YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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THE LIBRARY OF THE
DIVINITY SCHOOL

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THE DAY MISSIONS LIBRARY

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IN MEMORIAM

THE ADDRESS

DELIVERED OVER THE BIER, THURSDAY, 21 JANUARY,

THE SERMON

PREACHED ON SUNDAY EVENING, 24 JANUARY, 1886,

.ON THE OCCASION OF THE DEATH QF -THE

REV. ROBERT TEMPLETQN, M.A-

Principal of The Public School, ;Gbahamstown,

REV. JOHN A. CHALMERS,
Minister of. Trinity Church. ¦

Riciiabds, Slates, & Co., Peinteks, Grahambtovs.

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IN MEM OKI AM

THE ADDRESS
DELIVERED OVER %RH>. BIER, THURSDAY, 21 JANUARY,

AND

THE SERMON
PREACHED ON SUNDAY "EVENING, 24 JANUARY, 1886,
on thf. occasion of the death of THE
REV. ROBERT TEMPLETON, M.A.,
Principal of the Public School, Gbahamstown,

RfV: JOHN A. CHALMERS,
Minister of Trinity Church.

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THIS MEMORIAL

THE REV. ROBERT TE.MPLETON, M.A.,

IS DEDICATED to

Mrs. Templeton and her Family ;

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The " Old Boys " and '" Young Boys " who have studied
under him ;

My Brother,
William Buchanan Chalmers, C.C,
w&0 was h19 oldest friend
in" this "Colony.

PREFATORY NOTE.

This memorial is published in response to the following
request among others : — " King Williamstown,
23rd January, 1886.
Dear Mr. Chalmers,
I have just heard that you will, to-morrow, preach Mr.
Templeton's Funeral Sermon from the pulpit of your Church at
Grahamstown. The news of his death has been received with
wide-felt grief throughout the Colony ; but more especially by
all his " old boys," who will feel that in him they have lost a
noble example and a true friend. One and all would wish to
hear you ; that is impossible, so that as' representing some at
least of the "old boys," (and there are several in King Wil
liamstown) I wish to ask you to publish the sermon, so that we
may at least read what you have said and be cheered by it. As
for the cost I will be personally liable for that. If his death was
as sad as it was sudden, this at least is certain, that his years of
work in this Colony for the youth of it will not be forgotten ;
and he will be had in grateful remembrance by many young men
Sq for whom he worked and laboured so incessantly.
^S. I shall be glad to hear that you will be able to comply with
\ my request ; and trust that you will superintend the publishing.
Yours very truly,
V)
j$ (Signed) R. W. Rose-Innes."

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ADDRESS

Fellow Citizens,
Grahamstown is - mourning to-day ; and the skies are
in sympathy with our mourning,- -fray, rather it is ' the Cape
Colony which is. mourning to-day, and all we,, who are here
present, are the chief ' mow -ims. The causp of this universal
sorrow is- the fact that* we have lost, an illustrious teacher, and
a man who had the' ring of the true metajt in his, nature.
There is nothing unreal in the sorrow of to-day, for this
dispensation of Providence has touched all our hearts', and
now we feel, as we may not have felt before, that wejire brothers.
We need such Divine lessons as this, to" remind us of our
Divine brotherhood, and to lift our hearts upwards to the
Eternal Father of us all. We. are.,apt, amid the bustle and
worry of life, to forget our relationship one to a'nother. We
"are apt also to 'forget the golden link/jfrhich J|jin<|s us to the
central source of all things,- even to Him who; is the Infinitely
Pure and Holy ; and so He who sits in the circle of the
Heavens sees- it meet at fitting times to touch our hearts to
the quick ; and then that touch of a loving- Hand makes us
mindful of things that are unseen and eternal. Only last*
week a company of happy.. friends1 met in this church, at this ,
very hour, to rejoice with those wha'were rejoicing. ^To-day
our joy is turned into sadness, and we are here with bowed
heads to weep with those that weejf, The brightness ' of last
week is changed into darkness. Some of us'who are now'here
were met on that bright Wednesday. mor$$£ng, 'in order to invoke
the Divine blessing on the Rev* Rqbeff Templeton and- his
happy bride. Tp-day we are assembled with broken hearts
to look upon this bier which contaigSnall that is earthly of our
departed friend and brother ; and with trembling hands to
carry his lifeless body to its quiet resting-place. Life's fitful
fever with him is at an end. Qur-«grief, however, cannot be
because of any loss that is his, fo$he has pas§e,d through the
Shadow to the light that is beyoijdV We are standing' on this
side the veil, awed, silenced, op|W^sed! and 'wondering. He

is on' the other side, in the rest that remaineth for the people
of God. We are looking through our blinding tears. He is
rejoicfng in the eternal Light, drinking in of the eternal Love.
With us it is all mystery. > With him the problem of life is
•solved. With us it is toil? With him it is happy service.
Friends, I have tjfeen called upon to pass ,through many trials
in my life-time. But this is the most inscrutable of them all..
You and I wonder and ar» bewildered at it. We are solemn
ized and amazed as we enter 'into this cloud. We cannot
understand its meaning. , In our ignorance we think that it
would have been better had^he been spared to us, and to
those who loved him with intensest love. *But ,He who is
wiser than we, has ordered it otherwise. This is our oppor
tunity for the. exercise of that higher faith which acquiesces
where it cannot see aijneaning.
" Why it should be, I do. not know ;
He is wiser than I. and it must be so."
...Ana! so the words of |he Master come home to us with
peculiar emphasis ; '.' Whilst they are blessed who see and
believe, they are 'more blessed who have not seen and
yet have believed." To-day amid our grief we have simply
to fall back upbn a faith acquired in calmer moments, and
rest assured that this. is one of the," all things "that are work
ing together for our good. ' The Lford hath done it. It-is well.
",Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in Thy sight."
My intimacy with Robert Templeton dates far back, even
to thb time when. I was an under-graduate in the University
of Glasgow, and; he much my senior. My memory carries me
foack to the days when he was a brilliant student in that
ancient seat' of learning. To the amazement of all of us he
went up at the last moment, without any special preparation,
to enter the lists for his degree ; and yet, knowing well that
he was a genius, it was not wonderful to us to find the name
of the genial, the beloved Robert Templeton, high up in the
•honours list. It was at that eventful period of his history
that I made his acquaintance, and the interest he took in an
unknown South African boy is one of the sunniest memories
of.my life, and was singularly characteristic of the man. His j
marked success at the University led to his appointment as
Mathematical Master in the Kilmarnock Academy, his native
towri in the west, of Scotland, where the family name is a
household word even to the, p^gnt day.- His reputation as a

: teacher increased so rapidly that he was very soon thereafter
transferred to a higher and more important sphere, for hewas
appointed one of the masters of Madras College, in the
ancient city of St. Andrew's, where he was the associate of
Professor Smeaton, a master teacher. This College was
largely composed of young lads from India and other British*
dependencies, and during hjs- term+of work there he had the
opportunity of leaving the impress of his character on recep
tive minds, — an impress which survives in other lands', and
in other important spheres of labour. From St. Andrew's he
went to New College, Edinburgh^ wheie he studied theology,
and sat at the feet of some of the renowned teachers of the
metropolis of Scotland, and it waft while studying there for
the Christian ministry that he 'became the intimate friend of
some Cape Students, who wd& his aff^ifjfons, and directed his
thoughts to South Africa, when,'»as ne thought, he was
preparing himself for work in Indfa or China. Just at this
time a teacher of some power was required' to go to Lovedale,
and the Free Church of Scotland selected Robert Templeton*
to come out to this country and carry on educaticfflal work in
that now famous South African' Institution. For several
years he was associated with the late, Rev? Wm. GCfvan, bne
of the founders^ of Lovedale, and two? more enthusiastic
teachers of youth' were neve% associated ^ together than- Wm.
Govan and Robert' Templeton. It wag. during _hir arduous
labours there that he wis ordained to the ofrioS of the sacred
ministry. It was there he began his great work in this Colony ;
there that he first became the instructor of some of those dis
tinguished pupils of his, who are now oriiaments to the,
learned professions throughout the land. But spme thought
that he was of too superior a rri<suld of character to bury
himself, in that remote sphere, and so he was indifced to
remove from Lovedale and go and take ch>r|e> of the Public
School at Uitenhage, - Subsequently, thlrughle was doing a
good work there, he was persuaded to remove to Bedford,
which is the centre of a large .^and prosperous farming
population. Here he laboured withintense'leal and earnest^
ness, so that he began to' earn a reputation as-:a most success- ;
ful teacher. It was while doing his duty faithfully at Bedford
that the proposal was made to establish, an Undenominational,
school in this city ; and the promoters of it, believing that no
fitter person could be found^o undertake the duties of this

