A. B. Maston was a very delicate boy, being sickly from his birth. He was always subject to acute neuralgia, which, in after years, he believed was a symptom of the beginnings of the disease which ultimately killed him. In his diaries (for he always kept a diary) there are frequent indications of trouble with his head, sometimes so severe as to compel him to keep his bed. But he had no suspicion of the fiery furnace through which he was to pass until about 33 years of age, in the year 1886, when a little swelling appeared on the left eyelid. No notice was taken of it for a while, though it was a source of continual irritation. One day, when a medical man happened to visit the house, Mr. Maston showed him his eye, and he "probed it with his pocket-knife"(!) and said that it was nothing, and would soon be all right. But it grew worse, and began to cause much pain. This continued for some months, until at last, in March, 1887, he underwent an operation. This was the first of an appalling series of similar experiences, so that we may say his sufferings extended with only brief intermission for a period of twenty-two years. Finding no relief, and anxious to obtain the best advice, he left Melbourne, as we have seen, in January, 1889, for England, where he consulted leading specialists in London. They were unable, however, to afford him more than [43] temporary help, and after a visit to the United States he returned to Australia. The trouble continued, and, although every conceivable remedy was tried, the "rodent ulcer" continued its deadly work.

      By the month of May, 1895, it was found necessary to undergo another operation, and yet another in June, 1896. A year later, in June, 1897, a severe operation failed to help him, and in April, 1898, he again left Australia, this time for America, to consult specialists in Cincinnati. But his hopes were not realised, and the disease continued to make headway, so that in October, 1899, he underwent the seventh operation. Others followed in February, June, and October, 1901, and August, 1902.

      In May, 1903, he tried the "Roentgen Rays," and found a little temporary relief, but not for any length of time. He was treated with these rays very frequently in the following years, and while they were certainly a help, nothing could arrest the ravages of the disease.

      In the early stages the left eye had to be entirely removed, and for many years he was compelled to do his arduous duties with the light of only one eye. What strain and pain this must have involved, those who have the blessing of two good eyes can scarcely imagine. In the operations themselves, the anesthetic always made him very sick, and a period of prostration generally followed. Little by little the diseased bone and tissue were cut away, until at last there were two great cavities in his head, into which, if the dressing were removed, you could thrust three fingers [44] as far as they would go, two awful gaping wounds instead of an eye. These wounds were always neatly dressed, so that there was nothing repulsive, but the dressing was in itself a painful thing, and had to be endured several times a day.

      No one, this side of eternity, will know what he suffered during those twenty-two years. He had the best medical skill, and Dr. Stirling and Dr. Embley, who stand very high in their profession, did all that could be done, and formed such an estimation of him that their skill was given without charge for years. Frequently they expressed their admiration of him to others, and when he died, they followed him to his last resting place. But the highest medical science was powerless in the presence of the insidious disease, and the prolonged battle had to be faced by the heroic fighter, and the wine-press trodden alone.

      Frequently he endured such paroxysms of torture that his loved ones feared that he would lose his reason. In the long watches of the night, while others slept, he would pace the floor in agony: and this not ten or twenty times only, but hundreds of times as the years dragged slowly by.

      These sufferings were endured with the utmost fortitude. He was hardly ever heard to complain, and was rarely miserable, but almost invariably bright and happy, and, as a rule, quite jocular. He had such a strong vein of humour in his composition that he could even poke fun at himself and his sufferings. He had a loud and hearty laugh, and whenever you saw him his poor wounded face would relax into a smile, and he would have [45] some quaint remark to make. Unless asked, he would not speak of his trouble, but always took the tenderest interest in the sorrows of others. His sufferings made him deeply sympathetic, and his enquiries after the sick and troubled were urgent and sincere. He was the heartiest of good companions, and his society was an antidote to heaviness of soul.

      Through all those years he worked. The word "work" to A. B. Maston meant hard toil, but it meant relief from anguish. Physical, intellectual, spiritual work--these were his delight. He worked early and late. He laboured as editor of the "Australian Christian," and the children's paper, "Pure Words"; as a publisher, as a printer, as a bookseller, as a tract writer, and in many exacting lines of business. He worked in connection with the Conference, in connection with his own Church, and as one who had upon him "the care of all the Churches." He laboured as a preacher of the gospel, and a teacher of the Church, and "in labours was more abundant than all."

      Hard work was his delight, and up till the day when he took to his bed, he was ever planning, organising, advising, and carrying forward his schemes with astonishing energy. Given up for a dead man time after time, he issued again from the operating room to work harder and more cheerfully than ever.

      All the time he was haunted by a fearful vision of what would certainly come at the last. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. At the end, defeat was a certainty. Death literally stared him [46] in the face for twenty years. One great fear possessed him, that he would ultimately lose his reason. "I am not afraid to die," he used to say. "What I am afraid of is getting up to the place."

      But even this pervading shadow could not repress his delight in life and work and society. Bravely he fought on, attempting and achieving, and winning his way to the very forefront in the esteem of the whole Brotherhood. In Australasia, his heroic fight for life was watched with intense interest by twenty thousand people. Towards the end, that great cloud of witnesses almost held their breath as time and again he rose from what seemed to be his deathbed. At last, when he fell to rise no more, there was a universal sigh, not only of sorrow, but of relief.

      The secret of his heroic endurance? As a boy he had yielded his life to Jesus of Nazareth. Ever afterwards, he looked to Him for example, inspiration, and strength. He could say with Paul, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." One text must often have been upon his heart,--"If we suffer, we shall also reign with Him." Christ was a reality to this man; indeed, almost the only reality, for outside of the things of Jesus Christ he hardly had an interest. This was the secret fountain from which he drank; this the source of power which energised him for all his labours. He believed with all his heart that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. He loved the Saviour who had shed His blood for him, and a sense of his indebtedness to his Redeemer led him to dedicate all his powers and opportunities to the work of Christ. [47]

      Whenever the sufferings were most acute, he heard, we may be sure, a voice saying, "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness;" "he that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved."

      When Jesus comes again, he will come "to be glorified in his saints," and when the story of the heroism of this suffering man of God is rehearsed before the assembled universe, the redeemed will give praise to the Lord of Glory, who supplied both the willingness and the strength to suffer and to achieve. [48]

[LABM 43-48]