When we think of the bigotry and intolerance of these people and of Mr. Martyn's unflinching courage single-handed and alone, declaring the truth and preaching Christ, exposed to the greatest personal danger, contempt and insult, but unabashed, he stands before the world during his Shiraz residence as one of the bravest and grandest heroes that has ever lived. Such a spectacle is thrilling and sublime. God was with him to protect him and to inspire his magnificent confessions. A figure-head in history! A sight for angels and for men!

Faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his zeal, his love.

And God was with him to cheer and comfort, and we rejoice to know that some of the scenes of his life in Shiraz were quiet and restful. At one time a tent was pitched for him in a garden in the suburbs of the city.

Living amidst clusters of grapes by the side of a clear stream and frequently sitting under the shade of an orange tree, which Jaffier Ali Khan delighted to point out to visitors, until the day of his own departure, he passed many a tranquil hour, and enjoyed many a Sabbath of holy rest and divine refreshment.

He says: "Passed some days at Jaffier Ali Khan's garden with Mirza Seid Ali, Aga Baba, Sheikh Abul Hassam, reading at their request the Old Testament histories. Their attention to the word and their love and respect for me seemed to increase as the time for my departure approached. Aga Baba, who had been reading St. Matthew, related very circumstantially to the company the particulars of the death of Christ. The bed of roses on which we sat and the notes of the nightingales warbling around us, were not so sweet to me as this discourse from the Persian."

The plain of Shiraz is covered with ancient ruins, and contains the tombs of the poets Zaadi and Hafiz.

A vision of the bright Shiraz, of Persian bards the theme;
The vine with bunches laden hangs o'er the crystal stream;
The nightingale all day her notes in rosy thicket trills,
And the brooding heat-mist faintly lies along the distant hills.

About the plain are scattered wide in many a crumbling heap,
The fanes of other days, and tombs where Iran's poets sleep;
And in the midst, like burnished gems, in noonday light repose
The minarets of bright Shiraz,—the City of the Rose.

One group beside the river bank in rapt discourse are seen,
Where hangs the golden orange on its boughs of purest green;
Their words are sweet and low, and their looks are lit with joy,
Some holy blessing seems to rest on them and their employ.

The pale-faced Frank among them sits; what brought him from afar?
Nor bears he bales of merchandise, nor teaches skill in war;
One pearl alone he brings with him—the Book of life and death,—
One warfare only teaches he,—to fight the fight of faith.

And Iran's sons are round him, and one with solemn tone
Tells how the Lord of Glory was rejected by his own;
Tells from the wondrous gospel of the trial and the doom,—
The words divine of love and might,—the scourge, the cross, the tomb.

Far sweeter to the stranger's ear these eastern accents sound,
Than music of the nightingale that fills the air around;
Lovelier than balmiest odors sent from gardens of the rose,
The fragrance from the contrite soul and chastened lip that flows.

The nightingales have ceased to sing, the roses' leaves are shed,
The Frank's pale face in Tocat's field hath mouldered with the dead;
Alone and all unfriended midst his Master's work he fell,
With none to bathe his fevered brow, with none his tale to tell.

But still those sweet and solemn tones about him sound in bliss,
And fragrance from those flowers of God forevermore is his;
For his the meed, by grace, of those who rich in zeal and love,
Turn many unto righteousness, and shine as stars above.

1851. —HENRY ALFORD.

On the 24th of May, after a year's residence, Mr. Martyn left Shiraz, bearing his precious translation to be presented to the Shah. The journey was an occasion of disappointment, exposure and suffering.

Arrived at the Shah's camp he says: "June 12th, attended the Vizier's levee, when there was a most intemperate and clamorous controversy kept up for an hour or two, eight or ten on one side, and I on the other. Amongst them were two Moollahs, the most ignorant of any I have met in Persia or India. It would be impossible to enumerate all the absurd things they said. Their vulgarity in interrupting me in the middle of a speech, their utter ignorance of the nature of an argument, their impudent assertions about the law and the gospel, neither of which they had ever seen in their lives, moved my indignation. The Vizier said, 'You had better say, God is God and Mohammed is the prophet of God.' I said, 'God is God,' but added, instead of 'Mohammed is the prophet of God,' 'Jesus is the Son of God.' They had no sooner heard this, which I had avoided bringing forward till then, than they all exclaimed in contempt and anger, 'He is neither born nor begets,' and rose up as if they would have torn me in pieces. One of them said, 'What will you say when your tongue is burnt out for this blasphemy?'

"My book which I had brought, expecting to present it to the king, lay before Mirza Shufi. As they all rose up after him to go, some to the king, and some away, I was afraid they would trample upon the book; so I went in among them to take it up, and wrapped it in a towel before them, while they looked at it and me with supreme contempt. Thus I walked away alone to my tent to pass the rest of the day in heat and dirt. What have I done, thought I, to merit all this scorn? Nothing, I trust, but bearing testimony to Jesus. I thought over these things in prayer and found the peace which Christ hath promised. To complete the trials of the day a messenger came from the Vizier in the evening to say that it was the custom of the king not to see any Englishman unless presented by the ambassador or accredited by a letter from him, and that I must therefore wait till the king reached Sultania, where the ambassador would be."