new venture than Robert Templeton, persuaded him to come
and undertake the principalship of the Public School. He
came, deeply impressed with a sense of the responsibilities
connected with the position. How he performed the work
entrusted to him it is for those parents in this city, and
throughout this Colony, who have entrusted their sons to his
wise teaching and watchful care, to say. And if immediate
proof is needed;' it will "be" foundin the deep sorrow felt by his
old pupils wherever it is known that Robert Templeton is no
more to be found among us. His death is an irreparable
loss, cut off as he has been in the very vigour of his strength*
Even the best instructors of youth, who knew anything of the
man, will heartily give him the; palm, and acknowledge that
he had not his equal as a teacher. No man that I have ever
known exercised such a' spell over the minds of young lads as
did he. He was ah educationist in the highest and best
meaning of that word. By profound knowledge of human
nature, by tact, by wondrous sympathy, by marvellous
intuition he could draw out and call into exercise any
talent of which a pupil was posssessed. He could do more.
Once let the dullest mind that was tractable pass into his class,
and Robert Templeton was the man to teach that sluggish nature
the consciousness of its own greatness. His aim was to make
his pup'ils,s*elf-reliant,„and at the same time to instil into their
opening minds principles which would guide them amid the
active duties of life. The last thing I heard him give a few
weeks ago to a number of lads, was an impromptu address
•on character ; and I never listened to anything more thrilling.
Then he never forgot that he himself was once a boy so that
in all his tuition he was a bright, cheerful, warm-hearted
enthusiastic companion to his pupils rather than a stern
master, between ¦ whom and. his students is an unbridged
chasm. He was wonderfully happy and joyous in his work
so that his pupils could not but love and reverence the man
With him it seemed to be always spring-time ; and that
marvellous versatility of character which showed all its light'-
shades in his class-room, will never be forgotten here by his
pupils, or by those who were ever privileged to witness the man
in the full-tide of his work. Many a toiler in this Colony blesse
the. day and the 'circumstances that brought him under the
tuition of Robert "Templeton. There are old boys to-day, and
young boys too, whose hearts are burdened with an oppres

sive load, and who are shedding genuine tears of sorrow because
their happy teacher who loved them so tenderly, and who always
preserved the freshness of boyhood in his nature, is being
carried by us to his grave. The death of Robert Temple
ton is a public calamity. It is a public loss ; a loss to the city ;
a loss to this Colony ; a loss to our social life ; a loss to our
educational work ; a loss to the Church of which he was so
trusted a guide and so distinguished an Ornament. He is not
to be judged by what is, to us, his. untimely end. He is to be
estimated by his life-work. That is his enduring monument.
If ever a man has served his adopted country well, it is he.
The Colony could ill spare such a man just now. Take him for
all in all, it will be impossible in his own particular department
of work to find another to compare to him. Like all men of
genius, he could not be trammelled by methods. Some of^his
characteristics though faulty were nevertheless pardonable, and
that countenance beaming with smiles disarmed what might
have been an adverse criticism. He lived for others, and was
utterly forgetful and neglectful of himself. He was unselfish to
a fault, and I have no doubt that there is many a man through
out this Colony who owes a debt of gratitude to Robert
Templeton such as never can be repaid. " Out of the abund
ance of the heart the mouth speaketh ; " and I could enlarge on
some of the features of his many-sided character, but I must forbear.
As a brother minister I was brought into the closest intimacy with
him in many ways. Here I always found him true. He was
a wise adviser, a shrewd observer of passing events, and had,
a rare faculty of forecasting results. He was a keen debater
on public questions, and had always his facts well marshalled
for argument. He was a fearless denouncer of shams, because
he was so thorough in his knowledge and so honest in his
^intentions. He was a devoted worker for the future, and one of
the kindest of friends in times of trouble. But over and above
all, he was a devout student of God's word, a man of prayer,
and a humble disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ, whose faithful
servant he was. He has gone from us ; gone when he was
most needed ; gone under the most distressing and agonising
circumstances, such as instinctively seal one's lips when the
thought of widowhoorl is suggested, and that also of fatherless
children. You and I, fellow citizens, in the mysterious
providence of God, by our presence here, by our mingled tears
and prayers, are only representatives of trie whole country far
and near. We are only now discharging a melancholy duty on

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behalf of our fellow-colonists in carrying this lifeless body to
its burial. Robert Templeton did not belong to Grahamstown
only, neither to Trinity Church only, nor to any small circle of
men. He belonged to the Cape Colony and its adjacent
territories. And South Africa was proud to own him as her
adopted son. As we carry him to his grave let us realise that
we are discharging a public duty. Let us also not forget the
sympathy that is due to his crushed, widowed bride and the
fatherless children. We are burying a man who has spent him
self in the endeavouir to benefit individual lives as well as many
homes of our South African population. He was a moulder of
colonial life. He knew it, and with God's help, he was doing
his duty cheerfully, wisely and well. Robert Templeton was
serving his generation. He was one of the men to whom the
many talents are entrusted; but now the Master whom he so
faithfully served has said to him, // is enough here, and has
translated him to higher service and to that enlarged sphere
where there is no weariness, no exhaustion, and nothing to
overburden the willing worker. " Well done, good and faithful
servant enter into the joy of thy Lord ! "

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SERMON.

It was that Mary which; anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped His
feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick— Jofin XI., 2.
The sorrow which is depicted in this chapter as having
taken place in a little village in olden time is a matchless
lyric. Fact, it has been said, is stranger than fiction. Truth .
is more real than any picture which fancy has painted. It
is the reality, the truthfulness, then, of this short history
which makes it a living power to all generations of men who
read it and ponder over it. This is a very precious chapter,
therefore, of Holy Writ, for it contains a picture of grief in
all its various moods and phases. We see the whole thing
from beginning to end, and feel its pathos as one scene after
another passes before us. It appeals to our sympathies in a
way peculiarly its own. Here we have all the aspects of
household sorrow enacted before us and then grouped
together by a master hand in a way which arrests the
attention even of the most careless reader.
Three persons compose this family,
Orphans they are evidently, and their common need and
common sorrow binds them together by a tie which cannot be
broken,. There must be some special circumstances which" have
occurred in their past life to link them thus firmly together.
The brother has had some sacred charge committed to him,
and he proves equal to the task ; and his two sisters knowing'
well that it is only the, touch of a woman's hand winch can
make this home what it ought to be, manifest their latitude
each in her own way to the bread-winner by doing her best
to make Everything around him and them bright and happy.
That little home of thjyrs is a centre of attraction;
it is a gathering place for kindred spirits ; and its inmates
always give welcome to all those who can be benefitted or

"+

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cheered by the intercourse and the hospitalities they are able
to offer. No home, however, can calculate how long its
present circumstances will be continued. Changes of some
kind or another are always looming in the distance, always
sure to come. And so it happened in this household. The
brother sickened. The sickness grew in power. It struck
deep. Anxious hours and days 'followed. Careful watching
and nursing did its best to save, but it was of no avail for the
disease triumphed and
Death stept in and cut off the shield and protector, the light
and the strength, of that home,
Then followed the agonizing circumstances connected
with the funeral, and the performance of all those numerous
duties which must be done amid a shower of tears, and
in the doing of which the heart-strings are stretched to a
breaking strain. Then, when all was over, and there was
time for reflection, and the reaction set in, and friends came
to comfort ; the mourners began to see with other eyes and
think with other thoughts upon the events of the past days.
They think now that this ought to have been done instead of
that. If only this remedy could have been tried then the ebbing
life of their brother might have been prolonged. In short
they look upon the whole calamity which has befallen them
from a different standpoint now that it has happened. And
then to intensify their grief *
The Friend they loved so well comes upon the scene
When it is too late and all is over. If He had only arrived
sooner all would have been different, their brother would be
still alive for He could do what no other was able to accom
plish for them. - They have brooded over that fact. They see
now where things have gone wrong. It was the Master's
delay, the Master's absence which caused it all. On that point
they are.agreed, however much they may differ from each other
in other respects, and so when the brother had been dead four
days, and He who sticketh closer than a brother approached
their desolate home, they each went out to greet Him with
the salutation " Lord if Thou hadst been here my brother
had not died." '
All these touches in the story are, true to human nature
and they have often been repeated since, in similar circum
stances. "

