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Transcribed from the 19th century Religious Tract Societyedition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

No. 803.

NARRATIVESERIES.

THE
DYING GIPSY

“Be sure your sinwill find you out.”  Numb. xxxii. 23.

Conscience, say some, is a merewhim, that frightens weak minds, renders man a coward, and cutsshort half his purposes.  But is it not rather the candle ofthe Lord shining in man’s dark bosom, to bring to light thehidden wickedness of the heart; that well-known voice which givesno sound, yet will be heard—that hand often felt, thoughnever seen?  Reader! it you regard this inward monitor, (andI trust you do,) you will not then turn away from the followingrelation of facts.

Several reports were brought to P—, of a dying gipsy,who was lying in a camp two miles off; that his mind was greatlydistressed at the prospect of death, that he had offered a sum ofmoney for a person to read to him a portion of the Bible, andthat he had also offered money to a poor woman for reading to himpart of the Book of Common Prayer; and further, that he haddeclared he could not endure the thought of dying till God hadforgiven him.

Not being able that day to visit him myself, I prevailed on afriend to go instead, to whom the gipsy gave an account ofhimself in nearly the following words:—

“My name is Stanley, my ancestors were oncerespectable, my great-grandfather was a principal officer in thearmy of the commonwealth; but the family falling to decay, myfather took up with the wandering life of the gipsies; among themI was born, and have continued to the present time.  I amnow in my eightieth year, and have led a long and wicked life;but there is one thing that troubles me above all the rest. About forty years ago, in the course of conversation with abrother of mine, Ip.2cursed the Almighty to his face!  From that time,sir, I have been a stranger to peace; the recollection of myblasphemy has followed me ever since; I cannot forget it; ithaunts me from place to place; alone or in company, it is thesame.  I get no rest; my wickedness fills me with horror; Iam indeed a monster; often have I tried to remove the impression,but it is impossible.  O, sir, my sin it too heavy for me tobear!  Such has been its influence upon my spirits, that thebare mention of God’s name would bring a trembling upon me,and fill my mind with anguish.  As long as I could, Iconcealed the cause of my uneasiness, till it became too painfulto bear, and I was at length induced, about two years ago, toreveal it to my family; from that time I have earnestly soughtfor God’s forgiveness, but I still feel his handheavy.  O might I but be pardoned! I could then die inpeace; but, sir, with this burden upon my soul, death will indeedbe dreadful.”

Having heard his affecting relation, my friend immediatelyspoke of Jesus Christ—of his death on the cross for thesalvation of sinners, and exhorted him to believe in the Son ofGod, who died for the sins of the world; assuring him, that therewas mercy with God to pardon him; that the divine compassion waslike the boundless sea; that the arms of Christ’s mercywere still extended to embrace and welcome all that come to him,even the vilest; that many great sinners had been pardoned uponrepentance and were now shining in glory; that there was roomstill for more, and that if he repented and believed in Christ asthe only Saviour, salvation was as free for him as forothers.  At these words his countenance brightened; but asspeaking had by this time greatly exhausted him, my friend badehim farewell for the present.

The next evening we visited him together; a small tent pitchedupon the ground, enclosing room just sufficient for a bed,contained the sufferer.  As we drew near, a young woman ofabout twenty, in features, dress, and manners every way thegipsy, came forward, and (as is frequently the case withunenlightened relatives) wished us not to introduce the subjectof eternity any more.  She said he had felt much morecomposed in consequence of my friend’s preceding visit, butstill she feared if we mentioned the subject then, it would againdisturb him; besides he wasp. 3already much fatigued.  However,on our replying that the tidings we brought were calculated tosoothe, instead of disturb, a person in his circumstances, shedrew the curtain from the front of the tent, and the object ofour attention lay before us, gasping for breath.

I confess I was much struck with the affectionate attentionthe family appeared to pay to their aged father; however carelessof their own persons, they did not neglect him—there wasevery thing that could be expected under suchcircumstances—a feather bed, bolster, and pillows,supported the limbs of the dying man—the sheets andpillow-cases were white and clean, and a patchwork counterpane,equally clean, covered him outside.

He immediately noticed us, and though nearly breathless madean effort to speak; he replied to some of my friend’squestions concerning the subjects they had discoursed upon; saidthat his mind was easier than it had ever been before—thathe felt as if a great weight had been lifted off from him. We asked, “What has been the practice of your pastlife?”  He replied, “Nothing butsin.”—“What do you deserve at the hands ofGod?”  “Eternalpunishment.”—“Would God be just, if he were torefuse you mercy?”  “Oyes!”—“If you should be spared and recover,would you live as you have done?”  “O no! notfor the world.”—“What do you now desire? whatdo you most need?”  “Mercy!mercy!”—“What, if you might bepardoned?”  “O I would give the world to obtainit!”—“Are you then really desirous of pardon,that you may join the redeemed in glory?”  To this hesignified his full assent, not indeed in so many words, they weretoo feeble to convey his meaning; but with eyes and handsuplifted, and a countenance remarkably animated, he seemed atonce to collect all the remaining energies of body and spirit tosay, “O yes! indeed I am!”  This assent wasaccompanied with a force of expression, which I apprehend nonebut a dying man could give to it.

