In April, 1838, when Mr. Evans had been about four years in Caernarvon, the church under his charge received notice to pay up the £300 yet due on their house of worship. He took a tour through the principality, to collect money for this purpose. Before he set out, he wrote a circular to his brethren, which was published in the Welsh Magazine. We make the following extract:—

“The term of the lease of life has expired in my case, even three score and ten years, and I am very much afflicted. I have purposed to sacrifice myself to this object, though I am afraid I shall die in the journey, and fear I shall not succeed in my errand for Christ. We have no source to which we can now repair, but our own denomination in Wales, and brethren and friends of other communities that may sympathize with us. O brethren, pray with me for protection on the journey—for strength and health this once, on occasion of my bidding farewell to you all—pray for the light of the Lord’s countenance upon me in preaching, pray for his own glory, and that his key may open the hearts of the people to contribute towards his cause in its present exigency. O help us, brethren,—when you see the old brother, after having been fifty-three years in the ministry, now, instead of being in the grave with his colleagues, or resting at home with three of them who are yet alive—brethren Lewis of Llanwenarth, Davies of Velin Voel, and Thomas of Aberduar [56]—when you see him coming, with the furrows of death in his countenance, the flowers of the grave on his head, and his whole constitution gradually dissolving; having labored fifty years in the ministry in the Baptist denomination. He comes to you with hundreds of prayers bubbling as it were from the fountain of his heart, and with a mixture of fear and confidence. O do not frown upon him!—he is afraid of your frowns. Smile upon him by contributing cheerfully to his cause this once for all. If you frown upon me, ministers and deacons, by intimating an irregular case, I am afraid I shall sink into the grave before returning home. This is my last sacrifice for the Redeemer’s cause.”

In this journey, he was cordially received everywhere by the churches, and very successful in raising money. At no former period of his life was his popularity so great as now. Wherever he preached, the place was thronged at an early hour; and frequently multitudes remained without, unable to obtain admittance.

MONMOUTHSHIRE ASSOCIATION.

During this tour, he attended the Monmouthshire Association, and preached his last associational sermon. In his introduction, he described a man whom he had seen in Caernarvon, throwing a few beans to a herd of swine that followed him, and thus enticing them to the door of the slaughter-house, where they were to be slain; and said that, in a similar manner, with one temptation after another, Satan allures deluded sinners to the very gates of hell, where they are to be tormented for ever and ever. He spoke of the gospel on the day of Pentecost, as a great electrical machine; Christ turning the handle; Peter placing the chain in contact with the people: and the Holy Ghost descending like a stream of ethereal fire, and melting the hearts of three thousand at once!

Perhaps no sermon that Mr. Evans ever preached evinced more vigor of intellect, more power and splendor of genius, than this; and seldom, if ever, had he a more perfect command over the feelings of an audience. But the effort was too much for him, and he was afterward confined to his room by illness for a week.

LAST SERMON, SICKNESS, AND DEATH.

Following this indefatigable man of God, we find him, on Sunday, the fifteenth of July, notwithstanding his late illness, at Swansea, preaching like a seraph, on the Prodigal Son in the morning, and in the evening on the words of St. Paul—“I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ,” &c.

The next evening he preached in the church at Mount Pleasant. He said he had taken his pulpit model from the day of Pentecost. He described the event of that memorable day, as a great naval battle between Emanuel and the Prince of Darkness. “The captain of our salvation” sent out twelve little boats to engage the whole fleet of hell. For a time all was enveloped in fire and smoke, and the issue of the day seemed doubtful; but when the conflict ceased, and the cloud cleared away, it was ascertained that the twelve little boats had captured three thousand of Satan’s ships of war.

When the preacher sat down, he said, “This is my last sermon.” And so it was. That night he was taken violently ill. The next day he lay in a partial stupor, taking but little notice of his friends. The third day he seemed somewhat better. On the morning of the fourth day, Thursday, he arose and walked in the garden. Toward evening he sunk again, and grew worse during the night. At two of the clock on Friday morning, he said to his friends:—“I am about to leave you. I have labored in the sanctuary fifty-three years; and this is my comfort and confidence, that I have never labored without blood in the basin”—meaning, evidently, that he had not failed to preach “Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” After a few more remarks of a similar character, he repeated a Welsh stanza, expressive of his firm trust in the Redeemer; and then, as if he had done with earth, and desired to depart, exclaimed in English—“Good-bye! drive on!” He now turned over, and seemed to sleep. His friends tried to rouse him. It was too late. The angelic postillion had obeyed the order. The chariot had passed over the everlasting hills.

Thus died Christmas Evans, at the house of his friend, Rev. Daniel Davies, in Swansea, July 19th, 1838, in the 73d year of his age, and the 54th of his ministry. His life was blameless, and his end was peace. “This honor have all his saints!”

His funeral took place four days after his death. Never before was there such a funeral in Swansea, never such a concourse of mourners. The people came in crowds, and wept their way to the grave as if they had been following the bier of their father. The melancholy tidings of his departure spread through the principality, and the fountains of sorrow were everywhere unsealed. In Anglesea, especially, the grief was deep and universal. There he had spent more than half of his ministerial life, and hundreds owned him as their father in Christ. The Baptist pulpits were all clothed in mourning, and funeral sermons were preached throughout the principality.