EXTRACTS OF LETTERS REFERRING TO J.N.D.'s ILLNESS AND DEATH January 30th, 1882.
EXTRACTS OF LETTERS REFERRING TO J.N.D.’s ILLNESS AND DEATH January 30th, 1882.
In the afternoon yesterday I looked in to see Mr. Darby; he is very feeble, but quite collected; he revived much after his tea. As to human ken he could hardly hold out, but we can tell the Lord that He needs him here. The Lord hath need of him here, I believe.
Mr. Darby’s valet alarmed us much yesterday.... I went over, and found him quite collected but suffering much from his breathing.
Mr. Hewer called to see him; he was anxious to go to Bournemouth, but gave it up when Mr. H. said he was not fit for it. I returned to sit with him about 12. I sat nearly an hour with him. He said his work was done. I said — ‘Perhaps you never were more useful than you are now, you are a comfort to the Lord’s people.’ Then (he said) He can keep me here; but did you hear what the brother in America said when some one said, ‘The church cannot do without you’? Then (he said) ‘I shall die’! I replied, ‘I did not say we could not do without you — but that he was a breakwater; and that it was not for himself I was thinking but for the Lord’s people, for of course it would be better for himself to depart.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that it would.’ I continued — ‘I speak of you to the Lord as they did of Dorcas.’ Then he asked me if I had read his last paper on ‘Ifs’... I called in before our breakfast this
†The letters from which these extracts are taken were not addressed to labourers, but are given here as an interesting sequel to the letters to J.N.D.
[p. 219] morning, he had breakfasted, soon after 7 o’clock, said he mistook the hour. He seemed better.
Mr. Darby reached Bournemouth safely, was very tired but bore the journey well.
———— came with a telegram, saying Mr. Darby was worse, so I started for Bournemouth. When I arrived I soon heard him sounding my name — he did not seem to me worse. He talked of everything — asked me about the meetings, asked was I encouraged of the Lord. He dwelt very much on the rest that remaineth. I said, ‘There is none here.’ ‘But you see,’ he added, ‘it is God’s rest.’ ... I helped to carry him upstairs, and he lay on his couch. I left him, thinking he might have a doze, but before long he was at his door calling for me, so I returned and sat some time with him. He talked of several things. ‘Dear ————’, (he said) ‘loved Christ.’ I said, ‘He never understood the church.’ ‘But he loved Christ, and that is better than the church.’ I returned, ‘But one must love the church if one loves Christ.’ ‘Quite so,’ he replied. He asked me what I thought of ————, was he deepening? and of ————, was he simply for the Lord? ... He spoke frequently of God’s goodness, as if cheered by the way the work was progressing. He then proposed that we should have ‘a little prayer for the church’. He prayed most touchingly for the servants, that they might consider for Christ’s glory, and for me individually, ... and then after he had concluded he began again, and prayed for those outside, that they ‘might be led into the unity of the testimony’... He then commended me to the Lord, and kissed me.... I was quite overcome. I said, ‘I am more indebted to you than to any man living.’ To this he said: ‘There is Another Man‘ — I understood — Christ, and we parted.
The account today is that he is weaker, but converses very brightly, has spoken his mind to Mr. ————, which [p. 220] the latter says he will tell me at another time. He is not seeing any one now but those in immediate attendance. He said to R. E., ‘I have no ecstasy, but I have profound peace.’ He often says, ‘It is the same Christ I have known all these years, not another, that I am going to’.
You may wonder that I do not go down to Bournemouth to be with dear Mr. Darby again, but I have now the most pleasing remembrance of my last interview with him, and I could not bear that that should be deteriorated in any way — I mean by seeing him unconscious, or in suffering. In all the expressions of true and tender love I hear around me, not one of them seem to reach in sympathy with me. I feel I have a tie to him beyond any other that I have, and I have some very close ones. He seems so connected with the Lord to me, and I revered him more than I could any father, and if I could have had him to myself, and not in a crowd, it is not likely that I should have left him. Now he hardly sees any one.
Your loving sympathy is just what I should have expected from you.... I can truly say I never could sustain a greater loss here than the removal of our beloved brother. The tie has been so peculiar for so many years. I revered him more than he had any idea of, and I had perfect confidence in his love. I feel as if I should like to be quite alone, because remarks, some of the tenderest nature, do not reach what I feel. The tie that links us to each other in the Lord for ever must surpass every other tie, though different from all others. I send you the latest account of him. I feel so thankful that I was allowed to go to see him at the right time. I could not bear to see him in any way enfeebled in mind.... I am so thankful that he is fully cared for, and my one desire now is that his entrance to his Lord’s presence † may be brighter and brighter.
†J.N.D. entered into it April 29th, 1882.