing behind. They spend their tens of thousands of pounds in self-gratification, and their only reflection afterwards, — if they ever reflect at all, — is that they have enriched the hotel-keepers, and left behind them abundance of English and American gold. Yet surely the Christian people of these nations have something better to give France than gold, and something higher to receive from it than earthly pleasure. We were at one upon these points, and concurred in projecting a fresh appeal to the Western Churches. But was Mr. Dodds’ strength at present equal to the undertaking, for it would entail enormous labour if it was to be done thoroughly? He spoke of next spring (1883), but I urged delay, and, in the meantime, a partial cessation of his mission-work. He was, however, immovable. The voyage, he thought, would benefit him, the travelling would be such a complete change as would amount to rest, and the intercourse with Christian brethren would quite refresh and recruit him. God, however, took this scheme into His own hands, and, calling His servant away, sent a message by his death to the Churches more solemn and stirring than his living presence among them could have delivered.

During these summer months the work moved on as usual, the interest increasing and the blessing largely multiplied. But he was working upon borrowed strength; the heavy strain was telling upon him. Only three times during my stay did I succeed in drawing him out for a few hours’ recreation, — once to spend an afternoon at Versailles, again for a sail down the Seine to St. Cloud, and again for an evening’s walk in the Passy avenue. He felt the unrest, but it seemed as if his only way of relief was to work the more. But the wear and tear of daily work could not go on without injury, and the continuous and unwise expenditure of strength could not last. He thought himself well though weary, and shut his eyes to the necessary enfeeblement of his system. Thus he writes to his brother on 26th July, 1882 : —

“You say you suppose I am very busy and fagged; well, very busy indeed, but very well. We never had such encouragement in our work as we have had this winter and spring. The meetings have not only been very well attended, but many have remarked a spirit of seriousness and anxiety which was never so visible before. I wonder if, after all, the Frenchman is so superficial? He has religious needs, and is not yet given over to atheism. What brings people night

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after night to hear the same Gospel over and over again, sometimes not very attractively preached] People at home don’t come out as well to prayer meetings, and here, just now, in this hot weather, the people will remain in considerable numbers for prayer and conversation.”

The last walk I had with him was on a bright June evening, Tuesday, the 28th, I think it was. He had secured supply for his Versailles meeting in order that we might spend a few hours together, as I was leaving Paris for London next morning. We set off for the Passy woods adjoining Auteuil. They are studded with villas of very various construction and size, finely ornamented with shrubberies and gardens. The broad avenue which intersects the park opens up villa after villa as you pass along, while the shade of the trees on each side makes the bright sunshine not only bearable, but most pleasant. We soon reached the ramparts, and, sitting down on the slope of the sward, we enjoyed the view, and for upwards of two hours conversed on the topics of the day; on the questions said to be “in the air”; on the progress of the work in Paris; on the state of our colleges at home; and the prospect of securing labourers for the great French field that was everywhere calling for reapers. The walk was just such as he needed for the refreshment both of body and spirit; and we enjoyed it fully, though we little thought it was to be our last.

During these two bright hours he was quite himself agfain. Weariness had fled, and the fresh air had revived him. Slowly sauntering up and down among the trees and then back again to Auteuil, we must have passed within little more than a mile of the cemetery where, two months after, he was to be laid, though we knew it not. It did not occur to either of us to visit that burying-ground, as naturally one visits a beautiful cemetery. I have often wondered since why we did not; he did not mention it, and I did not know there was a cemetery in that direction. There is something to me peaceful as well as sad in the thought that our last walk should have been through that Passy avenue in that calm twilight. I only wish I could recall our conversation. It was free and cheerful; and I thought that if he could only be persuaded to take many such walks, he might throw off his weariness and recover his natural strength.

After our walk that night he set to his work, for letters were awaiting him. How soon he got to bed I do not know; but we had all to be astir next morning between seven and eight, as I was to set off for London, and the distance between Auteuil and the Gare du Nord is about six miles, at the opposite end of the city.

Next morning we started, — he and Mrs. Dodds and myself reaching the station in ample time. It was

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a dull morning, and the station, though large, is gloomy. We sat down together on the only seat which we could get, in a dark corner; and after some quiet conversation we rose, and I bade him farewell; he returning to his work, I going off to Calais. We saw each other no more, though no thought of the coming sadness entered into our farewell.

During July and August he continued his work, looking forward to September for rest. I am told that his labours during these two months were remarkably blest, — crowded meetings, eager inquirers, striking cases of men passing out of darkness into light. Never had he seemed so earnest. Never had he found such decided and abundant success. There was something more than mere attention and interest. Quickening power was accompanjdng the Word.

On the 17th of July he writes to me: “The fete has thinned our meetings; but we had nevertheless a very good and encouraging meeting at Grenelle last night.”

In the midst of meetings and visitings he carries on the Quarterly Record, which he had edited for three years; and thus he refers to it in the above letter: “All my MS. has gone for the Quarterly. I have asked the printers to send them out to you, and I write to ask you to write a prefatory note, or rather an appeal. You will see how deeply real the work is just now, from the letter in this number, and you might emphasise this from what you heard when here. Does ’ the eye of a needle ’ mean a door, or is it a figurative expression? Were the doors beside the great gates called needle’s eyes? I drew one with a camel laden before it for the children. The merchandise was riches, and riches were anything that one possessed in abundance or which made one selfish. They understood thereby the story of the rich young man very well. Yesterday I drew the pilgrim passing through the river. The children (some of them at least) thought that the pilgrim was a pominer or fireman, as I had unfortunately given him a helmet like that which is worn by the firemen of Paris. I must stop to catch post. We are all well. Benedictus benedicatur in soecida sceculorum”

On the 28th of July he thus wrote to me regarding his work and his plans for it, referring at the same time to his prospect of going into country

quarters: —

“20 Juillet, 1882.

“Perhaps you know that we are going to Buisson Luzas,

near Salbris. Yon will probably find that near the town

of Bourges or St. Martin d’Aiixigny, in Loir et Cher.

The Rev. Francis Cannan, Chaplain to the Forces, has a house there, and has most kindly offered it for September. I believe that there is plenty of room, and that the country is delightful. I shall get a month, but no more, for I must be back in time for Moody, who comes on the 8th. It will be a task to organise his campaign. If good Mr. Kelman will come over and help, that will be welcome. There is no great heat this month of July, — rain very often, — evenings and days sometimes very sultry. Eivoli, spite of heat, was crammed on Wednesday evening. We had a Societe Fraternelh meeting afterwards. About fifty stayed. We took Bartimseus. I had written on the black-board: —

Bartime.

La Misericorde de Christ.

J. — Le hesoin du Salut. — Luc. i. 78, 79; Rev. iii. 17.

11. — La Eecherche du Salut

Bartieme entend (Rom. x. 17); a2)elle (Esaie, Iv. 6); persevere

(Luc. xviii. 1); vient (Luc. ix. 23); croit (Acts viii. 37).

III. — Le Salut trows.
L’Accueil de Jesus. — Jean vi. 37.
La guerison. — 1 Pet. ii. 9.
Reconnaissance. — 1 Jean iv. 19.

*’ Each had a Bible, and though they turned up verses very slowly, they seemed all deeply interested in it. One young man especially, who has been converted only a fortnight, and who never had a New Testament before, found out the places, and read the verses with great alacrity. He is a garQon in an hotel, and would have gone away the other evening had I not seen him hold up his hand to be prayed for at an after-meeting appearing visibly affected.

“He seemed to have received the message at once, saying, * that is the truth, and I believed it.’

“Another man, a Catholic from Beauvais, remained, and believed, and told me it was the most delightful evening lie had ever had in his life.

“Mrs Bonar was with me; we reached home about half-past twelve!”

The next letter that I give is also to myself, and one cannot help reading it in connection with his own “departure,” ere the October foliage fell.

“7 Aout, 1882.

“I am feeling too stupid to write, being rather tired. We shall all be glad to get away for a rest, and with the certainty that there will be no halls to open at Buisson Luzag, although I may do a little evangelistic work.

“That woman of whom I wrote to you has been seen again. It is a wonderful case of Divine guiding. She did not know why she turned out of her way to pass our hall, as she did not intend it at all. Somehow or other she felt uncertain about returning, being afraid of Protestants. She said, indeed, that the first time she entered, if any one had told her that we were Protestants, she would certainly never have gone in. Miss M. wrote to her, and has had long conversation with her. She seems to be completely gained to Christ, and yet it is touching to find old Catholic beliefs and superstitions coming up. She is an ‘Enfant de Marie.’ These are chosen for their special devotion and attachment to Mary. She said to Miss M.: * May I think about her sometimes ] ’ ‘Do you love her %” I love her.” Oh, if you would only speak about her too, you would convert everybody ‘! and so on. And yet I have no doubt about her conversion. The text on the wall she will never forget — * Jesus Christ came to seek and save that which was lost.’ She has got a good place in an hotel.

“Did I tell you about the old sceptic at Gare d’lvry, who at last has yielded out and out. He said: ‘Je crois que quand

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lea feuilles tomberont au mois d’Octobre je m’en irai; quand mon ame s’epanouira dans la gloire du ciel avec Jesus Christ, je me souviendrai de toute ma vie passee.’ There are many others I could tell you of. It is wonderful how the Lord is working. At Grenelle on Sunday evening I had about 180 people, and a prayer meeting of 70. Many asked to be prayed for. I ‘ve been writing to Moody and Mr. Kelman.

“Yesterday evening I was at St. Honore, and we had an after-meeting, most interesting. A woman came in for the first time; I wish I could remember her exclamations of surprise; Miss Mattheson was talking to her. She is, I believe, in a convent. She said (for salvation seemed to dawn on her as a totally new thing),” Je suis toute bouleversee (altogether upset, though that is a weak rendering), and pointing to the text on the walls, ‘Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,’ said, ‘But nobody ever told me that; nobody ever told me that; the priests never told me anything like that;’ she kept repeating it, and was so eager to know that she asked question after

question before Miss M could answer those she had

put. She went away, having, I think, grasped the truth. I had a conversation with another man, who wished to know if he could be assured of pardon in one evening, or if it was necessary to come twice. I read again ‘Bartime,’ and showed that he had only one opportunity, and then the Ethiopian Ruler; he went away saying, ‘Je I’accepte.’ There did not seem to me any great conviction of sin, but he said he had stayed to find out if he could get pardon, and that was striking. Another man there with one arm, ill with consumption, has also come to Christ. There are many, very many, anxious. Oh, if only there were reapers; but even the best of the French pastors don’t understand this sort of work. Hirsch, who is such a good man, and who has been so used of God in work throughout France, having been the instrument of many conversions, would not stay last night to the after-meeting. It

2 A was against his conscience; lie did not approve of these; one could visit the people in their homes. But there are dozens whom it is impossible to visit. I knew of three, four, if not five people, all now Christian, I believe, in that meeting, who cannot be seen at home at any time. This leads me to ask you if you will not give me a short note as to your opinion of the place and use of inquiry meetings as a part of evangelistic work. I think of publishing a small tract regarding Moody’s work, showing what it is, with a view to draw Frenchmen’s attention to the deficiencies of their methods, and the necessity of overcoming their prejudices. There are so many of them. Are there not evidences that inquiry meetings were held, in the Book of Acts 1”

He wrote to me again, regarding this invalid, who was lingering on a sick-bed, and in whose case he took such a loving interest. The visit referred to was one of many which he paid to this sick-room, and from which he carried away words as messages to others, and as reminiscences of the simple faith of those poor ouvriers whom he delighted to teach and to watch over, — the seals of his ministry, of whom he could truly say, “ye are in our hearts, to die and to live with you.”