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It is an intensely fascinating and instructive history,
Wherever the Bible is known, wherever it is read, the
history of what took place at Bethany is one of those
precious chapters to which sorrowing hearts always turn;
Most of us here have had to pass so often through the shadow
of sorrow that we come to expect that it is our lot always to
be doing so ; neither has any bitter grief ever fallen upon us
in the form of bereavement, without our turning to this
wondrous chapter and learning from it the lessons of hope
and trust and faith which it pictures so exquisitely. There
is one sentence in this chapter which is just a parenthesis.
It is thrown in as an explanatory statement by the Evangelist.
He is about to narrate something about three people, two
sisters and their brother. He gives all their names so that
those to whom he is immediately writing may verify his
statements. One of the sisters is Mary.
Mary, that* is a common enough name ! This Mary however
must not in any way be confounded with the others of that
name. This is no ordinary Mary. This "Mary is a woman
of character, a woman of stern purpose, a woman of heroic
endeavour, a woman who can dare to be singular, a woman
who has deep affections and who can show her love and
gratitude in the presence even of cold, frowning, chilling,
criticism. And so the historian interjects the explanatory
clause " It was THAT'Mary which anointed the Lord with ointment
and wiped His feet with her hair whose brother
Lazarus was sick ! "
You have doubtless read that sentence, and seen nothing in
it beyond a mere note, to ' distinguish this particular Mary
from the other Marys. Yes, but
The Bible does not indulge in useless sentences^
It does not contain empty phrases, and so there is much more
than merely an explanatory remark in these words which are
my text to-night, for as you look into them you will see that
they form material for profitable thought. It is Mary's
brother who is sick. It is Mary's home upon which a great
sorrow falls. It is Mary's heart which is broken by* an
overwhelming grief. It is Mary whose gladness has been

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turned into sadness. It is Mary who has to undergo the strain
and the anxiety of watching and waiting and ministering to a
sick brother. She must wait patiently through long hours at
night with ear, and eye, and tongue,' and hand, all ready to
answer to the wants and the necessities of her suffering
brother. It is Mary who must be made to feel that all her
best endeavours are utterly valueless in saving this precious
life. Despite all her efforts to prolong it, he succumbs, and
there is nothing now to do but to bury the fast decaying body
out of sight. ^The bitterness experienced by that sorrowing
heart has often been felt since, and will oftener yet be felt by
human hearts until death itself lies conquered at the feet of
the Giver of Life, Who, when His set time comes, will speak
the word and
" Hades and death, will vanish away like a frosty breath,''
But mark what the Evangelist would bring prominently to
our notice. This Mary had performed a wondrous deed, a
deed which filled even "the strong Son of God,: immortal
love," with amazement, and drew forth from His lips the
highest encomium that was ever uttered. Some short period
before this He had been to a feast in a rich man's mansion.
The guests assembled were men of distinction and repute in
the neighbourhood. And he, as a rising star, had been asked
to join this festive gathering, iThe usages of the time were
such that it was unbecoming for a woman to be present. As
these lords of creation are reclining on their couches, partak
ing of the bountiful hospitalities provided, the door of the
guest-chamber is opened, and a woman enters timidly carrying
a casket in her hand. Stealthily and silently she proceeds to
the couch on which the Saviour reclines, but instead of
placing before Him any choice viand, she proceeds to break
the casket and she pours the contents upon His head. Then
as th^gdour of that perfumed ointment filled the house she
stoop^down at His feet, and washed them with her tears,
and wiped them with the hairs of her head, and kissed them,
and anointed them with ointment. The other guests were
astonished, they were angry, they murmured, they calculated
the value of that alabaster box and its unguent, and as they
dick, so, they pronounced it extravagant waste and nothing
more. Forthwith the Master threw a sHield of charity over
this woman's life and act. This woman was a sinner ! Yes

15

but she had publicly acknowledged it and she must be
openly forgiven, for
" He had come to save sinners,"
This was the prodigality of love. It was not needless waste.
It was far above calculation. She feels that she owes a debt
of gratitude to Him whom she has been anointing, whose feet
she has been kissing. He had rescued her, He had given her
hope and so : — " All subtle thought, all curious fears
Are drowned h^ gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears."
These acts, so expressive of all that is truest and best in her
nature, cannot be allowed to pass with the censure of selfish
cynics renting upon them. The woman is deserving of the
highestbenediction. " She has done what she could!'' She
has come beforehand to anoint the Saviour for his burial.
She has a, keener insight into His mission than her traducers.
He blesses* her for it and with prophetic intuition of what it
means, he tells these fault-finders that " wheresoever this
Gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also
this, that this woman hath done be told for a memorial of
her." There and then he puts the seal of immortality upon
that manifestation of a woman's strong love. No other
human action has ever received such an approbation as this
has done. " And yet it was this Mary who had anointed the
Lord with ointment and wiped His feet with her hair, whose
brother Lazarus was sick." What a singular return is this for
what merited a blessing. The only person in the world of
whom such a wondrous thing has been said, is permitted a
very few days thereafter to be overwhelmed with bitter grief.
He who could have averted this calamity permits it with
apparently a sense of satisfaction.
He is summoned to come with all speed and remove this
heavy burden. He has it within His power to show how
much He appreciates that .act which had drawn forth His
admiration. But He delays, and lingers, and keeps away,
from the home of sickness. The stricken heart longs
wistfully for His coming, the eyes swollen with scalding tears
gaze with blank dismay in the direction whence He oughf to
tiome, but they are strained in vain. There is no response to

16

her appeal. Her pitiful cry for help falls back upon her ears
like the muffled sound of an echo from a tall frowning rock
rising majestically on the other side of a deep chasm.
What a strange requital is this for that one act which drew
forth a spontaneous expression of gratitude from the Saviour's
lips. He could have come in time to be of help, but He did
not. He could have hastened, but He purposely rested
where He was. He could have dissipated the dark cloud
which was falling thickly on her home, but He permitted it
to gather strength until its chilling dampness settled into
death. Never, we think, was there an instance in which love
was treated with colder indifference than this.
Mary deserved other treatment than this, surely, we think.
Had we received any such manifestation of kindness, we say,
as she had shown to her Saviour, we would have been very
watchful, as far as lay in our power, ever after to guard the
doer of it against trouble or distress or sorrow. But the
Master thinks and acts otherwise. He permits the very
thing to happen which we think the loving woman ought to
have been spared, especially when He was able to avert it.
But this is the method of the Divine procedure,
He allows distressing circumstances to fall upon those
whom we think, in our ignorance, do not deserve them. He
permits pain and suffering to invade hearts which by their
faith and piety claim a respite from the ills of life. He
crushes those whom we think, ought to be lifted up. He seems
to keep afar off from those to whom we think He ought to
make His presence felt. He causes a nature which ought
to be made joyous, to wince, and quiver, and tremble, and
become bewildered. He reverses all human calculations
and does the very thing which we think, He ought not to
allow. And so the sentiment contained in the text is just an
every-day nineteenth-century one. We see trouble coming
upon some pure heroic soul, and we are appalled. We behold
grief entering a bright home, and we are perplexed. We hear
that those whom we know to have broken an alabaster
box of ointment over His head, and to have bathed His
feet with tears of penitence, to be nevertheless overtaken
by all the ills, and misfortunes, and disappointments and
reverses of life ; and we wonder at it, and perhaps at times
¦  -i ¦ , . ¦ k.  

