I hold in my hand an album adorned with pictures of missionaries, mybrethren and sisters, the ambassadors of the King. On one of the firstpages is "the tomb of Henry Martyn," given me by Dr. Van Lennep, whohad just visited the sacred spot and described it vividly. When I turnthe pages of my album and come to this, I pause with reverence and theoverflowings of deep and tender emotion, and my mind adds otherpictures, both terrestrial and celestial, to the one upon the page. Myown missionary life as the companion of him whom Dr. Perkins called"the later Henry Martyn," was spent in Henry Martyn's Persia. Theywere alike I think in many things, these two Persian evangelists, andalso in their deaths. When they passed out of the Tabriz gate,journeying homeward after a course of illness in the fated city, foreach it was a quick ascent, a painful translation, to the heavenlycity with abundant entrance and the Master's "well done"—in heaven;and on earth, a foreign grave taking possession for Christ, as theNestorians reverently say, with "white stones still speaking out."
Henry Martyn was born in England on the south-western coast of Truro,February 18, 1781. His father, Mr. John Martyn, worked in the mines.He was not educated but was very fond of learning. The miners were inthe habit of working and resting alternately every four hours. Mr.John Martyn spent many of his rest intervals in study, and so bydiligence and education raised himself to a higher position, andbecame a clerk in the office of a merchant in Truro. When Henry wasseven years old, he went to school to Dr. Cardew. From his earliestyears all who knew him considered him a very interesting and promisingchild. Dr. Cardew says his proficiency in the classics exceeded thatof his schoolfellows; he was of a lively, cheerful temper and seemedto learn without application, almost by intuition. But he was notrobust, and loving books better than sport, and having a peculiartenderness a