He enclosed some lines, and adds, “Could you revise these, if you think them fit to go into the October Quarterly?” The words are truly touching, not only as expressive of the sufferer’s faith and love, but as prophetic of the departure both of himself and of his teacher to be with Christ ere the October leaf had fallen. He survived Mr.

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Dodds, but has since “fallen asleep;” and they
have now met above, perhaps to talk over this
very scene and these very words in the death -
room below.

“Je crois que quand les feuilles tomberont, au
mois d’Octobre je m’en irai.”
“Vous ne craindrez pas?”
“Non; je m’en irai vers Jesus Christ.”
Mr. Dodds’ rendering of the above most touching
words is as follows: —

“‘When chill October comes, and leaves are falling,’ He said to lis, * I think I shall go hence.’ Then o’er him bending, ‘Wilt thou be afraid? Heaven’s gladness lighted up the weary face; — * No, I shall go to be with Jesus Christ.’ He had lain six months on a bed of pain, Fretful that on him lay God’s heavy hand. He knew not why. Dark thoughts of unbelief Haunting his wakeful spirit, scaring sleep All the night watches through; so fruitless seemed Our prayers, and even the living Word of God; Until one day the story — often told, Of Him who took our j)lace, and died for us When we were sinners — touched him with new power, And a glad smile, born of the joy within, Passed over that wan face. ‘Never,’ so said His nurse and faithful friend, ’ had radiant smile Shone on him during these long months like this — A feeble ray, foretelKng endless dawn. When, so said he to us, my soul shall ope In heaven’s eternal glory with the Lord.”

Mr. Dodds was fond of turning into verse the little incidents of the Mission or the brief sayings of the converts; and he did it well. His taste for verse, as for music, was very correct; and in the midst of work and weariness he wrote down these snatches. This was his last.

As the reader may be interested in this old ouvrier of Ivry I may here finish the touching story. Nearly every Thursday evening for many months Mr. Dodds had visited him to tell him of Christ and His love, though often very weary with previous work. The man seemed indifferent and stupid. There was no indication that the visits were of any use. But he was dying, — dying, without hope, and Mr. Dodds could not bear the thought of leaving him so. At last the light broke, as Mr. Dodds tells in these verses. “The last time I saw him,” says a friend, “he could not speak much; but over and over again he said, ‘II m’ a embrasse,’ “— (he kissed me). The nurse mentioned that Mr. Dodds had kissed him before going to the country; and the old man could not forget this affection. He was not, however, called away in “chill October,” but lingered till December. “Yesterday,’’ says a friend,” with Miss Coldstream and Miss Mattheson, we walked behind the hearse as mourners. It was so strange to have the people in the streets looking at us. We walked for a mile and-a-half, and saw numbers pass by, making the sign of the cross and taking off their hats. In the cemetery Mr. Greig gave an account of the old man’s conversion; and quite a little congregation gathered round.” How glad would Mr. Dodds be to bid the old man welcome to the many mansions!

Then a little after he writes to his brother: —

“AUTEUIL, 22iid Ao’U^ 1882.

“Thanks for your post card. “We go at tke end of tke week to Le Buisson Luzas, Salbris, Loir et Cker. If you can send a newspaper from time to time I stall be glad, for I am deeply interested in tkis Egyptian war, more from a religious than a political point of view. Surely the day will come when ‘Blessed be Egypt my people ’ shall be fulfilled. The land of Mitzraim shall be remembered for having afforded a refuge to the Son of God from Herod’s wrath and jealousy. We may see strange things yet in the East.

“I ’11 be glad to get a rest, as I am very tired, — the work has been very heavy and exacting this past winter, spring, and summer. There is a very marked seriousness amongst the people, and a strong disposition to remain for after-meetings, when we can get hold of many who are otherwise difficult to reach. I know w-ell two women from the better class of society, who are, one of them the wife of a libre-penseur, who does not, I think, even know that she comes to the meeting; the other stays with her uncle, who is a priest in the most Catholic quarter of Paris. These people cannot be visited in their houses, although the wife of the libre-penseur sent me one day a request to call, telling me that her husband would be away all day. I went; she produced her Bible, and put many a question to me which showed that she knew her Bible far better than many a Protestant. Oh, these so-called ‘freethinkers ‘! I never saw men in such bondage, — such ignorant narrowness, such empty vanity and haughty conceit!

“Moody comes in October; I ’11 have to come back a day from Buisson to see him, as he preferred to see me on his return from Switzerland instead of stopping here on his way, which he intended to do. I ‘m very glad you got two or three days in the Highlands; I ‘d give anything for a breath of that air just now.

“Did I tell you that I published the banns of marriage one day on the stairs of the Scotch chapel for a fellow who was rather in distress? His marriage could not have been easily consummated in Scotland had I not done it. I had to use the English form, not remembering what the Scotch one was. Queer things a man has to do in this foreign land.”

I give a brief note to his beloved mother, almost

the last that he wrote: —

“24^/i Joi, 1882.

“Just one word to say I am so glad you got the fruit. I fear it was a little spoiled some of it, but the melon would be all right. I wish I could send one oftener.

“We are hang colder weather. Henry, it seems, is quite domesticated at Greystonelees; * it was not easy to part with him, but aunts and grandmother are determined to have their own way. Horace and Boz are counting the days before they go down to Buisson Luzas; they pronounce that name very well. It is five miles from any station.

“The French papers, at least some of them, are furious at us for the Egyptian war, as if we could have done anything else.

* His third son, Henry, whom he sometimes calls Comelivis, had been taken by his grandmamma to Berwickshire about this time, where we were during August for sea quarters. It was when there that we heard the sad tidings from Buisson, They are jealous of our influence in Egyt; the sooner that country is under a British protectorate the better. I ‘ve plenty to do and must shut up; I ’11 write from Buisson Luzas.”

The following, to myself, is, I believe, the very last letter he wrote, the night before leaving Paris: —

“25t/i AoOi.i, 1882. “I see there will be a great deficit in our funds this year unless money speedily comes in. We have drawn everything in Scotland; the most has come from the United States of America; there is about £400, if even that, in England, and nothing here but £40, so that for next rent day we shall have to draw the reserve. This state of matters clips our extension wings just now. I don’t feel discouraged, but one can’t help being anxious as to where the money will come from.... The work is exceedingly solemn and responsible just now; I know He is trying our faith. We all go to-morrow morning to Le Buisson; can you let us have a newspaper now and again to know how that Egyptian war goes on? I am deeply interested in it. You will hear soon from us from Le Buisson. Salute all from me, and my dear wee son.”

His last evening was a busy one, — the close of a busy day, in which he had been working, planning, arranging for his departure, and attending the Friday prayer meeting. He had been at Mr. M’AlFs house during a great part of the evening transacting Mission business, not parting from him till half-past one on the morning: of the 26th. He then came home, wrote letters, gathered his books and Ulfilas papers together, occupying thus the greater part of the night.

or rather morning. Little sleep, if any, for him that night, his last in Paris, though he knew it not!

Next day (Saturday) at half-past nine, the whole family (seven in number, including their French servant, the youngest being an infant of two months) left the “Orleans” station, in Paris, for Salbris, the village nearest their destination, which lies nearly seventy miles south of Paris. Here they arrived about one o’clock, and were met by a conveyance which was to take them the remaining five miles of their journey. Stopping here for an hour, they purchased all needful provision for their future wants, knowing that there was no nearer market-to wn. With this stock they loaded their rustic carriage, and set off for Buisson Luzas; reaching in safety the house which Mr. Cannan had kindly put at their disposal, about four o’clock.

The day had been fine, and the railway journey pleasant. They were all in good spirits, the children especially. The burdens of the city had been shaken off, and its bustle left behind. The long-looked-for rest was now coming into view. And to-morrow was the Sabbath! A Sabbath in the country, — perhaps to remind them of their own Scotland! No toiling through the hot streets with their open shops and noisy crowds. No tear and wear, either of body or of soul.

Jogging along over rough roads, and then over a

Buisson Luzas. 361

level moor, they soon found themselves at their new house, a dwelling which, though not all that could be desired for internal replenishments (as it had not been occupied for some time) was in many ways comfortable; its deficiencies drawing forth only a little merriment from its new occupiers. And had all gone well afterwards, — had sickness not come, and come so suddenly, — the discomforts would have been little thought of; and the complete solitude would rather have been acceptable in a time of health, especially after the noise of the city.*

“It looked very pleasant when we first arrived,” says Mrs. Dodds,” driving as we did, past Scotch firs with hundreds of turkeys sitting on and under them, — past fragrant fields of buckwheat in full blossom, and mingled with stretches of purple heather in richest flower. Every breeze seemed life, the quietness made still more delicious after the noise of Paris. We expected happy days there. The little house is neat and well built, facing the south. In front, grass and heather; to the right a little winding walk

* They had not had opportunity to inquire about the country before setting out. Mr. Dodds was busy, and when at last he went for a guide-book, bought that for the department of CAer, instead of that for Loir and Cher. The mistake is the more remarkable, because he was so singularly accurate in such details. There was no time to exchange or to inquire further; or perhaps the thought of going to that low-lying aguish province, might have frightened them; for Salbris is on the edge of the Sologne, or desert of France, among filbert trees, loaded with nuts. To the back are some fine oak trees, farther away, firs. It was a sweet, wild place, like a Scotch moor, only flat; not another house visible. “We had a good laugh on our way down at Ponceau, the old man who drove us, and his odd account of things. He and his wife (who was engaged to help us, if required) lived in the back part of the house, where was the kitchen, unfortunately only to be reached by going round the house, and not fully furnished with proper cooking utensils. This turned out to be a great evil when sickness came; though at first we had a good laugh over it, being content with a pot to boil meat in, and another for soup; and by roasting the potatoes on the ashes of the wood-fire we obviated the necessity of a third. We had bought provisions in passing Salbris, and thoroughly enjoyed the rough rye loaf, — so much sweeter than the town bread. We had not complete table furnishings; but as we knew that the house so kindly placed at our disposal had been unoccupied, we were content. As to the beds, we had been warned to bring more covers, and perhaps a mattress, but we had not brought much, as we did not feel the need of it, and never enjoyed better nights’ rest than the first two we spent there.”