17

we almost lose heart, and say: "Is this the reward which is
given to love?" And not until after long experience, not
until we begin to estimate life and its works great and small,
according to the measure of the Divine calculations, not
until we comprehend that
God works for eternity,
and is Shaping these apparently little lives of ours after His
own divine eternal plan, not until we learn the meaning of
what is always at first an inscrutable principle, " Whom the
Lord loveth He chasteneth," are we able to acquiesce in the
Divine will, to see any meaning whatever in the tr,ials and
vicissitudes of life. Oh ! there is wonderful pathos and mean
ing in this parenthetical clause, if you think upon it, and read
all that follows it, and grasp the grand lessons which issue
from it. When you listen to the Divine voice as it speaks of
"The resurrection and the life,"
When you hear the Saviour asking to be shown the grave of
the brother who had been sick, and who* was now dead and
buried. When you look upon that amazing picture of the Son of
God standing beside the cave and a stone upon it, with bowed
head, saying nothing, but only weeping. When one by one
the mysteries of the unseen are unfolded in His own matchless
way ; then the conclusion is irresistible
." No wonder now that it was this Mary
which anointed the Lord with ointment, and wiped His feet
with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick and died ! "
And so it must always be. When any special trouble or
calamity or loss comes upon any individual, or home, or com
munity, which trusts in the Saviour, and confides in the
Saviour, and has given its best and its truest to the Saviour,
and from these distressing circumstances some beautiful
lessons are seen to spring forth like flowers after a bountiful
fall of rain ; then we cease to wonder, we cease to be per
plexed we cease to lose faith, and the grateful assent of our
hearts becomes the spontaneous sentiment contained in this
text It must be this Mary and no other who has testified
her love to the Saviour, who must pass through the agonies
of watching and death, and must be- made to feel her utter
desolateness ; for it is she, and such as she alone, who, even

18

when all hope seems gone, will continue to cling to the strong
arm that smites, uttering with unfaltering tongue the noble
confession, " Yea, Lord, I believe that Thou art the Christ,
the Son of the living God." It is only to such, that
even the dead are given back in a higher and better sense
than that merely of the resurrection of the body. It is only
to such that the language, of the great interpreter of inexplic
able human thoughts, and divine teachings, possesses any
significance: —
Thrice blest, whose lives are faithful prayers.
Whose loves in higher love endure ;
What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs ?
This text, and its deep teachings, is suggested by the
sorrowful circumstances in which, as friends and relatives, as
individuals and families, as a church and congregation, as a
community and a colony, we have all been placed by the
providence of God during the past week. But it will not be
until I reach the closing portion of what I have to say, that
you will see what connection it bears to the solemn oc
casion in which we are now met. In the
Death of the Rev, Robert Templeton,
many of us have lost a true friend ; this city has lost a most
genial and large-hearted citizen ; our sons have lost a most
able and excellent and lovable teacher ; our colony has lost
one of its great men ; our Sunday-school has lost a matchless
superintendent ; this church has lost its most loyal member
its wisest counsellor, and its most marvellously gifted elder ¦
a man who, when any emergency occurred, could stand at the
helm and hold it with an iron grasp, and steer the vessel
under the guidance of the Captain of our salvation to some
settled haven. This is not the language of exaggeration.
These are not empty platitudes uttered to please. This is
not false flattery which seeks to speak good things of a man
after he is dead and buried. This is a feeble endeavour to
express the honest truth ; and there are thousands all over
the land who will cheerfully add their testimony that what is
here said is true.
Mr. Templeton was born on the 3xst of October, 1832
He died on the 18th January, 1886, and we buried him on

19

Thursday las.t. On that dull sombre morning we met to pay
a tribute of respect to one of our great men. It is fitting that
we should bury our great men with all the reverence and all
the expressions of sorrow which they deserve ; and so it was
becoming the sorrowful occasion that even strong men should
bow their heads that day, and allow the scalding tears to
course down their cheeks, and that his bier should be covered
by beautiful wreaths. And the occasion demands it, that we
should gather once more, as we do now, not to magnify the
man, but to do honour to his unselfish work, and to adore
the mercy of our God which endowed him with so many
talents, and which singled him out as the recipient of so many
excellent graces, such as made him to be loved and, honoured
by all, young and old, high and low, white and black, who
had known anything of his character, or had in any way been
brought under the resistless spell of his far-reaching influence.
He was not the man who would tolerate, for one single
moment, any words of flattery, or anything that was intended
to glorify himself, and therefore' in all that is to be said to-night
there must, and will be a strict adherence to truth, by one who
knew him best, and was not therefore ignorant of his virtues,
or blind to his faults. Could he appear amongst us to-night
and speak to us, while willing that the lessons of his life should
be given, he would sternly reprove any word which was
intended as mere empty praise, and so it is under a deep
sense of what his own thoughts would be, that reference must
be made to his character, as well as to the story of his life
and labours. Already from this pulpit a brief biographical
sketch has been given of his past history. It is needless,
therefore, to recapitulate what has been already told. To-night
some bther features of his character have to be given, of
which it was impossible to make mention on the day of his
burial ; and those things which a public duty demands should
be spoken, must be all the more in strict accordance with fact,
because it is the expressed wish of his pupils, and of many
others, that something of a permanent record should be given
to them over and above their own ever-green memory of what
he was and did. Mr. Templeton's life-work, then, was that of
A teacher of youth,
A greater work than that no human being can engage in..,. It
was for this, he lived, and in this he spent himself. He was

20

born to be a teacher. That was his mission to this earth,
and strange to say, although he had talents enough to qualify
him for occupying a chair in one of our Scottish Universities,
the Divine hand led him to cast in his lot with us here in South
Africa. When he came out it was only under a short engage
ment, but, as he himself quoted the aphorism week before
last, " Man proposes, God disposes." Once having set foot
on these shores he never again left them. While labouring
at Lovedale he was married to the only daughter of the Rev.
Henry Calderwood, and thus became settled down as a Cape
Colonist, to engage with heart and soul in educational
work.*" He was a man who was well grounded in all branches of
knowledge ; he was a most superior linguist, but his special
forte was mathematics. I make bold to say that he was
facile princeps in this department of scientific study. From
this fact you may infer, that he had a logical mind, so that it
was in vain for him even to try to do things by halves. And
yet, strong as he was in mathematics, there was nothing hard
or dry in his nature. He could throw a charm around his
teaching and lead on his pupils with intense enthusiasm
and those of them who were willing to be taught followed
him in his flights as if they were chasing a bright
vision. As an arithmetician he was quick and singu
larly accurate, and I have frequently sat in his school-room
bewildered at the rapidity with which that vigorous brain
could work, as he propounded one original problem after
another, while his pupils were all absorbed working them out
from memory and not by slate. It was as easy as child's play
to him still he threw his whole soul into it as if it was a matter
of life and death. He had a most correct knowledge of
Ancient and Modern history, while his memory was never at
fault with reference to dates. He was well versed in chemistry,
botany, and geology, and there was not a more profitable com
panion than he as you walked abroad with him to look upon,
and admire, the things that are beneath, and around, and above!
He was well read in the the philosophies and in theology, and
could grapple as few men could, with the various problems of
moral and mental science. Nor was he a stranger to present
day problems of all kinds. Is it to be wondered then that
such a man, whose mind was stored in every corner of it by
thoughts and things that are great and good and true, could

21

be anything else than a teacher of extraordinary power ?
He had been Early converted to Christ,
and knew his Bible as few men know it. He understood well
the secret of power, the secret of greatness, the secret of
happiness. He could thus teach the principles of the gospel
of light, and love, and hope, to all who were willing to listen ;
and then, as he had studied medicine among his other attain
ments, he was able, especially when he was in the mission
field, to minister to the wants of the sick and afflicted* All
the knowledge he possessed was carefully stored up for the.^
use of others. It was all carefully arranged as it were in the
gallery of his brain, and you had only to ask him a question
on any subject, or put to him some difficult problem, and he
was ready with what you felt must be the correct answer.
His superior knowledge was wisely utilized. He was a care
ful observer of things great and small, things near and afar
off, so that when occasion required he could tell the children
some charming story of the ways of a grasshopper which he
had just observed in his garden, or descant in glowing lan
guage on the wonders of the heavens above. I never walked
into his class-room, or listened to his teaching, or sat and
heard him give his annual address at Christmas time, but some
of the lines contained in the picture of the village schoolmaster
painted by Goldsmith somehow invariably came to my mind.
While I say this, however, let me add there was absolutely
nothing of the pedant about him.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd. furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face ;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault ;
The village all declar'd how much he knew,
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too.