I again stated to him the plan of salvation, through theredemption of Jesus Christ; the necessity of a change of heart torender us meet for heaven; to all which he replied asintelligibly as we could expect from his weak state and previousignorance, for he could not read a letter.  I then stated tohim some of the invitations of divine mercy, as, Isaiah lv. 7,“Let the wicked forsake his way, andp. 4the unrighteousman his thoughts: and let him return unto the Lord, and he willhave mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantlypardon.”  And, Isaiah i. 18, “Come now, and letus reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be asscarlet, they shall be as while as snow; though they be red likecrimson, they shall be as wool.”  John vi. 37,“Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise castout.”  Matt. vii. 7, 8, “Ask, and it shall begiven you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be openedunto you: for every one that asketh receiveth; and he thatseeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall beopened.”  Rev. xxii. 17, “And the Spirit and thebride say, Come.  And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst, come.  And whosoever will, lethim take the water of life freely.”  I asked him ifthey were not sweetly suited to the case of a penitent?  Hereplied, “O yes!”—“Do they suit yourcase?”  “O very well!”  By this timehe was so much spent, that speaking appeared almost impossible; Itherefore kneeled down by him, and endeavoured in a short prayerto plead the promises which are yea and amen in Christ Jesus, onwhich we are encouraged to hope.  We then left him, and heexpressed the sincerest gratitude for our attentions, as did hisfamily also.

As we turned away, my mind was deeply affected with the scenewhich surrounded us; it was a fine evening in May, the landscapewas extensive, and richly diversified with sections of arable andpasture land—the wide common on which we stood was skirtedon one side by a continuous range of hills, whose sloping sidesexhibited the various shades and hues peculiar to the season, asseen in the fallow ground, the deep foliage of the copse, thecorn, the turnip, and the varying grass; while here and there, alengthened bank of chalk was seen beneath the frowningprecipice—in the distance, the parish church raised itsneat white spire above the trees—behind these, anotherrange of hills, though more irregular, stretched their encirclingarms so as completely to bound the prospect—the sky, withthe exception of a few light clouds, was clear and serene, andthe whole beautifully tinged with the rays of the sellingsun.

Such was the face of nature, which seemed suited in itsstillness to the solemn scene we had quitted.  But withp. 5man it was farotherwise—a sad contrast now presented itself.  In aretired part of the common, beneath the shade of a few trees, wehad just seen a poor fellow-sinner (and we hope a penitent)preparing to enter the presence of his Maker—the soul onwing for flight, trembling, and anxious for the future—herewe had trodden the confines of eternity, and seemed to have beenbreathing the air of death, and holding converse with the spiritsof another world; but at no great distance on the same common,hundreds, who had assembled to celebrate the Whitsun holidays,were wasting in giddy sinful mirth that precious time, which thepoor man we had just visited would have given the world torecall.  How sad a perversion of the sacred festivalappointed for the purpose of commemorating the descent of theHoly Ghost!—that sacred Spirit, against whom thisthoughtless rabble were constantly striving, by stifling hisvoice, and quenching his influence within them!  Thus,thought I, men sin; and thus, as in the agonies of that dyingman, they often suffer for it!  But this is not all; hewill, we hope, find mercy, many of them perhaps will not—wetrust he is a penitent, he has rejoiced to hear of the Lamb ofGod which taketh away the sins of the world; but who can say thatone fourth of that thoughtless crowd will ever repent?  Andif not, these visionary joys must be succeeded by real andeverlasting misery.  The thought affected me, and I feltthankful for the grace, which I hoped had made me to differ.

The next day our penitent (for so we considered him) was againvisited by some of our friends, but was nearly speechless. He lingered for a few days longer, and then died, we trust inpeace, through the infinite mercy of Christ.  We learnt,that for the last twelve years of his life he had been a veryaltered man; and his family declared that since he had unbosomedhis sin and grief, they had often seen him under the hedges insecret, as they thought, praying fervently for mercy.

Reader, we see in the case of this poor man,

First, The force of conscience.

Let it be remembered that this sin was committed inprivate—his family knew nothing of it—his brotherprobably did not notice it at the time—there was no man ofGod at his elbow, to reprove him—no Bible at hand top. 6condemnhim—and yet he was never happy afterwards.  What wasit, then, which made him thus miserable, and always thus broughthis sin to remembrance, but that same conscience, which so manydeny, and always affect to despise?  Though there was norecorder upon earth, there was one in heaven: God heard andmarked his sin: he it was that roused conscience to its duty, andbid it wring the sinner’s heart; it did so, and the unhappyblasphemer could never afterwards forget the impious expression;it was ever present to his recollection, it followed him like afrightful spectre wherever he went, and peace was a stranger tohis bosom.