I had written more letters than one in the months of July and August to him, entreating him to lay

B 2ns son Ltizas. 363

aside entirely for a season his Paris burdens and worries, which I saw were becoming too severe for him. He had found some difficulty in breaking off; but at last he wrote to me on the 22nd of August, telling me that the day was fixed, — giving also the full address, and adding: “Even in the midst of all the work here I have quiet times; almost always in the morning, and very often in the afternoon; and these inquiry-meetings are seasons of repose to me after the day’s work.” I answered on the following day, that my letter might reach in good time, to the following effect: — “I send this to your country retreat, thinking that it will reach you about the same time as you yourselves arrive. I hope that it is really the country, really a ’ retreat ’ — a place apart. The brain needs quiet, otherwise it must suffer in the long-run. You don’t know how often we talk about you all, young and old. Let me give you a motto or watchword for your solitude — Exod. xxxiii. 18 — Moses’ cry in the wilderness, the summing up of all he wanted, and its correspondence with John xvii. 24. In Exodus, God points Moses to ’ a place by Me,’ a cleft in the rock, and the Lord prays that we may be WITH Him where He is, that we may behold His glory. May Buisson Luzas be ’ the place by Me,’ the cleft of the rock to you and yours, ’ where you shall behold His glory.’”

Along with this I wrote a few verses, which I thought might suit the solitary missionary, seeking refreshment, yet longing for restoration to his beloved work. I entitled it “My Holiday,” or the “Hymn of a Christian Worker,” adding two texts, “Sit ye here while I go and pray yonder;” ... “I was in the isle that is called Patmos.”

Stay, stay behind me, my too busy thoughts,
Whilst I go yonder for a little while;

Nay, do not follow me; let me forget
My city-stir, and fret, and heat, and toil.

Tarry behind me; vex me, touch me not, Ye endless aches of heart, and brow, and brain;

Vanish, like mist, each scene that would recall My vision to the crowd and street again.

Pursue me not; but let me calmly go

To the retirement which the Master sought:

Set free from all that would encumber me,
Or mar the sweetness of the heavenly thought.

Get thee behind me now, thou tempter dark,
Prompter of all my earth-begotten cares;

Begone, begone, old fowler, from the pit.
With all thy fowler’s hell-begotten snares.

The stillness of the closet’s stillest hush,
The lonely silence of the lonely wood;

The stream, the cliff, the plain, the dusky moor Shall furnish me with fruitful solitude.

Btiisson Lttzas. 365

Tarry behind me for a season, then,

Beloved workers for this needy land;
I go that I may find in gentle rest

New fitness for the work so dear and grand.

Tarry behind; leave me, dear friends, alone,
Companions of my days and nights of toil;

I shall return to you, refreshed and calm, — Leave me alone with God, alone a while.

I would return to work with you on earth;

The health of my whole man revived, restored;
Again to labour with you side by side.

In the one vineyard of cur common Lord.

From quiet weeks of solitude and prayer.
Of converse with the High and Holy One,

“Whose work with these poor hands we seek to do, I would return to you a holier man.

Help me, my comrades on the harvest-field;

Help me, companions in the holy war, — That in the eternal firmament I may

Shine with the brightness of no common star.

“We had a short walk on Saturday night,” Mrs. Dodds writes. “I cannot remember if he was any distance on Sunday, though I remember his pulling grapes from the front of the house. I was out a good deal with the children in the forenoon, under the oaks. In the afternoon, while we were resting, the nurse went about with the children, and brought mushrooms home in her handkerchief. She said that they were exactly the kind which she had been accustomed to eat in her own part of the country; but she brought them for us to examine. Mr.Dodds looked over them all carefully, every one, throwing out two or three of which he was not sure. He said he knew the sort well. Next morning we took a short walk to the adjoining vineyard, and came back across the deep heather. I remember feeling a little afraid, from having heard that there were vipers here of a bad sort; but I felt strangely confident that God was with us, and would let no evil thing befall us. We got back, probably before mid-day rather than after it, and ate the cooked mushrooms with other things. Not till twelve hours afterdid we feel the slightest indication of illness. I had much unpacking to do. He was very weary, and the racking headache which he had brought with him from Paris showed no signs of yielding. He rested on the sofa, reading most of the two days, except when he went out for a little air. I cannot help associating that headache, not only with overwork and want of sleep, but with the bad air of the crowded salles of August. It seems as if poison from their air had already entered into a system at all times terribly susceptible. This seems to have been partly the reason of his being the only one who sank under the poison, which in itself, it appears, was not of a very deadly kind. Any really fatal dose would have acted within two hours instead of twelve. Coupling this with his accurate botanical knowledge, it is clear that it was not toadstools that were eaten but bad mushrooms.* By reason of his previous exhaustion and loss of appetite, any irritating substance might have produced the same effect. He had been working to the very verge of serious danger; only, we felt that as God had sent the work, and as there was no one else to do what must be done. He would carry him through.

“That evening (Monday) we took tea early and took a walk afterwards. The father led his two little boys back, one on each side, for the last time. We proposed hot water for his feet as a remedy for his headache, and he rested on the sofa afterwards, while I was busy ranging out a drawer in the room beside him, and afterwards reading to him. Then I went to bed, but before he could follow he was taken violently ill, each attack of sickness occasioning fearful pain. I got the servant up and had a fire lighted and water warmed, thus doing what we could. I began to be ill about an hour after this, but neither I nor the servant were stricken as he was, nor incapacitated from attending to him. He complained of cramps and of cold, and I felt terribly alarmed, but did not as

* It seems that the soil on which mushrooms grow has the power of somewhat altering their qualities.

yet feel sure as to the real cause. Ponceau went for the doctor early in the morning, but it was afternoon before he arrived. During this time we felt better, and I ceased to be alarmed about Mr. Dodds, except that, knowing his exhausted state, I dreaded evil from weakness. When Dr. Jourdain came, weak as the sufferer was, his first question was, “Shall I be able to go back to Paris to see Mr. Moody in the end of the week?” The doctor gave a cheerful but evasive answer; I do not know what he really thought. That night (Tuesday) the nurse felt unable to rise, but Madame Ponceau came up twice and did what was needed. She was kind, but her cooking lacked cleanliness, and we thought that it was this that foiled our attempts to take food. There was plenty of milk; he took it but did not retain it. On Wednesday two servants were sent from an English gentleman in the neighbourhood, and the two little boys were taken to his house for the day. There were plenty of hands to help, only a directing head was wanting, for I was getting terribly weak by this time. I thought that beef tea was what was wanted; but no one knew how to make it. Seeing that milk did not agree with him, I got oatmeal brought up, and with my spirit lamp and pan made very thin gruel, which we both took, but did not retain. He had moved into the next room by this time, so I had not only to keep awake in order to boil the gruel, but to carry it to him each time. This went on all night. My head must have been greatly confused; for I have no very distinct recollection of these hours. I was anxious, too, about baby, who was in another room; and hearing him cry, I went to him, but could not lift him up; so I lay down beside him.

“On Thursday morning the doctor came, and a servant from the other house (about two miles off), so we were not left alone for any length of time. But I remember nothing clearly, and, when Miss Mattheson and Dr. Darcus came, I seemed to resign everything into their hands with a feeling of relief. All this watching, and the anxiety, not only about my husband, but my baby, whom I was nursing, increased my own illness; but that I could stand it so far is a proof that the poison was not fatal. The nurse, though suffering much, managed to rise and get the children their food, though having to lie down again. How the poor baby lived I do not know. I know nothing of the subsequent days till Sunday, when I awoke from delirium to dreadful anxiety about him, which those about me tried to allay. He was in the other room, the door open between us; so I sometimes saw him raise his hand. On Wednesday, 6th September, we changed rooms, and I saw him

2b a little, morning and evening, but was awfully startled at his appearance that day. We wanted him to stay in the nicer and more comfortable room; but he did not like it, for some reason or other, and so returned to his old place. On Thursday I lay on the couch in the same room with him, and often could bathe his brow and do little things, but my hand was so shaky and my head still so wandering that I felt afraid of making some mistake; so I could do little. I feared to ask him to speak, on account of the pain it gave him, and he never did so, except to ask for what he wanted, and once he whispered, * Pray for more strength.’”

He was not in the least unconscious all this time, though totally prostrate. The little boys came into his room every morning, and he kissed them. Once when one of them was rather noisy outside the house, he called out to him from his bed, as the window was open, very much in his old natural voice, and was instantly obeyed, as he always was by his children.

He seems to have somewhat realised his danger, though not to the full extent. His thoughts were about his work and the prospect of his being able soon to resume it, as if he had forgotten that he had come to this solitude for rest. But his weakness was extreme, so that, though the poison had been got rid of, he was unable to rally. The system was giving way, and the inability to take support of any kind, solid or liquid, without extreme pain, made the case a very difficult one to treat.

On Tuesday, the day after he was taken ill, it had been proposed to ask Miss Matthesonto come to their help from Paris, and to bring with her the physician of the Mission. As, however, no serious alarm had yet been felt, and as both were rather better that day, they waited till Wednesday. Feeling no better then, they telegraphed for her, though neither of the two sick ones was very able even to draw up a telegram, and there was no one else in the house that could write! Mr. Dodds, however, managed to do it. Miss M. was out when the telegram reached Paris, and could not start till next morning. This she did, and arrived on the afternoon of Thursday, bringing the doctor with her, and some needed comforts as well as medicines. Their arrival was like that of two messengers from heaven. Each of the three inmates lay prostrate, incapable of giving help to each other. Two servants had been kindly sent from Mr. David Cannan’s (about two miles off) in the forenoon to render them any requisite service; but they had left, and the sufferers were lying in solitude, each in separate rooms, waiting for the arrival of their friends from Paris. The relief afforded by their arrival was unspeakable; and the assiduous tenderness of the subsequent nursing, amid difficulties and discomforts.

is something never to be forgotten. It was a “cup of cold water” indeed.

Details of the following ten days and nights of suffering, till the final relief came, are not necessary. He was conscious to the last, though unable to speak. This “valley of the shadow of death,” through which he was passing, was a strange one, — a valley of sadness and silence and mystery. His strength was gone, his lips were sealed, just at the very time when he would have desired to send “last messages” to his friends and to his beloved ouvriers. His thoughts towards them remained unspoken. No farewells were permitted to be given. They who loved him must imagine for themselves the affection that was pent up within him, unable to get vent to itself in these days of restlessness, pain, and solitude.

I give Miss Mattheson’s touching narrative, written a few days after his death, or the 14th September: —

“On arriving at Le Buisson on Thursday, 31st August, 1882, we found Mr. Dodds, Mrs. Dodds, and the bonne all very ill.

“Mr. Dodds received us, saying, ‘The Lord has brought us very low; how good of you to come.’ He was then so weak and cold, and his voice quite gone. The next few days he rallied a little, and was able to take some nourishment.

“On Friday he remembered the workers’ prayer meeting in Paris, and that prayer would be made for them.

“Mrs. Dodds was still ill and unable to nurse him. One day he asked what the doctor’s opinion was. On hearing he had good hopes of his recovery, he received it in silence, as if he did not think it could be true.

Fallen in the Breach. 373

“He suffered very much all the tune from pain and restlessness and sickness, but never a murmur escaped him.

“On Wednesday, the 6th September, in the evening, he said he did not think he could live through the night, he felt so weak. He frequently said he was sorry to give so much trouble.

“On Thursday, when reading part of Isaiah xxxii., sent as a message by Mrs. Bonar to Mr. Dodds, when we came to the words * quiet resting-places’ in the 18th verse, he said ‘That’s just for me.’