22

Lands he could measure, terms and times presage,
And even the story ran that he could guage ;
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For even though vanquish'd, he could argue still ;
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amazed the gaping rustics rang'd around,
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But why enlarge on what is already an established fact?
The thing is beyond dispute, for there are men at the
bar, Queen's Counsel some of them, men in the medical
profession, men in the pulpit, men in the merchant's office,
men on the farm, men in every department of life, who are
even now testifying it, as they talk of their departed teacher,
that they have never met his equal, neither do they ever
expect to see his like again, until they meet himself face to
face, crowned with the wreath of immortal youth.
There is one fact about him as a teacher which must not
pass unnoticed, and that was
The strong religious element of his nature ;
and if there was one place where this feature shone out most
conspicuously it was in his class-room. The morning Bible
lesson was one, and perhaps the most important event of each
day. Just speak about this fact to your boys, those of you
who thought him worthy of making him their teacher, and
they will tell you something concerning the wonderful charm
he threw every morning about this Book as he met with them,
and talked to them, concerning its ever living histories. There
have been seeds sown by Mr. Templeton in this way which
never will be lost ; and there is many a boy in whose heart
these seeds are germinating, who will yet rise up, and call him
blessed. He himself when a youth
Sat under the influence of a Prince in Israel,
A lover of children, William Arnot of St. Peter's Glasgow, and
from him he drew an inspiration which he never lost, and that
inspiration was communicated in turn to our South African boys
whom he was instructing. The man was reverenced by all
these pupils of his, he was loved by them. He could play with
them, he hugged them to his bosom, he laughed and joked with
them when not at work ; and yet, he never lost his dignity or
condescended to undue familiarity unbecoming his position, nor

23

was any time wasted in his teaching, and perhaps the most
touching sight I witnessed on the day of his funeral was that of
Three small boys who crept through the crowd and each
in his turn put a wreath upon his coffin.
And as I looked, I saw the great tear-drops rolling down their
cheeks into, what was to them, a cruel grave. I felt thaff it was
enough for any man to have lived just in order to receive such
an honour from children. As an Elder in this Church
He dignified his office, but on this point I shall say but littles
for the day will declare it what he was to this congregation, and
what he did for it. He was never absent from his place of
worship, save when he was ill or out of town. He was none of
your half*-day worshippers. He was no hunter after novelty.
This Church was the place where he'had chosen to worship God,
and he was always here morning and evening. He could preach
infinitely better than the present occupant of the pulpit, and could
conduct the services of the sanctuary with more becoming
reverence, and yet this great man was content to allow a lesser
man than himself to lead him Sunday after Sunday to a throne
of grace, and speak to him concerning truths which he had long
ago mastered and digested. His presence was an example to
others, and a wonderful stimulus to any man who is trying to do
his best. I never, therefore, was once afraid to preach in the
presence of Mr. Templeton, for I knew that his motives in
being in the house of God were always of the purest and the
best. He came to hear what God the Lord had to say to him,
And that was enough. Some of us found fault that he would
never take a prominent part in the public ministrations of the
sanctuary ; but it is long since I ceased to urge him to do so,
for I had come to know the nature of the onerous duties which
devolved upon him as the Principal of a large Public School,
and the anxious head of a large boarding establishment, and the
father of motherless children. This much I must say, had it been
possible just to lay hold of him on Sunday when all the people
were assembled and place him in this pulpit by force, though
he was a man of extremely nervous temperament, and one who
underrated his abilities aa a preacher, there could not have been

24

more powerful, or memorable, or instructive, or healthful and
soul-inspiring sermons preached anywhere, than by him. I have
said it to his face, I say it more fearlessly now, that he is dead.
But if a multiplicity of duties prevented his active co-operation
by public ministrations, he has done a work for this congrega
tion which is known to many of us, and especially to his brother
elders^ He was singularly judicious. He knew how to deal
with men, understood human character, and while always
aiming after the things which make for peace, he never would
tolerate anything which compromised a principle, or could bring
disgrace on our Christian religion. God only knows where the
Joshua is to come from who is to succeed the Moses whom God
in His infinite wisdom ,has called away from us. But if Mr.
Templeton shrank from helping in the public ministrations of
the sanctuary,
He was a most devoted worker as the Superintendent of our
Sunday School,
Here his talents shone out with surpassing lustre. That smiling
face of his was a Sabbath day's pleasure to teachers and taught.
The addresses he gave there at the close of each day's work
were of a very high order. He was always solid, always
instructive, always real. He never could tolerate what he called
mere story-telling, or fanciful pictures about unnatural boys and
girls. What he had to say was weighty and memorable and
interesting. The very last address I heard him give was on
Character. That he defined to be the sum of one's habits. I
am sure it will not be forgotten by those who heard it. It was
his parting charge ; and on that occasion he spoke very
solemnly, out of a long experience. Here also, we must only
look to God to raise up a successor. He will do it if we ask
Him. As a platform speaker
He had a wonderful power over an audience. But it was
difficult to persuade him to occupy such a position. He always
thought before he spoke, and did not speak for the sake of
saying something, but because he had something to say. When
occasion required, he could take his place as a citizen very
manfully. The last time I heard him address a meeting of
citizens was in the Town Hall on the Empire League, and those
of you who were present on that night will not easily forget the
favourable impression he produced, and the rounds of applause

23

which greeted his well-stated facts, and rounded 'periods; and
then when he had finished, and one who had been a pupil of his,
a brilliant Advocate, stepped forward to speak, his face beamed
with a radiancy of satisfaction, as he listened to the eloquence
of one of whom he was justly proud. His apt anecdotes on the '
platform, especially at our own social gatherings, were
singularly convincing and appropriate ; and one could not help
asking where these were stored, and how he was able to call
each one up as he needed it. And were it not that he had a
nervously strung temperament, and underrated his talents, and
recoiled from pushing himself forward, there was no man who had
the capacity to' guide public events than he, had he chosen to
do so. One was always sure when he stood up to speak that he
would acquit himself with marked ability and logical acumen ;
so that if he would not convince his opponent, still he would
command respect. He was an acute critic, and could detect
the weak points in argument, and woe to his antagonist when
he came to confront him. As a friend
He was the most faithful I ever met, and he was never slow to
point out to any man who was his intimate, no matter who he
was, where he considered he had gone wrong. He always did
this, however, to one's face, never behind one's back. He
would go straight to a man, and tell him what he thought was
defective, either in what he had seen or heard. This he did
from principle not simply by way of adverse criticism. I shall
ever remember a scene which occurred in this church on a
Sunday morning, and at the door opposite his pew. A
brother minister had been officiating here, a man whom he loved
dearly and revered for his marvellous powers of mind, a giant
in intellect, one moreover endowed with a sympathetic soul.
From what reason I cannot tell, but he conducted the whole
service in an undertone, frequently dropping his voice to a
whisper, so that only a few, and those very near the pulpit, could
follow the preacher. It was a most powerful sermon which was
preached ; this, however, could only be said by a privileged few.
When the service was over, and the preacher and myself were
just about to step info the porch, Mr. , Templeton appeared
suddenly on the scene, his countenance bright as a Scottish
spring morning. When I looked at its glow, and saw the merry
twinkle of his eyes, I wondered what was coming. Having
given me the usual salutation which many of you know, he

26

turned to this brother, and having shaken his hand as if he
would tear the arm from its socket, he stepped to one side a
little, and patting the preacher for the day on the shoulder, he
said, " My brother, I was at the prayer-meeting next door before
*service„ and I heard someone praying for you that. the Lord
might be pleased to give you a message for this congregation,
but when I came in here, and strained my ears in vain to catch
one complete sentence of what you were saying, and failed
utterly to follow you, I gave up in despair, and then I saw, as it
were, a vision of the angel which had been sent to give, you a
message, returning with it to his Master, and saying, Lord it is
no use giving that man a message, for he does not know how to
deliver it." It was just like the man. It was probably a little
harsh, and I felt it to be so, but this was just what he was
teaching his boys not to do, for he was always telling them, not
to allow any talent which God had given them to lie
uncultivated ; and so many of you -iwill remember, what a
powerful reader he himself was, and how by tone of voice, and
emphasis, he could reproduce the beauties of any thing he was
called to read, especially the written Word of God. What he
taught his boys, therefore, was not the mere outward accom
plishments, though he was very sensitive even on that
point ; but as he was a true man himself, he wanted others, even
the youngest, to be the same. It was principles he instilled
into their minds, and a sense of responsibility,, usefulness,
integrity, honesty of purpose, truthfulness, transparency of
character, He taught his boys that he trusted them, and he
wanted them to trust him in return. He always put them upon
their honour, and treated them as gentlemen, and was never
suspicious of them ; and what was the result ? There are in
this Colony at the present time, men who would be checked
from doing anything dishonourable, simply because it would
bring disgrace to do so, on the revered name of Mr. Templeton,
their teacher. He was a grand talker.
But not a gossip, for he had an intense abhorrence of that
tendency to gossipping which, unfortunately, is a marked
characteristic of so many of our small communities. When he
got to talking on any great subject the hours flew by as rapidly
as if they were only seconds. Many a time he has come into my
study early in the evening, intending to stay only a very few-
minutes ; but he would talk on and on and then suddenly he would