This it was that clothed death with so much terror: he couldnot die as his fellows are used to die, in brutal ignorance andstupidity; he was alive to his situation, he saw his danger; heknew that punishment was deserved; conscience, ever pointing tothe bar of God, told him to prepare for judgment—and thoughhe knew but little of God’s word and his threateningsagainst sinners, he could not but fear the worst: it was thisthat shook his strong nerves, and bowed down his spirits forforty years.  Oh! who can resist an enragedconscience?  “A wounded spirit who canbear?”

Reader, pause for a moment.  You possess a conscience,though perhaps it sleeps, but be assured it will not sleep forever; it is immortal as the soul, it will surely awake, and thatsoon, either in time or eternity: convinced of sin you must be,either by the mercy of God in this world, to bring you torepentance; or by his vengeance in the next, “where theirworm dieth not, and their fire is not quenched!”  Owhenever it speaks, listen to it, it is a friendly voice: do notstifle it, for in stilling conscience we quench the lastglimmerings of hope; we commit the last act of violence upon thesoul, short of self-murder; and do, as it were, leap down uponthe very shelvings of the pit, that mercy’s hand may neverreach us.

Secondly.  See here the bitterness of unpardoned sin.

God hath thus spoken by his prophet, (Jer. ii. 19.)“Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thybackslidings shall reprove thee: know therefore and see that itis an evil thing and bitter, that thou hast forsaken the Lord thyGod, and that my fear is not in thee, saith the Lord God ofhosts.”  This language was fearfully made out inp. 7the case beforeus: for forty years this man had no rest in his mind; he hadcommitted many sins before, which, like to many lying spirits,had deceived him; but this sin as soon as committed, he felt tolie upon his conscience unforgiven; and from that time forwardall his sins, which he once turned as sweet morsels under histongue, he found to be bitter as gall.  His sufferings forso many years together, may be better conceived than described;wherever he went, whatever he did, he seemed to see the eye ofGod continually fixed and frowning on him.  Oh! if thepressure of one unpardoned sin upon the conscience, be sufficientto fill the soul with anguish, and render a man wretched throughlife; what must be his sufferings in the world to come, where allhis sins will be brought to remembrance, and made to prey uponhis peace for ever!

Reader!  You must sooner or later taste the bitterness ofsin.  O that it may be in time to bring you to repentanceand salvation!  But know, that if you die unpardoned, youmust dwell with devouring flame, and lie down in everlastingburnings.

Thirdly.  Notice signs of penitence.

His views of Christianity were indistinct and confused: this,however, was to be expected from his habits of life.  Up tohis eightieth year he had been a fugitive and wanderer uponearth, without the means of grace; and there is reason to think,without ever hearing a sermon in his life.  And had hepossessed a Bible, he could not have read it: nothing thereforebut profound ignorance could be expected, but then, he exhibitedsigns of the deepest penitence, and we know who has said,“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and acontrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” (Pa. li.17.)  Nor was this contrition the mere effect of his dyingcircumstances; for some years previous he had been an alteredman, and had frequently been seen by his family, engaged inprayer by himself under the hedges, and in other retiredplaces.  I have certainly no warrant for positivelydeclaring that he is now happy; nor dare I say he is not;“to his own Master he standeth or falleth”—butwhen I heard of his death, I could not help, in the judgment ofcharity tracing he departed spirit to the throne of God.

Reader are you thus penitent?  Have you felt andp. 8confessed yoursins?  Have you earnestly implored mercy through theatonement of Christ?  Have you forsaken sin?  Forremember, he declared as a dying man, that he would not repeathis former practices, nor live as he had done for theuniverse.  If indeed you have forsaken your unrighteousthoughts and ways, and turned to the Lord through faith in JesusChrist, he will assuredly receive you, and abundantlypardon.  But know, that if you still allow yourself to sin,and still find sin pleasant, your state is truly awful, you areas sure to die as he was, but not so likely to obtain mercy, forhe was penitent but you are not, and “except ye repent, yeshall all likewise perish.” Luke xiii. 5.

Fourthly.  We are herein reminded of the blessedness andvalue of the Bible, which reveals a Saviour and the hope ofpardon.

It was not any thing of our own, but the truths of the Biblewhich interested and cheered this dying man.  With eagernesshe listened to the doctrines of redemption and mercy through theblood of Christ, and found them exactly suited to his case.

O then how diligently ought we to study the Bible!  Readit, and pray over it; it will conduct thee to the fountain oflife and mercy.  Remember, there is no salvation, no pardon,but through that Saviour of whom it speaks, for “there isno other name given under heaven among men, whereby we must besaved.” (Acts iv. 12.)  Mere sorrow for past, sin,prompted by present pain, and dread of the future, forcing a cryfor mercy, cannot save us, nor must we trust to it: this man weptand groaned for years but it brought him no relief—nothingeffected this but the hope of mercy through the Redeemer.

Sinner, go to Him; and may the divine Spirit seal these truthsupon thy heart, through Jesus Christ.  Amen.

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