“He did not speak much, even of the work he loved so well. He was calm and silent, and seemed to have laid every burden down. We felt so sure that all was well with him we did not like to trouble him with questions. Kemarking to him one day how strangely different this resting-time was from what he had anticipated, he answered, * The Lord is teaching me so much.’

“On Friday haemorrhage came on, and the restlessness was very distressing till within two hours of the end.

“On Saturday afternoon I asked him if all was peace. For a moment there was a look of pain as if he was thinking of all he must leave, but when I added ’ perfect peace in Jesus,’ he assented with a radiant smile.

“The end was peace. Without a struggle he fell asleep in Jesus at half-past six on Saturday evening, the 9th September.

“The French doctor, who attended him, was deeply interested in him, and in the little he heard of his life work. He said of him, ‘C’est un soldat tombe a la breche,” He is a soldier fallen in the breach.’”

We in Scotland had heard nothing of the illness for nearly a week after the arrival at Buisson. There was no one to write; and besides, we were out of town.

The same letter that first told us of the illness gave the assurance that the worst was over. And so it would have been had his system been equal to the strain. For he may be said to have thrown off the poison; but, under the weakening effects of it, his strength gave way, acute internal irritation (gastroenteritis) supervening, occasioning much pain and restlessness, as well as inability to swallow.

The post-cards which reached us from day to day, written by the kind hand of Miss Mattheson, were re-assuring even to the last, when the telegram announcing his death came with a most unexpected blow upon us on the follomng Monday (the 11th), living as we were at the time some fifty miles out of Edinburgh. The telegram reached Lochee on Sabbath (the 10th), just as afternoon service was beginning, and Mr. Dodds had entered the pulpit.

Miss Coldstream had set off from Edinburgh in the beginning of the week, and reached Buisson on Wednesday. Her arrival greatly cheered the invalids. Weak as he was Mr. Dodds felt her kindness exceedingly. The doctor had not yet given him up, and the two loving nurses watched him day and night, in hope to the very last. Miss Coldstream’s account of the last few days is painfully interesting: —

“How Miss M. got through the first six days with the suffering ones it is difficult to imagine. Mr. Dodds at the lowest; Mrs. Dodds delirious for two days; the

The Deathbed. 375

bonne hardly able to walk, and the four little children to be cared for. But daily strength was given; and on the Monday a Swiss servant was sent from Paris, who proved the greatest comfort throughout the following week. I followed on Wednesday. Mr. Dodds received me, saying, * How kind of you to come; I wish we could give you a better welcome.’ This was the longest sentence I heard him say. He was very silent. It seemed as if all his strength was needed to endure, and be patient. Not a murmur escaped his lips. The doctor gave us hope to the end, though I believe he really did give him up when haemorrhage began on Friday, the 8th. We took turns in nursing; but that night we sat up together most of the time. Mrs. Dodds was not fit for nursing, though she was able to sit by her husband for a little while at a time. His restlessness was distressing, and demanded constant change from bed to a couch placed close to him. We bathed his face and hands from time to time, and gave spoonfuls of beef-tea and milk, and latterly champagne. But it became more and more painful for him to swallow. At four on Saturday, the 9th, the doctor came for his daily visit, — the longingly watched-for moment of the day; he was so kind and considerate, and always spent about an hour with us. He brought ice with him, which we would fain have had twenty-four hours sooner. Mr. Dodds seemed to like it; and the doctor advised putting more covering on him, and hot bottles to his feet. He told us of one who had been worse, and was now well, altogether cheering us. I persuaded Miss M. to come out for a quarter of an hour while Mrs. Dodds was with him; and we had our first quiet tea together. Just as we finished, Mrs. Dodds called us; and a glance at the face on the pillow showed us that our hopes were disappointed. “We wet his lips with champagne; but saw that all power to take nourishment was gone. So we knelt beside the poor little bed, and committed the parting soul to God. Not a sigh, not a struggle; we hardly knew the moment of the last breath. I led Mrs. Dodds into a quiet room, and she lay down quite calmly. We then closed his eyes, and did the little things we could while dear good Ida ran to get help at the nearest cottage. The sun was just setting; and it was dark before help came. The dear babes slept soundly that evening. I wrote out the telegrams, five of them, and wrote also to the doctor. At nine Ida and the farm-servant set off in the cart to Salbris, five miles off, to convey the intelligence, and give necessary orders. We lay down and slept a few hours. At four Ida returned and told us that Dr. Jourdain would come in the morning. It was so strange, — that Sunday morning! Our work seemed done; and we were thankful of the lovely day and perfect quiet of the beautiful country to rest and calm us.

Return from Buisson. 377

“The coffin arrived at midnight; and Miss M. had to rise with Ida. Before the sad duty of laying the body in the coffin, she held a little service in the * wee ’ sitting-room with the six men who came to help; and she gave them * ^vangiles ’ at the close. At five A.M. Mr. Greig arrived on foot from Salbris. It was arranged that we should leave that night at five. It took us every moment of our time to prepare, and Mrs. Dodds was quite helpless. But a Countess Delanbourg, a Roman Catholic, who had occasionally called, came twice that day, and brought flowers for the coffin, which was so simple (unpolished oak raised in the centre), and was beside us in the parlour all the day when we packed. The sunbeams coming in at the open door and falling across the lovely flowers, seemed to speak of glory begun for the weary soldier. At one, a garde-chasse (gamekeeper) was sent with two little cooked partridges for our dinner. Then Madame Delanbourg reappeared to help us off. Her brother’s carts took the luggage, and we, — that is, Mrs. Dodds, Miss M., Ida, and two babies (the two elder boys had been sent off on Saturday to Versailles, and one was in Scotland), and I occupied the one spring- cart, along a weary drive of five miles over a rough road.* At eight we left Salbris,

* Mr. Greig went down to fetch the remains on Tuesday. I extract from the Quarterly Record of the Mission, Mr. Greig’s brief account of his return with the remains: — “As the conveyance bearing and got to Paris at 2 A.M. Tuesday morning. The funeral service was in the Oratoire on Thursday. A large assembly of rich and poor, — hundreds of the poor people of the ‘Eeunions ’ being there. At three M. Monod, followed by the pastors and the chief mourners, entered by the vestry. Miss M. led little Horace, and I Boswall; each had a lovely bouquet to lay on the cofiBn. It was on an erection in the centre of the church, covered by a black and silver pall, and we sat around it. M. Monod gave a beautiful address, telling the story of Mr. Dodds’ coming to Paris, and of his last days. Mr. Hitchcock and Mr. Muir of Dalmeny took part in the service. At the grave M. Appia and M. Monod again read, and spoke a few words; and we joined in singing ‘For ever with the Lord ’ in French.”

The scene was sadly touching in all its accompanithe cojQ&n turned off the dreary moor amid whose purple solitudes he had gathered his death, the sun, all hidden behind an envious mist, burst forth gloriously ere it set, and flooded with radiance the livid stretch of heathery sand.... The twelve hundred mourners at the Oratoire, the phalanx of fellow-workers and fellow-pastors who bore him to his grave, the hushed silence that fell upon salle after salle as the mournful news was announced, all bore witness to the deep and genuine impression which his dauntless witness -bearing had stamped on the Parisian heart. And from his grave in the little Passy cemetery where he sleeps the warrior’s hard-earned sleep, the watcher for the dawn of France’s Gospel liberty looks out over gay Paris spread beneath his feet, and cries, ’ 0 thou sword of the Lord, how long will it be ere thou be quiet? put up thyself into thy scabbard, rest, and be still!”

FttneraL 379

ments; the church, the audience, the hymn, the addresses, the prayers, the tears of the converts; and that which perhaps was only seen by a few, little Boswall playing with the flowers, after he had laid them on his father’s bier, in child-like unconsciousness of his loss.

Hearing of all this we are troubled. Wondering at the sorrowful scene we ask, Is this the end? Or is it but the beginning? Is this death the forerunner of life? Is that grave the herald of resurrection to France?

From the Oratoire the mourning company proceeded to Passy Cemetery, near Auteuil (close by the Trocadero), the south-west suburb of the city, in which Mr. Dodds had for some time resided. The scene at the grave was no less affecting than that in the Church; and some of the men em23loyed in lowering the body into the grave wept as they remembered him for whom they were now doing the last earthly office.

In the Daily Revieiu of 18th September Mr.

Affleck, of Auchtermuchty, who was present, thus

narrates the proceedings: —

“About three weeks ago, when on my way to Switzerland, I attended along with my brother a meeting in the hall Rue de la Tacherie, Rue de Rivoli, in some respects the chief of the stations of the Mission. The meeting was quite full of working people of both sexes, and was presided over and admirably con-

380 Memoir of Rau. G. T. Dodds.

ducted by Mr. Dodds. A number of infidels were present and disposed to be troublesome, but Mr. Dodds bravely faced and soon silenced them. He delivered an eloquent address on courage, explaining what it is, and showing that the Christian is the man of true courage. I thought he was a good embodiment of his subject. His address was delivered with great power, animation, readiness of illustration, and was most evangelical. He showed a wonderful facility in the use of French. He afterwards conducted a Bible class, going over with a number of them the passage in Ephesians vi., about the whole armour of God. He told me many of the people were so ignorant they had to teach them in the simplest way, and to give them the pages in the Bible, as they did not know where to find the various books. I had some conversation with him about the progress of the work, of which he was full of hope. He impressed me as a consecrated man, and I left the meeting with the feeling that in him God had raised up one of high promise for the advancement of His caiase here. Little did I think our first conversation was to be the last. This must have been one of the last meetings he addressed, as two days after he left Paris for a few weeks’ much-needed repose in the country, at Buisson Luzas, where the sad fatality befell that has so prematurely cut short his hopeful career.” The funeral service was held in the Temple de I’Oratoire du Louvre this afternoon. Besides the chief mourners, the Kev. Mr. M’AU and many of the stajff of the Mission, many French pastors and other Protestants, and a large number of the people of the various mission stations where the deceased had laboured, were present. Indeed, the large church was filled, and by a sympathetic and deeply affected audience. The coffin was brought into the church, and the services were as was fitting, conducted in the French manner. They were most appropriate and impressive throughout, but I can only give a very brief account of them. After introductory services and a brief address by a pastor, a plaintive hymn was sung.