27

start to his feet in amazement, as the hour of midnight struck,
and rush out stealthily, and as the warm shake of the hand was
given, there was added the playful pleasantry, " I shall catch it
for this ! " It was this fascinating power of his, giving out of his
inner self to friends, stopping to speak to them on tha great
, thingsoflife wheneverhemet them, which made himan unpunctual
man, and very neglectful of his engagements ; so that those of
us who were his intimate associates, were wont to call him to
his face, ihe latter. Templeton, and when at any time we were
kept waiting for his arrival, the one consolation which disarmed
criticism, Was the confidence that someone else, |omewhere or
other, was being benefitted by his absence from us. It was
vexatious at times, but then, when he came in at last, and with
lips overflowing with apologies, and smiles that swept away all
anxious impatience, it was quite impossible to utter one single
word of reDroof to him. There was one most remarkable defect
fn his character, and that "was that
he was no financier.
It has amazed us all, that the most brilliant arithmetician in
South Africa, should nevertheless be as powerless as a new-born
child, in the management of his own financial affairs. I pity the
Institution which ever persuaded him to become its Treasurer,
for he knew, absolutely nothing about, how to keep accounts.
Somehow or other he did not know the value of
money, and he seemed to be under the impression that money
matters, however confused, would right themselves of them
selves, in their own way. He knew his defect, and often
laughed over it, and confessed that he could not overcome it. I
make bold to say, that in consequence of this, he has educated
many a pupil at his own expense, and lost, by his utter neglect
in rendering his accounts, thousands of pounds, which would have
bequeathed a well-earned legacy to his family. A friend of his
and mine, who occupies a responsible office, told me that Mr.
Templeton frequently allowed himself to blunder into actions,
which were almost culpable ; and were it not that he was known to
be the very soul of honour and truth and honesty, he would fre
quently have exposed himself to a serious charge. So on one
occasion in order to teach him a lesson, he sent a bill ofhistobe
noted by an attorney. To his astonishment the attorney returned
the bill, and accompanieditwithanote, statingthat Mr: Templeton
was an old teacher of his, and rather than note the bill, he
would pay the required sum out of his own pocket. Why was

28

it,. that that attorney acted thus ? It was simply because, while
being taught by Mr. Templeton, he had learned to know that
the man was utterly incapable of doing a dishonourable deed,
so that this unpaid bill must be traceable to that one well-
knawn defect in : his character, and therefore he could not
tarnish even by the stroke of his pen an unblemished reputation.
He' was singularly hospitable ;
Kept for a time until he was remonstrated with, an open house'
and welcomed all who came to his table, or sought shelter for
the night, irrespective of consequences. He denied himself
and indulged the needs of others, often to the detriment of his
own family, nay, more : —
" His house was known to all the vagrant tram ;
He chid their wanderings but relijey'd their pain,
The long remember'd beggar was, his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd.
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his table and talk'd the night away —
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales, of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch and show'd how fields where won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began ;
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings Iean'd to virtue's side.
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ;
And as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new pledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds and led the way."
He was a most enthusiastic lover and teacher of music.
At Lovedale especially he will ever be remembered for the
great work he did in this department. During many years
past, however he was almost voiceless, though once like his
famous uncle he could sing as few men could. But voiceless
though he was, he took no ordinary interest in the science
of music,, and especially the music of the sanctuary, holding
very strong views on the necessity of making it a power in
the Church ; and all those who had to do with him in this
work, will acknowledge, that as President of the choir, if he

29

had not been trammelled by external circumstances, he
would have left nothing undone to make the Service of Song
here a praise and a glory to the Lord. He was often wont
to say that Church praise can never be what it ought, until
its choir, are composed of consecrated men and women, who
are as fully alive to the sacredness of their work, as is the
occupant- of the pulpit.
I have already .stated that he blended the teaching of religion
with all his other instructions,
and, as he showed the best and the brightest aspects of the
religious life in his own character, he impressed his piety upon
others, so that by his example he made our Christian
reiigron a thing to be aspired after by other men. A rough-
lobking man once said to me, "I make no profession of
religion myself, but I wish my children to reverence religion,
tfnd if possible to be religious, and to do what I have never
yet done;" and so, as I know that Mr. Templeton is a
Christian man, I have placed my boys under his care, believ
ing that he will do his duty, towards them, and teach them
to be good men. A young man who is now in his grave and
who- knew nothing whatever of Mr. Templeton, beyond
meeting him once or twice, (whether at our Sunday-school
or where else, I cannot tell), expressed regret, as his own
father toldVme with eyes swimming in tears, that his
school days were past, for if it was possible for him
to go to school, he would wish above all things to be placed
under thfi tuition of this wondrous man who won tlm
affections even of strangers! Then again, a gentleman, of
good family, who came to this city, not very long ago, to place
his son at one or other of our educational institutions, called
upon me to ask my advice, as to what he ought to do. As there
were delicate circumstances which prevented me giving an
emphatic opinion, I resolved to take him first to see Mr.
Templeton. This was done, and the introduction over, the
two men conversed freely on many subjects for about an hour ;
the immediate object of his visit however, formed a very small part
of the conversation, as we left, and were walking away from
the Drostdy, this friend was so profoundly impressed with the
man to whom he had been talking that he said to me, %There
is no further use of discussing the matter or asking the advice
of anyone. I have formed my own opinion ; my boy shall be
placed under Mr. Templeton's charge." Higher compliments

Ifer

30

than these could not be paid to any man's religious life and
character. He was the most generous and indulgent of chiefs,
and there is not a single teacher who was associated with him
in school work but honored him for his worth as a man, loved
him as an elder brother, confided in him as a.( safe adviser,
and tried to follow in his footsteps, and even to cherish his
enthusiasm. There are many teachers of youth throughout this
Colony who must look back with pride and satisfaction to the
yeasrs spent with him at the Drostdy, and other places. There
was absolutely nothing denominational about his religious
teachings at the Public School, but not a pupil left that ins^tu-..
tion without knowing that Mr. Templeton
Was a sincere follower of Christ,
That, after all, was the secret of this man's power. He lived, in
Christ, and Christ lived in him, he prayed to be filled with the
spirit of Christ, and he could not help reproducing that life.
I always looked upon him as one of the lions of Grahamstown,
and whenever any distinguished vistors came to my house, I
invariably took them to see Mr. Templeton, and such men as
Professor Drummond, and Dr. Somerville, were won by his
culture and excellencies of character, and large knowledge of
, things, andmen.andplaces, and eventswhich are taking place now,
or which have long since, been enacted. The very last one I took
to theDrostdy, just eight days before his death, was a young scientist
whois rising into distinction, and as we drove away fromhis gate,
this savant, turned round and looked after this man, small of
stature and said. Well I have often heard of Mr. Templeton,
but I never thought that he was such a remarkable man, and
several times that day he referred to the man He had seen, and
said that he could not forget that face glowing with all that was
bright and youthful and joyous. A remarkable man. Yes ; and
so now it is not wonderful that his should be a remarkable
translation from the turmoils of life. Moses was a remarkable
man, and so was his exit from this life under remarkable circum
stances: Elijah was a remarkable man, and so was his upward
flight to the rest in the regions that are beyond an amazement
to those' who had been conversing with him and saw him vanish.
Paul was a remarkable man, and so was his tragic end remark
able. The Rev. Robert Templeton was a remarkable man, and
.so it is not wonderful that his end should be different from that