Funeral. 381

the closing lines of which reminded us that he was not lost but gone before. Pastor Theodore Monod then ascended the pulpit, and delivered a beautiful and touching address. He told us that the disaster has arisen from no recklessness on the part of the deceased; for he had twice examined the mushrooms before they were eaten, and the servant also had examined them. He told us that he died in perfect peace, with a radiant smile, relying on that Saviour he had so earnestly preached to others. He pointed out that he had finished his brief ministry at about the same age (32) as our Saviour Himself. He quoted the words of the country doctor that he has fallen like a soldier in the breach; and affectionately addressed the mourning relatives, Mr. M’AU, and the other workers of the Mission and the people of the various stations, exhorting the latter, in the name of Mr. Dodds, to decide for Christ. The Rev. Mr. Hitchcock, minister of the American Chapel, followed with a most fitting tribute in English, and the Rev. E. H. Muir, of Dalmeny, closed with an impressive prayer. The long funeral procession then proceeded by the Eue de Eivoli and the Place de la Concorde, and the back of the Trocadero, to the cemetery at Passy. The coffin was surrounded by bouquets of beautiful flowers. The people of the Mission, to the number of several hundreds, followed all the long distance on foot, many of them sacrificing a day’s wages they could ill afford to lose to show their sorrow for the loss of one who had loved them so well. As the sad procession passed along every head in the busy streets was uncovered. At the grave the Rev. Messrs. Monod and Cook again conducted a brief service, and Pastor Hocart, of the French Wesleyan church, delivered an address full of Christian consolation. The relatives present were Mr. Dodds’ father, his two little sons, his brother, and his brother-in-law. The services at the grave were closed by singing ‘Pour toujours avec lui,’ the French version of ‘For ever with the Lord.’ Here again, as in the church, many were in tears. It has never

382 Memoir of Rev. G. 7! Dodds.

been my lot to attend a funeral where the grief was so evident and so general. Yet he was laid in the dust not with the sorrow of those who have no hope. A strain of Christian faith and hoye pervaded the services and helped to cheer our hearts. We lingered, as unwilling to depart, and night was falling when we left the cemetery.

“Scotland gave a noble son to France in Mr. Dodds. And now she can best honour his memory by caring more than ever for the work to which he gave himself and for which he died. He wore himself out in the evangelisation of France, addressing in French, English, and German as many as eight meetings a- week; for he saw so much to be done and so few to do it. Even in private intercourse he spoke of his work rather than of anything else. Will not some noble-hearted young men feel stirred up to step forward and occupy the place of this gallant soldier of the cross? From all we know of him we have lost this is the result of his death that would have pleased him best. There is a great field here for Christian workers, and partly in the hope that some may be led to turn their attention to it, I have penned these hasty and imperfect lines, only regretting that they are not more worthy of him whose early and unexpected removal has been the sad occasion of them.”

There were no “last words” in the usual sense; no dying testimony. His strength was gone. He could not speak. He could only give his assent to the words of faith addressed to him. But his life was the true testimony; and his believing labour during the past five years was enough to show his consecration of spirit to the Master and His work. Nothing more was needed.

Thoughts in the Valley, 383

Some who loved him, and who knew that his whole heart was in his work, could not help asking them-. selves, — would it not have cost him a bitter pang if he had known that he was about to leave it, and to leave it so soon? Would he have been willing to exchange his hard but hapj)y life-work for his Master, even to depart and be with Him? Would he not have said, had the choice been given him, “I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better: nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you” (Phil. i. 23). But the choice was not given. The future, though so very near, was hidden from him; yet even amid his prostration of body and spirit, he had perhaps the solemn but quiet presentiment of a speedy departure, and was enabled to cast himself, his family, his beloved ouvriers, and his whole work upon the Lord. What passed within him in these silent days of utter helplessness, when all his strength was needed to enable him to endure pain, we know not. But what we know not now we shall know hereafter; when the mysteries of that strange and lonely deathbed, — that premature departure, — shall be made known to us; and he himself shall tell us what thoughts were passing through his mind as he lay tossing in weariness from day to day, unable to utter either his joy or his sorrow. “I am learning many lessons” is an expression which occurs once and again in his letters; and it came up again on his deathbed; being one of the few low utterances that were audible. He could not speak out to tell what the lessons were, but he was learning them to the last, and listening to “the still small voice” of the Comforter, when incapable of hearing any other. A glimpse of what, perhaps, was passing through him we get in the following letter from a young friend who worked with him in the previous spring: — ‘•’ Do you know that the last Sunday that I walked with Mr. Dodds to the Grenelle hall we talked of nothing all the way but of going to be with Christ.

He began the subject, saying suddenly, ‘Miss

do you think about dying as much as ever?” I said yes, because I thought it must be far better than living; and I added something which made him smile. ‘You must not ’ (he said) ’ allow yourself to be carried away by your fancies too much; still, I do think that none of us realises the glory that is before us.’ I asked. What does glory mean? and he answered, ‘That which will perfectly satisfy.’ Then came a question, — perhaps I ought not to have asked it, but I could not help it, — ‘Mr. Dodds, do you mean that you would like to die? ’ ‘I should like to do God’s will,’ he answered. ‘Yes; but supposing it was God’s will for you to die? ’ * Then I

Hopes arid Prospects. 385

should indeed be rejoiced.’ His face was all lighted up, I remember, as he said this; and selfishly enough I cried out, ‘Oh, I hope you won’t though.’”

This was a rare instance in which he spoke of death; though he often spoke of the Lord’s coming. He had no morbid wish for the grave, nor presentiment of early death. Rather were all his plans and anticipations those of one looking forward to long life and usefulness. Perhaps he would have been less surprised had these plans been cut short by the Lord’s coming, than in the way they were.

The same friend continues: — “The first time I ventured to tell him about what I felt, and to ask him questions, he said: ‘I think we ought to rejoice in the thought of the Lord’s coming; I like to wait and watch.” Then, if you rejoice at the thought of Christ’s coming to you, don’t you rejoice at the thought of your going to Christ?’ He replied, ‘You mean death. The Bible does not speak so much of that. But in either case, we shall be with Christ, and that is the chief thing.’”

Many will remember the last meetings in the

summer of 1882. They were remarkable.” I go to

Crenelle” (writes a worker a year afterwards), “every

Sunday night. The meeting is smaller now than it

used to be; but, oh, it is good to see some of those

who decided for Christ last year, so steadfast and so

’ 2 c happy.” But several have already gone up to join their teacher: not only the old man at Gare d’lvry, and the children’s friend, Madame Tamajo, but others * Yet most, of course, still remain here, and speak in tears of their love and their loss. “One nice man,” writes Miss C, “told us with tears he had lost his best friend; that he had never loved any one as he loved Mr. Dodds. This was the man whom Mr. Dodds visited that last Saturday night at Grenelle.” And some months after Mr. M’All writes: —” I was at Grenelle last Thursday. At the close of the meeting one and another came round me to speak of him with the tenderest affection. One of them, a tall, stalwart, well-dressed workman, came up with his wife. The wife traced her conversion to the meetings of Lord Radstock. The husband said, with the deepest feeling, ‘Mr. Dodds was my spiritual father; I shall never, never forget him.’ I believe this man

* Later on (14th July, 1883) Miss M. writes: — “Some over whom we rejoiced last summer have been called home, — two poor women at Grenelle, and Madame Vignon, the tall widow at St. Honord, who never would give her address. She lived near St. Philippe de Roule, and all her family were in the church, but you know she never missed being at St. Honord for months last year.”

And another writes also: — “A Grenelle woman told me she had been incrhdule, but that ‘Cher Monsieur Dodds ’ had made her see everything differently, that now she knew that her sins were pardoned; and she ended so sweetly, * Ah je I’ai beau coup pleurd’”

The Oratoire Gatherings. ^i”]

was one of those at Grenelle who received Christ during the last days in which our dear departed one worked there, just before he left for Salbris.”

As Mr. Moody’s visit to Paris was one of the last things of which Mr. Dodds spoke when he was laid prostrate, I may here add a few sentences regarding it — -though, in doing so, I am anticipating a little. It took place just about a month after Mr. Dodds’ death. Mr. Dodds had hoped to be at these gatherings; though I doubt whether, even if he had been spared, his strength would have been equal to the strain. Some movement that would draw English, American, and French Christians together, uniting them in one earnest effort that would tell, not on Paris only, but on all France; — this was what his heart was set upon. But this was what he was denied. How much he would have rejoiced in the immense gatherings in the Oratoire, and still more in joining the song of the multitude night after night, — we may imagine. How eagerly and wisely he would have ministered to the inquirers that flocked around, telling them the good news in his own terse and explicit way, and patiently answering all their questions and doubts, we may conceive. But at present all that is hidden from us.

The following account is from a letter of one of the workers, dated 23rd October, 1882: — - “Paris, 23rcZ October, 1882.

“The last fortnight, as you know, was ‘Moody and Sankey fortnight,’ three meetings a-day, besides two after-meetings, and rushes down to our ’ parishes ’ to get up French or English audiences, and various other matters between keep us all frightfully busy till near midnight,

“Moody was doubtful at first about the French meetings, and did not like to be translated; but after the two days of trial he went on for a week, and was so delighted with the enthusiasm of the French especially that he declared he would have, if young, given his life to France.

“I watched the 5000 crammed into the old church of the Oratoire, — queer old place, — and yesterday (Sunday) every seat and available standing room was filled; for some time the people refusing to leave. Mr. Moody said he had never seen such an audience, — they would not go home, and he almost thought of beginning another sermon. It was grand to hear the swelling ‘Hallelujah! what a Saviour!” Hallelujah! quel bon Sauveur! ’ taken up in English and French together as the chorus, and so on with other hymns. It was strange, but touching and remarkable, that the platform of the choir led by Sankey was placed exactly over the last resting-place on earth of dear Mr. Dodds. His coffin stood there during the funeral service, and the songs of triumph seem to rise with his spirit from that spot in the centre of the hall.

“Workmen and others from most of the M’All halls were there, and joined heartily in the singing; indeed, but for them the choir alone would have sung; but the general way in which the singing was taken up in French, showed the numbers who came from the M’All reunions. Many received blessing and conversion, or assurance they had not enjoyed before, and the effect on the pastors, evangelists, Protestants, and Catholics, seemed very great, quite a stir in many quarters. There were many of the upper classes present, and conversions

The Oratoii-e Gatherings. 389

ir !,,7 — ‘^°;’»>^f“g-i-o°m left-with English and French M. Thfodore Monod translated exceedingly well.”

Here is another —

<,.. ^,” Paris, 24(A OdoUr.

As night after night we stood or sat in that great assembly m the grand old church of the Oratoire, wher Tfew w“e”’ ago we mourned for hin. who has been taken from us llod not help thinking of life from the dead .■ and how, thought sorely missed here, as many testified in these grank meeting he was rejoicing in this reaping time. On the very spot where the coffin rested, on the 14th September, a dear woman of St. Honors, for whom Mr. Dodds had prayed specially told usaatshe had found the Saviour :< A[ trou’vTmlet ant She said Mr. Dodds had helped her so much. It was good to see her peace and joy.

“It was most touching to hear the whole assembly join in

he chorus: ‘Take me as I am,’ ‘Prends moi tel que j suis”

n bo h languages, then separately. ‘All the English!’ now

AH the French!’ Mr. Moody by this time, strnding on a

char right m the middle of the church, keeping timt with

both hands, his countenance beaming with joy. Vou wou d

have rejoiced to see R^veillaud, Hirsch, Meyer, Cooke, al o

beaming and joimng heart and soul in the Refrain ;h e

exchanging glances of satisfaction and wonder. It was a scene

never to be forgotten, and such as the stately old church Z

never witnessed before. That night, however, the crowl

night when there was a great deal of personal dealing.”

A Single sentence more as to these pecuKar scenes; — “On the platform where the coflBn had rested, the choir stood and sang praise, during those meetings, and there the anxious ones came forward to be spoken to. Two sisters, well-dressed, were seen sitting on the step weeping bitterly. * Are you weeping for your sins V said a worker. ‘Oh no — they are pardoned. We are weeping at the thought of dear Mr. Dodds.’ ‘Was it by his means you were brought to Christ]’ ‘We have attended the Grenelle meeting regularly, and helped the singing, ever since he used to go there, but it was his death that brought us to Christ.’”

The marble monument subsequently erected by the subscriptions of more than a thousand of his-Paris ouvriers is a testimony to their affection. The little Passy cemetery in which it stands will be visited by many from other lands who knew and loved him personally; as also by the many more who, though not knowing himself, knew his work. Many Continental cemeteries contain the ashes of Scotchmen, — Leghorn, Rome, Clarens, Geneva. Here is another. The Scot has been “abroad” in more ways than one, and for more services than one. Here is a spot which he occupies with singular honour. Of such sons Scotland has no reason to be ashamed. In monuments like these she may truly rejoice. The “Monumentum sere perennius” is to be found in his self-denying work among the poor. Number up the stations throughout France; number up, if you can, the souls gathered in; number up, if you can, the blessings which have been poured upon his memory

Memorial Servians and Letters. 391

from the loving ouvriers whom he led out of unbelief into faith, out of darkness into light; and then say, “Si monumentum quseris circumspice.”

But I return to the narrative. The scene in the Oratoire will not soon be forgotten. The procession of humble ouvriers through the streets of Paris has told upon many. The inscription on the marble tombstone has been read by many, and will be read by many more. The tears shed over his grave will bear witness to the affection with which he was regarded. The whole array of events and circumstances, both of his life and death, — so singular and sad, — so out of the common beat, — will perpetuate his memory and make spectators ask, some in faith and some in despondency, Why was it thus? So, doubtless, reasoned and mourned the disciples over the Baptist’s early grave. Yet no sooner was he taken than twelve were sent out to preach the Gospel, and to lift up the standard that had dropped from his hand.

On the following Sabbath, Dr. Masson, of Edinburgh, preached in the Scotch Church, and gave a loving testimony to the character of his departed fellow-countryman. Dr. Masson was among the first that called attention to the M’All Mission, some eight or nine years ago, in a long and most graphic letter to the editor of the Scotsman; and he has all along manifested his interest in the work. The funeral sermon for Mr. Dodds came very appropriately from his lips.

Mr. Campbell, of Aberdeen, for some time labouring in Paris as Scotch minister, took a deep interest in the work, and wrote most touchingly concerning the death of one to whom he was deeply attached, and who, I have good reason to know, was no less deeply attached to him. Let me give part of his letters to one of the Aberdeen journals: —

“He threw himself into the work with extraordinary enthusiasm, though his enthusiasm was always directed by a singularly clear, calm, cool judgment. In a very short time he acquired such a knowledge of the French language that he could speak it with the greatest fluency, showing a perfect mastery both of its perplexing idioms and subtle accent. While devoting his chief energy to the special work of the M’All Mission in Paris, he made his influence to be felt by all the Protestant Churches of France, many of whose clergy would, I know, gladly acknowledge how much they have owed to his sage counsels and the contagion of his Christian zeal.

“Mr. Dodds combined in a degree rarely to be met with breadth of view and intensity of conviction. He himself had a clear vision of the truth — he himself stood upon a rock, but none were more kindly, more sympathetic in dealing, as few were better qualified to deal, with those who were still groping — still tempest tossed. His power of work was amazing. The work he crowded into his day made it difficult often to believe that his day had only twenty-four hours in it, like other people’s. Yet, however busy he was — and he could not be but busy; with one meeting at least every day, except Saturday, often two, always three on Sunday, a vast correspondence, the principal charge after Mr. M’All of all the Mission stations in Paris and its immediate neighbourhood (there are nearly forty of them), a magazine to edit, and much other literary work — he always found time to spare to enter with the keenest interest into all that interested his friends, and, if they were in trouble, to help them. For the English-speaking ministers in Paris, it somehow seemed the most natural thing in the world when they were in any difficulty, wanting some one to lecture or some one to preach, to apply to Mr. Dodds. He never failed them. Whatever his own burden might be, he could always take a lift — a good lift — of his neighbour’s burden.

“He will be greatly missed in Paris; he will be missed by the whole Anglo-American community, by whom he was universally respected and beloved; he will be especially missed by the members of the Scotch Church, where he himself worshipped and often officiated both as minister and elder; he will be missed by the French Protestant Churches, whose interests he did so much to advance; he will be missed all through France by men in all ranks to whom the Gospel as preached by his lips came charged with a message from God; he will be missed by a wide circle of friends in Scotland, England, and America, to whom his home in Paris, where he dispensed a simple hospitality with so rare a grace, was always open; of how he will be missed by a narrower circle — wife and children — I cannot trust myself to speak.

“But it is the M’All Mission that will most feel his loss. The faith and Christian courage of its director are, it is well known, equal to almost any strain, but I do greatly fear the effect upon his health of such a blow as is implied for him in the death of Mr. Dodds, who was as his right hand. I do not believe that the work will permanently suffer. We are often ready to say of a work that it hangs upon this man or that, and God takes them away just to teach the Church that it hangs upon Him. Still the death of Mr. Dodds will undoubtedly be a great blow to the Mission, abeady undermanned. But it may be that some who, though they heard the voice of my lamented friend pleading eloquently for the Mission to which he had devoted his life gave no response, will feel that they cannot resist the voice that comes from his grave. It is in some such hope as this I pen these words and ask of you a place for them.

“Duncan Campbell,
” late. Chaplain of the Scotch Church, Paris.

“7 Hamilton Place, I2th September, 1882.”

My old and very dear friend, Dr. A. N. Somerville,

late of Glasgow, but now “evangelist of the world,”

wrote to me on the occasion. He had been in Paris

more than once, and had seen the Mission and the

workers. His affectionate letter I must give entire: —

“Mansefield, Broughty-Ferey,
nth September, 1882.

“My Dear Friend, — This is a dreadful blow that has fallen on us all. “We were stunned as we read in the Dundee Advertiser this morning of the unexpected departure from among us of your dear son-in-law. Jesus has received him. Yet, what a stroke this is on wife and children, on Mr. M’All, on France, and, I will say, on the Church at large!

“Mr, Dodds’ astonishing energy, his zeal and good sense, his rapidly-acquired mastery of the French language, his ability in conducting meetings and in managing, along with Mr. M’All, such a gigantic undertaking as that to which the Mission has grown, as well as the sound evangelical strain of his addresses, commended him to the admiration and the affection, too, of all who knew him. I feel for Mr. M’All. His heart must be sinking in this hour of bereavement.

“Alike in France and when abroad, Mr. Dodds’ indefatigable activity and genial manner did much to promote the general interests of the Mission. In five short years, and while yet in his youth, Mr. Dodds had attained to great eminence as a labourer for the welfare of a whole, country. We tenderly sympathise with Mrs. Dodds and the fatherless. Your own heart and that of Mrs. Bonar must be bowed with grief. Private sorrow is, however, almost swallowed up in the greatness of public loss. The Lord liveth. Our eyes must be set on Him. He, who has so suddenly bereft, must be our stay. He has consolation to give in the darkest hour. I am here for a day or two with my son. With warm affection, I am, yours always, A. N. Somerville.”

From Mr. M’All I received the following warm and

touching letter: —

“Paris, Uth September, 1882.” My Dear Dr. Bonar, — My heart fails me as I seek to write to you. I am sure you know already what I would fain tell you of the affection I bore to your dear son-in-law, of the intimately close tie I felt to subsist ‘between us, cemented by a considerate, self-oblivious course of action on his part towards me, such as only a loving confidence, of which I ever felt myself but too unworthy, could have dictated. It is, indeed, one of my own — my right hand — that God has thus mysteriously taken away. For the great work, he was its spiritual force and centre, its hope, its future, so we all deemed! Daily he became more and more a wise and far-seeing counsellor. Alas! howl feel myself left alone; human help fails. He, who has taken away, alone can interpose. It is true that my dear colleague had exerted himself immensely during my absence. His zeal had superabounded, his after-meetings had awakened deep interest, and were yielding evident spiritual fruits, his little time of needed repose had fullycome; but, on my return, I found him full of hope and force, only looking pale and somewhat worn. On any human estimate, had he not been permitted to take that poison, bo unsuspectingly, he would to-day be looking onward to his speedy return to the work he loved so much. The very last words lie spoke to me, on the night before his departure, were full of cheerful anticipation.

“I cannot tell you how deeply he had come to be esteemed and prized and loved by the people of our various meetings. In the stations to which his chief care was given he had become, indeed, a spiritual guide and overseer. I observed also that, in every case, where he was enabled to give special attention, the work, by God’s blessing, prospered. He had also won a very large share of warm affection from the French pastors. They had come to recognise his great abilities and Ills true devotion. But you know all this already. Still, it is a kind of relief to recount it to you.

‘’What shall I say respecting what he was in the inn&r circle or what he was to me? I have often wondered how he bore with me in many things, how patient he was, how considerate when our estimate of any point might differ. We feel, indeed, that one of our ow7i is taken away — my right hand. I can say no less! From the first day of his arrival in Paris to the last hour he was unwaveringly faithful to the work and to its direction. I always felt and delighted to say, ‘I have in him one in whom I can confide absolutely, without a shadow of reserve.’

“Our heart bleeds for dear Mrs. Dodds, but we know that the Divine arm will be around her and the little children. I cannot tell you, dear Dr. Bonar, what we feel for you and Mrs. Bonar, words fail me altogether. I would rather press your hand in silence, while we silently commend each other and the smitten family, and the work so dear to us, to Him who alone sees beyond this mystery of mysteries.

“Receive, dear Dr. Bonar, for Mrs. Bonar, for yourself, for your family, the assurance of our true affection in Jesus Christ, and of our prayer that His precious love may be the balm of your hearts in this mournful hour! — Ever yours,

“K W. M’All.”

One of his fellow-workers, Mr. John Robertson, had frequent opportunities of becoming most intimately acquainted with him. Not long before his death they were returning together from a late meeting at Gare d’lvry, and as they were walking along Mr. Dodds complained to his friend of his extreme weariness of body, saying “I am so tired to-night.” This brief expression of exhaustion Mr. Robertson remembered after his death, and expanded into the following vivid and tender lines: — “TIRED. “In Memoriam.” I ‘m so tired to-night.” — 2%e late Rev. G. T. Dodds.” 0 Master, I am tired, so tired to-night,

So fierce the fray each weary hour from mom,
So heavy, heavy felt the armour worn — I drag myself, dear Master, from the fight, — Tired, so tired!

“Hadst Thou not met me in the morning here,
And given that kiss of love before I went,
That little hour of sweet communion spent
Alone with Thee, I would have dropped, I fear, — Tired, so tired!

‘’ But that kept with me as I faced the foe,

The lingering thrill of Thine embrace of love,
The strength of one at least, to raise above
The Babel sounds a voice for Thee, although
Tired, so tired!

“Ah, me, the Sodom throng that pressed and yelled;
Ah me, th’ enfeebling blow and dimming aim;
Ah me, the hellish hate to that dear name,
That told who gave the flashing blade I held,
Tired, so tired!