31

of other men. Under God, I owe my settlement in Grahams-
town as Minister of this Church to him. It was he who urged
it. He travelled to the Transkei with his brother-in-law,
Thomas Calderwood, and pled with my Presbytery to allow me
to come hither. But no sooner was I settled over you than he
lost his wife. This event cast a dark shadow over his life. I
still have somewhere the sermon I preached on that sorrowful
Sunday after the funeral. He passed through the ordeal bravely
and at the close. of the sermon came to the Vestry, shook my
hand most warmly, and said,
" Thank you, I sse light now through the darkness,"
Tnialwas all he said* then he walked hurriedly away. For nine
years and a half he bore the burden of widowhood, being father,
mother, all combined, to his children. They too loved him in
return, for he was' worthy of love. In his endeavours to promote
their highest welfare he was most admirably aided by his
mother-in-law, Mrs. Calderwood, a woman who has seen
affliction, and who has borne her griefs with true christian forti
tude. This she continued to do until duty called her elsewhere.
He loved these dear children of his; he lived for them; he
often spoke about them, and his prayer for them ever was that
they might give their young hearts to the Saviour. At last in
the providence^pf God it seemed as if he was about to enter
upon a fresh term of life, and engage with renewed zeal in his
arduous work, and so he resolved to marry one who was well
worthy of filling that long-continued blank in his affections.
The subject was a sacred one, one moreover which he had no
desire shpuld be proclaimed on the house-tops, but some weeks
before the joyous event took place he confided in me, and talked
long upon his future prospects.
The bridal day arrived.
He was far from well, for he had been over-working himself,
and indeed for some considerable time befoij&this he was wont
to complain of an excruciating pain in his side, and often as he
hurried into the vestry it was as a breathless man in deep
physical distress. The ceremony took place in , this Church on
last Wednesday week, the 13th of this month, amid rejoicing;
he at the same time feeling that it was a solemn step he was
taking. His marriage-day was the last time he was in this
Church There was something, now, about that nuptial service
which when one looks upon it, appears to have been sublime

32

rather than a mere merry gathering of thoughtless friends. In
a few minutes the whole service was over, and he was just about
to step out of the Church into the porch, when a little maiden
met him and held up for his acceptance a bouquet of flowers,
he stooped down and Kissed the little child
in acknowledgment ; and that was Mr. Templeton's last act in
this Church. It was just emblematic of all he had been in the
past, a lover of children. She had come unconsciously as the
representative of all little children, and she received on their behalf
the successful teacher's parting kiss and blessing. At the festive
board a duty was imposed upon me from which I shrank, being
afraid lest from his own and his bride's past circumstances, an
unguarded sentence or even a tone of voice, should convey any
other than the sincerest expressions of my heart, and thus
cause them pain instead of joy. His response will ever be
remembered by those who heard it, it was partly biographical, it
was high in tone, it was religious in its sentiments, and among
the many things he said that morning was this :
" I have never taken a step in my life without asking Divine
guidance.
In this step I have asked God to direct me. I know that a good
wife cometh from the Lord, and she whom I gratefully claim as
my wife I have asked of the Lord and I receive her now as
given by Him." He and his bride left that festive board amid
the good wishes of the assembled guests. What followed must
necessarily be briefly told, but told it must, for the idle tongue
sometimes misrepresents. He-and his wife went to the Coerney,
The man needed rest, he had had none. For months he had
been working hard, converting even night into day, much to the
dismay of his friends and the remonstrances of his well-wishers.
That sojourn at the'Coerney, however, proved a real relaxation
to him. He felt himself to be quite a new man. His energies
were braced, and he was saved, as he said by the few days' rest,
for they had dqne what would have needed a voyage to England
to invigorate othe^Kien. From the Coerney on ?the Friday he
took his bride to visit an old and now forgotten Moravian Mis
sionary Station called Aenon, which was a trip just in keeping
with his strong missionary sympathies, for he makes reference
to'Jt and to the Missionary they niet there in the last letter he

33

wrote to his children. In that letter he refers also to the quiet
ness of their place of resort, but regrets to hear that it is customary
for sportsmen to come and spend their Sundays there, thus
desecrating the Sabbath ; and then he closes by mentioning the
- day of their return. Monday morning came, and after reading
for some time, and amongst other things glancing at the news
papers which had just arrived, he set out with his wife for what
seemed to be only a short ramble, with his slippers as a covering
to his feet and his pipe in his mouth, for if there was one thing
he was fond of it was a smoke. He was extremely cheerful,
talking very hopefully of the bright future that was before him,
as well as how much he would be able to accomplish now that
. he would have the co-operation of a wife in his endeavours to
do his duty to his children and pupils. On and on they walked
until the pathway which they had been following disappeared
and it seemed as if they were now entering into the jungle.
His wife expressed a wish to return, but he still desired to pro
long their walk, talking all the while very pleasantly. Further
and further they proceeded, she every now and then suggesting
to him to return, as she had an instinctive dread that every step
they took was landing them into danger. But he resolved to
continue. At last after long wandering, the bush became densert
so that they had now often to creep rather than to walk erect.
Then believing that they had lost their way she entreated him
to return ; but he, evidently under the impression that they were
on the right way, resolved to press on. At last she took the lead,
and as she did so he frequently said to her, just
Keep to the right.
Keep to the right ! It was what he had always been doing all
his life long. It was what he had been saying.to his boys in all
his intercourse with them both by precept and by example.
Whether he was becoming conscious or not that they were lost,
and wished to preserve their way in one direction when he said
this, it is impossible to say. The kday wa| one. of Oppressive
heat, the air was as if from a furnace^ She begged' him to sit
down and rest, for he was labouring hieayijy^nd seemed greatly
oppressed, but no entreaty would avail. 'At last the skirt of
her garment was' torn by the thorny branches, and seeing how
fatigued he appeared to be, she entreated him Jo proceed no
further, as there was no need to be in haste. The train did not
leave till late,- and even if it came to the worst, they could wait
where they were until evening, for even though they were lost

34

there was bright moonlight to guide them on their way. He
asked her the time of day, and when she told him he expressed
his amazement. But all her pleadings were in vain. At her
solicitations, and in order to relieve him, he took off his coat ;
and in a stooping posture they continued threading their way
through the tangled bush, going she knew not'whitber, at last,
when they came to a slight opening, he lifted up his hands and
shouted aloud. It would seem as if he had now become
conscious that they were lost and that he was the cause of it,
and that he could no longer conceal from her what had been
such a burden to him. The whole situation seemed to rush
upon his mind and the consequences that were to follow. She
begged him to be courageous, but all his answer was
" I am dying,"
and then he sank to the ground, utterly exhausted. She
remonstrated with him, and in order to try and nerve him she
asked why had he married her if he must leave her so soon ?
To which he replied that he had married her for love. Then
he turned to her, and asked her to pray with him, that his faith
might not fail him ; she responded and then together they
bowed before the Throne of Grace, in the deep wilds, where
there was no pathway, and she, brave woman, spoke out the
deep secrets of their hearts to the Father of all. When she
ended, he took up -the strain, and offered a most earnest
prayer to Him'who ordered all things, and who never deserts
those who trust in Him. At the close he charged her to remember
her promises with reference- to his children, and when she
repeated her solemn vows at the rough altar of God's own
making, where no human; hearts before had made oath, he
turned upon her a most anxious gaze. It was a look never1
to be forgotten. Then he told her how parched his lips
and throat,vwere, a burning fever had been kindled within. There
was no water anywhere to moisten them, so she offered to open
one of the veins of her finger and to allow her to wet the dried
tongue with her own life blood. But heroic as that offer was, he
refused to "spare his* own life at the wounding of another's.
The thick darkness was gathering just before the light that was
beyond burst upon him. * AlIthathelpfuLsoothingministries could
do to afford -relief -she did. Her own hands .doing aE that love could
suggest*' Then seeing that unconsciousness was setting over him,
she repeated aloud one by one the names of his children, his only.
response was "Mary," as if to indicate that the end was now come,
and that he must be laid beside her who had been called by

35

that name. Seeing all hope was going, she started in search
of assistance, but before doing so, she laid her gloves by his
side, so that if he gained consciousness he might know that she
was not far off, and probably understand that she had gone for
help. Then to mark the spot where he lay she climbed a tree,
and fixed her sunshade high up among the branches, as a
landmark, for there was no pathway anywhere visible ; and
strong- men who have since seen the spot, have stated that
though Grahamstown and all that was in it had been given to
them on condition that they should be left alone to find their
way out from that spot where our brother lay, they would at once
have refused the offer. By chance a dog had accompanied
them, so she thought of writing a note to tell the friends at the
hotel that they were lost, but she had no paper of any kind.
However, she found a matchbox in her husband's pocket, this
she tore open and wrote, "Mrs. Poore, we are lost in the bush,
bring some brandy and water and look for us, we are at the
right side of the house. My husband looks as if he was going
to die. Come, come at once." Then she wrapped it up, and
tearing her garments, she tied the missive around the dog's neck
and drove him away. The animal returned faithfully, but no help
came, for no one saw the box, and only yesterday it was foun^j
near the hotel when everything was over. I have copied the
words from the very box. Then she left him, strewing as she
went fragments of her garments along her track, so that she
might find her way back. Again and again she searched for help,
and again returned. When she returned the second time it seemed
as if all was over, for he lay peacefully on his side, and yet she
refused to believe that the end had coine* A third time she started,
and when she thought she had go* far enough without finding
any outlet she tried to find her way back to. him, hoping still
that it was only a swoon, from which he would recover. Alas !
however, to her dismay, she could not find the spot ! jEor hours
and hours she wandered, seeking for her lost ome. The
searchers who traced her footprints afterwards, -said she must at
least that day have travelled fifteen miles-* At last, w*hen all
hope of finding her husband had gone, and when tliere was no
prospect of returning to the hotel, ^he laid herself down to die
resigned to^e will of God. When Io ! a strange soun^fell upon
her ears. Sh,e screamed again and yet again, and ever as she
did so the sound seemed to he coming nearer, until at last there
,M'ood befoEg her a powerful Kafir. This proved to be none
•other tha^an idiot, well-kriown in the neighbourhood, .and

36

whose dwelling is the woods. Her husband had spoken of this
idiot the previous day to her, and had given him a silver coin.
And now she stood face to face with this dweller in the wilds.
For the first time her courage almost failed her, but she gathered
strength and commanded him to take her to the hotel. At once
he led the way through bush and thicket until he landed her
safely after six o'clock at night at the hotel, which she had left
that morning full of happiness, but to which she returned a
weird spectacle with dishevelled hair and tattered garments, and
a wounded, bleeding frame.
Nothing in fiction can equal this tragic story. She did
heit'duty, did it to the last, did it in the Master's name, did. it in
the power of those answered prayers which she and her dying
husband had offered at a throne of grace. And yet, despite all
her manifestations of love, it was to exchange the bridal
garments for the' weeds of widowhood. You know the rest.
How this city was stirred to its depths by the tidings that the
man we loved so well was lost, how those brothers who bore an
honored name rose to the 'occasion, and did everything in their
power to try and find, even though it was; the lifeless, body of
the lost one. Those two, days of suspense, on the part of those
concerned, will never be effaced from their memory. Strong
men rushed to the rescue, men who had. been educated by this
master teacher, men also whose sons he had taught. Business
men here and at Port Elizabeth in these hard, anxious times
when a day's neglect of business means loss, rushed to the
place, to offer their help and show their sympathy. Large parties
were organised to search shoulder to shoulder. With axe and
hatchet they cut a, way for themselves through the jungle,
wondering how ever any two human beings could have ventured
so far into the wood. -As a signal the searchers were to fire
three shots if they found him alive, but four if he was dead. On
Wednesday morning these searchers took up their task again,
while the stricken one with her sister and brother, and the elder
of this Church, waited anxiously at the hotel for the result. At
8 o'clock they (but not she) who knew the signals, heard a gun
fire, they started and trembled; then a second, and then a third ¦
and when they were hoping that no other sound would co'fne, the
fourth lang the death knell. His 'own son was the first Of the
relatives whose sad duty it was to find his father stretched upon
the ground cold and stiff. The, searchers carried the corpse
gently and brought it. safely to us, after rfedical skill had exam
ined it, and pronounced the verdict that he had died of enlarge-

37

ment of the heart produced by heat and exhaustion, together
with slight congestion of the lungs, adding at the same time
that the disease of his heart was of such a nature that at any
moment, under undue excitement, it might have cut him off.
And when they gave the body over to us, wetfhe citizens of
Grahamstown, of every creed and nationality and grade, took it
and laid it gently in the grave. For two nights his body had
lain in that lonely spot, alone yet not alone.
For had he not high honour ?
The hill sid2 for his pall ;
To lie in state .while angels wait,
With starsTor tapers.tall.
Mr. Templeton's work was done. That being the case; I
now see a kind Providence in the. event. But the sacredness of
that family sorrow forbids me saying anything further upon it.
Still can we not see that God was arranging all ? Our dead
brother had asked a wife from the Lord. He gave him this
heroic woman. Her love was strained to its utmost limit, and
then when she offered to give up her life for her dying husband,
, He accepted her offering, and has placed her into that home
which she had hoped to enter as a bride, but into which God
Himself led her as a veiled widow, to take up, and cafe for, and
provide for, those orphan children. In that family group there
is one who bears the honoured name of our departed brother.
God bless the young man, and help him to sho# himself the
worthy son of so worthy a sire. ' There is one there also who
never knew; from experience what it was to call anyone by the
endearing name of Father. To the" namesake of our departed
friend do we all look, to act the part of an elder brother to
this fatherless youth.
Now I am done, I have learned many lessons already from
this dispensation of providence. One thing I can never forget,
and that is the kindness shown by new-made brothers, to one
who belonged to us, rather than to them." May God bless and
reward them, for all they- said, and all the considerate things they
did. May God bless all those who rushed to the rescue. May
the merchants, and the farmers, and the native men, and the elder
of this Church, who removed a burden from my shoulders, each
receive his own reward. May the idiot, too, receive his own
benediction, so that at eventide it may be light with him !
May God continue tplupport and sustain our widowed sister.
She kid what she could ! She has still more to do. May God
help her in every duty and every emergency. May God bless

38

the children, and encircle them with a zone of purest love.
May they each follow the Saviour and " keep to the right," as
their father did. May the whole band of mourners find comfort
in the God of all comfort. May this Church, too, not lose heart.
May the Public School rise to new power, even though its ornament
is gone. Let the pupils of Mr. Templeton everywhere learn the
grand lessons of his lire, and imitate, and even outvie them.
Let them erect the enduring monument over his grave, by lives
of unsullied purity and faith. Let them found a scholarship in
the Public School of Grahamstown, and call it by his name. May
they imitate the example which he set before them of Serving
his generation. May they live near tos Christ as he did. - May
they learn to pray as he prayed, for he was pre-eminently a man
of prayer. He began every duty by prayer. He asked
guidance in every step he took, by prayer; and last of all,
like his Master before him, he breathed out his life ^in prayer.
For only when our sons and daughters live for all that is pure
and beautiful, and good, and useful, and true, may we look for
the arrival of the time when " our sons shall be as plants grown
up in their youth and our daughters as corner stones polished
after the similitude of a palace."

ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. ROBT. TEMPLETON, M.A.

i.
In sadness broke the morn o'er hill and dale,
As Nature o'er her face had drawn a veil.
2.
What means this great commotion ? what hath led
A city thus to gather round the dead ?
From every quarter mourners wend their way
To follow to his resting-place to-day
One whom a city loved to look upon,
Who bore the honoured name of Templeton !
3-
No tolling bell ! to break the silent morn !
No martial music sounding, to adorn
With martial pomp, the peaceful dead, that lay
' Upon the bier, where mourners line the way !
A thousand muffled drums, with solemn tread,
Beat to the mournful story of the dead !
4-
Oh ! passing strange ! that one short week should span
The marriage and the closing scene of man !
That nuptial morn scarce dawn'd, before a cloud
Led from the sacred altar to the shroud !
That he who went to ^yander near the shore,
Should cross #e mm t0 retum B0 more !
5-
Oh. ! cruel death ! that bringest in thy train
The widow's sorrows and the filial pain !
Oh J, gaping- grave ! already open there !
Why should'st thou have one whom we ill can spare?
Why should'st thou, mother earth, receive one who
Leaves much undone that he alone could do ?

40

6.
And art thou gone ? Ah ! whither hast thou fled ?
Thy mortal shell is numbered with the dead !
Emancipated spirit ! thou dost dwell
Above th^. storms of life ! where all is well !
Upon Time's sands thy footprints will remain,
For we rejoice thou hast not lived in vain.
7-
A monument may tell where thou dost sleep !
And loving friends will linger round and weep- !
And flowers of Time bloom as each passing year
Thy many students come from far an,d near.
Tho' flowers of Time, and friends will pass away,
Thine influence is a flower will ne'er decay !
W. W. P.

Beaufort-street, GrahamstoWn,
January 2 1st, 1886. ,

3 9002