“And not unwounded, Lord — the darts so fast
Did pierce me deep, and paining here and here.
Wound after wound — Ah, Lord, the shuddering fear
Of failure and of falling mine at last.
Tired, so tired!

“But for a moment only, swift the eye

And heart were upward, and I saw Thee stand
For me, as Stephen did, at God’s right hand;
For me, for me, Thy victory -place on high.
Tired, so tired!

“And it is over now; the ‘rest awhile,’

Dear Master, now I seek — give me that rest
So soft, so sweet, so gentle, on Thy breast.
The lying down with Thine approving smile.
Tired, so tired!

“Thou giv’st, dear Master, peace. Thine own deep peace Is mine to-night — oh, joy for me to be Thus calmly waiting yon eternity, “When fighting, fearing, fainting, all shall cease — Tired, so tired!

Synipath ies. 399

“Ah, yes, dear Lord, soon, soon the tumult wild Of this earth’s struggle over; at my gate I ’11 see Thy heavenward Israel-chariot wait, And hear Thy ‘Now come home with Me, My child,” Tired, so tired! ’

“And now we ‘ve seen it come, and upward he

Has mounted with the King, and we below

Strain anxious eyes to see our brother throw

His mantle downward — 0 our God to see!

Tired, so tired!

“Yes, weary we too, Master — sorely pressed On every hand, and now our fainting soul Lifts prayer to Thee for help — is not the whole Work Thine? Then help! It comes ! — now, brother, rtzt I

Tired, so tired!”

“J. R.”

Widely had the Mission made itself known in all parts of the world, and well had its workers been appreciated. But the death, so strange and sad in all its circumstances, made it still more widely known, sendiog out the tidings of it everywhere, not only through the religious journals, but through the various channels of the non-religious press. All related the event with sympathy, and had some kindly words to say for the Mission and its workers. The death was spoken of as no common one, and the

400 MemoiJ’’ of Rev. G, T. Dodds.

Scottish minister well described, as one who had really given up his life in the prosecution of a noble cause. The correspondents of the different newspapers gave it in their letters as a piece of mournful intelligence. The correspondent of an Indian journal was in Paris at the time, and writes his impressions of the funeral. He had been present at a funeral in the beautiful chapel of the “Russian Embassy, — the funeral of the girl who shot herself in the presence of the Due de Morny. The ritual, he says, was rich and impressive. Piles of flowers covered the coffin; hundreds of lights; clouds of incense; strains of melancholy music. The chief mourner was the man who had cast off the poor girl; and his presence made the scene, however attractive, loathsome. So it appeared to the correspondent of the Lahore Gazette, who, having witnessed this gorgeous mockery in the morning, was present on the afternoon of the same day at Mr. Dodds’ simple but solemn funeral. He thus writes: —

“What a contrast to all this sickening pomp and gorgeous ritual was another funeral that I witnessed the same afternoon, amid the severe simplicities of the Protestant ritual, in the Oratoire of the French Protestant Church! There lay the remains of a Scottish clergyman who had given his life for France, even in a higher sense than was ever done by the bravest of the old Scotch Guard. The late Mr. Dodds, of the Mall Mission in Paris, was a man who might have taken a high place in the best livings of his native Scottish Church. But he had consecrated himself to the unostentatious labours of the Palis Mission. In French or German, as readily and as fluently as in English, he might, every day of the week, be found at his post, striving, as he was wont to phrase it, to win souls to Christ from these ’ white fields of France.’ He was so completely exhausted by a life of consecrated toil that he speedily succumbed to the illness from which the rest of his family recovered. The two funerals formed almost a perfect contrast. The ceremonials in church could not have been more entirely different even if the one were a wake and the other a wedding. And just as entirely different were the two funeral processions through the streets of Paris. To the funeral of the poor young actress the whole strength of the Theatre Frangais turned out in handsome mourning coaches, drawn by sleek Belgian horses. And all the way to Pre la Chaise there was all the pageantry of a public funeral. The other funeral was followed by a couple of cabs filled with the weeping ladies of the Mission, while a long, solemn train of humble converts, on foot, with the looks and tears of genuine sorrow, brought up the rear. These adherents of the M’All Mission were but as yesterday among the worst of the dangerous classes in Belleville and Montmartre. Altogether, it was a strange and suggestive spectacle.” *

From America came numerous letters. I can only give an extract from that of Dr. Beard: —

To Mr. J. Dickson Dodds jrom Dr. Beard.

“Syracuse, Ith November, 1882. “... I cannot yet write concerning your brother without

* From the Civil and Military Gazette, Lahore, 10th November

1882.

2 D

402 Me77toir of Rev. G. T, Dodds,

inexpressible sadness. The mystery of Providence as the weeks move on is none the less to me. We came into close relationship, when your brother was here, in the plans for his daily tours and conferences, and often he was greatly fatigued, as we all were. But never for a moment was there any modification of his Christian character, and no variance — not the slightest — from the constancy of his nobility and the beauty of a character under the control of a supreme love and faith. We were together most intimately, and the whole intercourse and companionship was unblemished by a single difference of judgment, or by a word that we could have wished recalled.

“I never witnessed a greater fervour of devotion, regulated by cool judgment and steadied by prayerful purpose, in any man. I learned to know as well as to love him. He charmed every one by the felicity of his interpretations of M. K^veillaud’s addresses. They were somewhat difficult to render.

“Dear Mr. Dodds was doing the work of many when I was in Paris. I expostulated with him, but his heart was aflame with zeaL The morning he left for the country where he died, he wrote to me, saying, * I need the nst and really I am far from well.’

“Oh, he was a noble, splendid man! I count it among the richest inheritances of my life that I knew him. Often his faith made me ashamed of mine. He both humbled and inspired me by his consecration. His picture, which I keep where I can see it daily, quickens me to fidelity and earnest -

From Canada came the following from Mr. Heine,
who laboured in Paris for some months: —

“How well I remember the bright moonlight when we i;vlked across Paris from the Grenelle Salle. To cheer me, he spoke freely of the perplexity of heart he sometimes had felt before coming to Paris, but he readily and gladly bore witness to the fact that the Lord had opened up the way and made all plain, and, he added, ‘The Lord will do the same for you, fear not.’ We talked of the Lord’s coming, he telling me how much joy he had in looking for his Lord to come at any time. That night shall not now be forgotten by me.”

From one of the French pastors, M. Degremont, came the following, relating to Mr. Dodds’ visit to Boulogne in the spring of 1882: —

“8^;^ October, 1882.

“We did not forget at our meeting the stroke which has fallen in so unexpected a manner on your Mission, and the remembrance of several evenings which Mr. Dodds had been able to give to Boulogne made us realise more the greatness of your loss. Some who attend the meeting told me that at his last visit Mr. Dodds sang the Hymn 138 as a solo and plnying his own accompaniment. The impression produced must have been great, for on my return from England these friends begged me to let them sing this same hymn, of which, unfortunately, I had not the music at that time. They repeated their request lately; and, thanks to the new edition of your hymn-book, they have learned this hymn which they often ask me to sing. They call it now ‘Le Cantique de Monsieur Dodds.

‘“Cantique 138.
“‘Quandle ciel devient menagant,
Parle, 0 Christ, O mon Roi.
La crainte cesse en t’ecoutant:
” Eassurez-vous, c’est moi!

C’est moi! C’est moi,’””

From two letters of his friend; Mr. Keene, I extract the following passages: —

“nth October, 1882. “Away from home in London we heard first of the terrible loss of your beloved husband, my dear friend. What he was to me in kindness, in advice, in brotherly affection! I count it one of the greatest blessings of my life to have met him and to have been allowed to call him ‘friend.’ His vigorous, self-sacrificing life, with all his humility and gentleness drew every one invariably towards him and made one long to be more like him. I have not yet fully realised that he is gone from us, but I found in trying to speak to my people (who so short a time ago had listened to his words) of his noble life and work, how great a loss is mine.”

Referring to the time spent near Liverpool: —

“2lst December, 1882.

“We were not at all thrown together, but I occasionally met him at Bank House, and it was impossible to meet him even occasionally and not discover the real nobility of his character. In talking with him he drew one out insensibly, and made one’s crude remarks the germs of meditation on something good and great, while wonderful appreciation of others’ sorrows showed the depth and kindness of his heart.

“I send you two letters — what a characteristic one that is from Lyons! What a charming correspondent he was. A letter from him was indeed like talking to him for he always answered one.”

I should have liked to print several of his addresses; but space limits me. They are full of

His Way of Preaching. 405

the Gospel; yet some of them have peculiar subjects and titles. He knew how to tell the “good news” and to show how a believed Gospel brings immediate peace, without waiting or working. It had proved good news to himself, and he made it good news to others. He knew also the French character and modes of thought, and he suited his illustrations accordingly. He was very particular about this. He must not only tell the story well, but he must illustrate it carefully. He must not only illustrate it, so as to suit a Scotchman’s line of thought, but so as to recommend it to a Frenchman’s taste. Re took great pains in illustration, feeling how much of the success of his message depended upon this. To get into a Frenchman’s conscience was his great object. To please him cesthetically by well-drawn pictures, or by preaching a Gospel of sweetness and beauty, was a secondary thing.

Sometimes the English Bible was his theme, making use of the rush after the Revised Version as a proof of the wondrous popularity and interest of this book, which Frenchmen do not read. Again, he took up the Bible as the basis of American prosperity; again, the “Pilgrim Fathers;” again Chicago — its engineering wonders and its fire. The titles of some other addresses were the following: —

Le plaisir est il I’objet de la vie?

4o6 Memoir of Rev. G. T. Docids.

La science, est elle I’objet de la vie?

On ne se moque pas de Dieu.

J^sus Christ ne ressemble a aucun homme.

L’humilitie de Jesus Christ.

La saintete de Jesus Christ.

La spiritualite de la religion de Jesus Christ.

La lutte interieure.

It was not usual for him to give out a text as the basis of his address. He had a text in his own mind; but it came last, and after the interest of his audience had been worked up.

He began to write addresses from the first; but sometimes relieved himself by reading a pointed tract; sometimes he gave the substance of a book he had been reading. The ‘’ Life of Livingstone “furnished him with many a lesson. An address, of course, would serve several meetings; and after its delivery, he invited the criticism of his fellow-workers, that he might perfect his style. He very soon threw aside his “papers,” for he found that a French audience, above all others, must be attracted by the eye of the speaker. Though he soon gained facility in speaking “extempore,” yet his subject was always carefully thought out; and his addresses were written out, though only in outline. The filling up with life and fire, or it miQ:ht be with new thouohts, was reserved for the delivery. The titles already

Titles of Adchesses. 407

given are general; but the usual run of addresses was pointed and telling, such as —

Etes vous pret?

La porte ^troite.

Cherchez I’Eternel.

Le besoin du pardon.

Tresor each.

Douceur de Jesus Christ.

Venez a moi.

Le fils prodigue.

Le bon berger.

He preached a free Gospel; but he preached also an unchangeable law; and dwelt on special sins, such as he knew his audience specially needed to be warned against. In his last year he was earnestly bent on explaining to his people the great truths of the Gospel, — atonement, substitution, and the like, — in a popular form. Every illustration that he could lay hold on he pressed into the service, anxiously desirous that the souls he was gathering in should not only know the Lord Jesus, but be able to give a reason for their faith and hope. How to lead on those “little children” into the manhood of intelligence and faith was a difficult problem, and one which he was only labouring to solve, when he was called away. All that he had read, in science, philosophy, physiology, history, was laid under contribution, in the

4o8 MemoiV of Rev. G. T. Dodds.

one great work to which his life was dedicated — lighting up the mind of the French ouvrier with the knowledge of the Gospel*

His daily dealings with the ouvriers had brought very specially under his notice the state of what he calls the “French conscience,” as deadened or rather utterly effaced by Popery. He found he had no conscience to appeal to in his conversations and addresses. Rome, as he tells us once and again in his letters, had done this deadly work, making things to be sin which were no sin, and things not to be sin which were sin. This degeneracy of conscience had become hereditary: and the long-disused moral faculty had ceased to exist, had dropped out of the system. He felt this state of things most deeply, and was greatly perplexed how to meet it. Hence a good deal of his

* He dreaded the inroads of •’ free-thinking “among the converts, for France has had enough of unbelief. Lovers of the ancient creeds need to be on their guard against the insidious undermining of modern speculation, whether in Scotland or in France. “Advanced thought” would like to build a tower of Babel, and is now burning its bricks, or rather gathering together stones from all heathen temples. It is busy, as a preliminary, in levelling the temples of Christianity and clearing away the Biblical rubbish which occupies the ground at present. When this is done, we shall hear the old cry, “Go to, let us build a city and a tower whose top may reach to heaven.” How far they may be allowed to proceed in this work of demolition and construction before confusion overtakes them must be decided by Him whose name they are dishonouring, and whose Book they are assailing. Their confusion may come sooner than they think.

Address on Justification. 409

preaching was aimed at this terrible evil. But I may here ask, is it Rome only that has tampered with the conscience? And is not the tendency of modern thought working in the same direction? The annealing of the conscience by unbelief produces much the same result as the searing of it by Romanism. In both cases the difficulty of reaching it is great. Self-satisfaction is the hopeless condition to which both of these, though in different ways, reduce the spiritual system. Deterioration of conscience is a more disastrous ailment than many may be disposed to admit.

I must make room for, at least, a fragment of one of his discourses. Its title is “Justification.” He had begun by drawing a vivid picture of Paul, — a man worthy surely to be heard on such a subject, for the ruling thought of his life was righteousness. He paints Paul the Pharisee, — righteous as to the law; then Paul the Christian, — his whole conception of righteousness changed: —

“Oui,” he exclaims,” Oui! nous raffirmons, a haute voix, — la paix, la veritable paix, ne peut venir des oeuvres. Si vous restez dans I’indifference et dans le vague, vous pouvez etre en paix comme taut d’autres en vous disant que vous etes un honnete homme, &c.; mais pour peu que la question du salut yous preoccupe, jamais vous ne serez tranquille en le cherchant dans les oeuvres, car vous craindrez toujours de n’en avoir pas assez fait. Voyez ces gens qui ont passe leiir vie a se torturer d’austerites. Leur histoire n’est qu’un long argument centre le salut par les oeuvres. Pourquoi y revenaient-ils sans cesse, a ces austrites, a ces tortures? Pourquoi les plus pieux, au lit de mort, auraient-ils voulu vivre encore pour se torturer encore? Parcequ’ils n’avaient pas confiance, au fond, en I’efficacit de ces oeuvres douleureuses. Ah s’ils avaient seulement realist ce que Dieu dit:

“‘N’est-ce pas moi I’Etemel! II n’y a point d’autre Dieu que moi. Je suis le seul Dieu’juste et qui sauve. Tournez-vous vers moi, et vous serez sauvs: vous tous qui etes aux extr- mites de la terre.’

“Dieu sauve et Dieu justifie sans les CEUvres par la mort salutaire de Jesus Christ. Etant done justifie par la foi, nous avons la -paix avec Dieu par J^sus Christ notre Seigneur. Tin regard vers Jesus, un regard dgag de la preoccupation des oeuvres vous donnerait plus de paix que cent ans d’oeuvres et de tortures.

“C’est par la chute d un seul ou par I’offense d’un seul, que la condamnation a atteint tous les hommes, — eZe mimt par uns,e,u acte de justice, la justification qui donne la vie s’etend k tous les hommes.

“Un seul, la justice d’un seul, la grace d’un seul, I’obeissance d’un seul — 4 fois du v. 15 au v. 19 la meme idee et le meme mot. Essayez de trouver la une place pour les merites des saints. Voyez si St. Paul aurait pu mieux dire et redire que Jesus est seul absolument seul, I’ouvrier de notre salut.

“C’est par grace que nous sommes sauves. ‘Mais si c’est par grace, ce n’est plus par les oeuvres, car autrement la grace n’est plus grace,’ Ah cette doctrine rpugne a Thomme naturel, qui ne renonce pas facilement a compter sur ses oeuvres: mais une fois comprise elle devient la source des plus pures joies. II est infiniment plus doux de se sentir sauve par 1’ amour de Dieu, et par le sang de Christ, que de s’imaginer qu on le sera par soi-meme et par ses oeuvres.”

His Library. 411

For a young man he had a remarkable hbrary, in some respects quite unique. When the French Churches, on his return from America, presented him with a number of books, chosen by himself, his selection comprised the newest books of Pictet, works on the Indo-European languages, and the origin of history, Lenormant’s “La langue primitive de la Chalde et les idiomes touraniens,” and five other works of this same author connected with Oriental philology; Pictet’s “Les Origines Indo-Europeennes ou les Aryas primitifs;” Hovelacque’s “L’Avesta, Zoroastre et le Mazdeisme;” Marius Fontane’s “Histoire Universelle Inde Vedique;” Eichhoff ’s “Grammaire Generale Indo-Europeenne;” Chabas, “Etudes sur I’antiquite historique;” Bernhardt’s “Gothische Bibel;” Mospro, “Histoire Ancienne.” *

These are but a few of the many peculiar works to be found in his library. He had, indeed, little time for such studies as these volumes indicated. Yet he kept up his philology to the last. During the last two years his reading was chiefly done in a Paris

* Mr. Greig thus writes in reference to these matters: — “About his philological studies, I feel scarcely competent to speak; a glance at the list of books he took out from the University and New College libraries might help you more efficiently. Besides Muller and Sayce, he read Grimm, Bopp, Mazner, Ficke, Swegler, and a number more, whose very names I cannot recollect. Then about Ulphilas, he read, or got me to read for him, literally everything that had been written on the subject.”

omnibus. Even at night he would secure a seat at the further end of the car, close to the lamp, where he sometimes prepared an address, and sometimes studied some rare work of the day; for he had his eye upon all new publications of the philological or historical kind. He kept “abreast” with literature of every sort, much more than many who make it their boast to do so.*

He laid hold on every volume that came within his reach, though but for five minutes; and he had a great facility in mastering the contents of a book, and no less readiness in clearly stating his judgment on its contents. A man is known by his hooks as well as by his friends. By both Mr. Dodds was known. No less was he known by the books which he borrowed from acquaintances, or obtained from libraries. A list of these would be curious and illustrative, but too long for the pages of this volume.

A ministers library is a good index of the minister himself Its shelves reveal his studies, his tastes, and his literary habits, and, not least, his spiritual condition. Light literature, ephemeral journals, novels, newspapers lying on his table, do not indicate the student or the man of thought. And

* He had his eye on all missions, — specially in the revived Churches of Asia Minor; keeping up correspondence with Djejigian and Jacopian, whom he had met in Edinburgh. The French mission in Africa also engaged his interest to the last.

Farewell. 4 1 3

when a young man begins with superficial reading he generally goes on with it through life, or rather it grows upon him till it becomes a serious disease, emasculating his intellect, and hindering spiritual progress. Mental effeminacy is the result; an effeminacy but seldom shaken off in later life, if permitted to grow in youth. The power of robust thinking diminishes daily, and thorough study becomes irksome, if not impossible. Mr. Dodds’ table did not groan under the weight of newspapers or the flying journalism of the day. He preferred something more durable. Even his “home” newspapers sometimes lay days on his table before he could find time to read them. The libraries of men in earnest are generally choice. Literary levities do not help them in their GREAT life mission.

Farewell, brave soldier of the cross! Our intercourse is for a season broken up. Our walks in the Passy wood, or the Bois de Boulogne, are at an end. Our voyages on the quiet Seine are past; you resting from your labours, I, though more than twice your age, to remain a little longer here. Our walks on the green “fortifications,” our wanderings through the intricate alleys, in which you were my guide, or the pleasant boulevards, or the romantic Buttes de Chaumont, or the sunny St. Cloud, or the splendid Versailles, cannot

414 Me7noir of Rev. G. T. Dodcis.

now be repeated. Thy laborious five years in the two million city made thee thoroughly acquainted with every street and lane, — not going in pursuit of pleasure, but seeking the lost and building up the gathered ones. Thou restest from thy labour; and it was not too soon. For few have known so fully what toil and weariness are. Yes, thou restest, and thy works do follow thee. Paris will miss thee and will long remember thee. Not many, in so short a time, have so told upon the spiritual history, or made so deep a mark upon the religious life of a people.

“Life,” says a non-religious writer, “is a Divine matter, of sacred significancy; each life a wondrous verse in God’s Bible.” They who have felt the truth of this, and acted on it, have been men who have done something for their world as they passed through it; they who have never realised this have neither done nor spoken great things, but have gone through their earthly career, it may be idly, it may be busily, without telling upon their generation, or leaving any brightness behind them.

“An epistle known and read of all men” should every Christian reckon himself to be. “Litera scripta manet;” and the best of letters for generations yet to come is the legible and expressive life. The story of the soldier that fell in the breach will not be lost upon the comrades who survive.

Inscription on the upright stone: —

GEORGE THEOPHILUS DODDS,

Pasteur Ecossais,
CoUegue du Rev. R. W. Mall,
Dans la Mission Populaire
EvangeUque cle France.
Oil il a travaille avec un devonement
admirable, pendant cinq ans
pour rpandre la connaissance
de r (^vangile.
Ne a Lochee (Ecosse) le 2 Juin, 1850.
Mori a Salbris {Loir et Cher) le 9 Sep., 1882.
Ses coUaborateurs
Et plus de mille personnes
Qui ont entendu ses clialeureux appels
Ont rig ce monument a sa memoire.

On the horizontal stone: —

Je n’ ai point lionte de 1’ 4vangile

de Christ puisque c’est

la puissance de Dieu

pour le salut de tons ceux

qui croieut.

S. Paul. Rom. cli. i. v. 16.

Cela va Men, bon et fidele serviteur. Jesus Christ.

S. Matt. ch. xxv. v. 21.

Heureux les morts qui nieurent dans le

Seigneur. lis se reposent de leurs

travaux, et leurs ceuvres les suivent.

Apoc. ch. xiv. V. 13.

In Jesu Christo Obdormivit,