I was desired, a week or two since, by a lady of my congregation, to visit a gentleman, with whom she was slightly acquainted. She knew Him to be dying without the knowledge of God.
He had not for thirty years been into a place of worship, and had never looked into a Bible. His life had been spent in field sports, horse racing, and gambling. I knew not how to gain admittance to his house, but I thought the best plan would be to write him a note, saying that I, as a minister of Christ, and a fellow countryman from Ireland, having heard that he was seriously ill, alone in London, was anxious to be of use to him in any way that I could.
I took the note and waited at the door for an answer. The answer came—“Mr. B. was engaged.” The following day I received a note from him. He said, “I am obliged for your offer, but must beg to decline seeing you; a friend of mine, a clergyman, can do anything for me that I require.” The door thus appeared to be shut against me, and I felt that I could do no more. A few days afterward, the lady who knew Mr. B. called at his door to inquire after him. He had with him at that time a friend who had just come over from Ireland to see him. This man had lived as he had done—in utter forgetfulness of God. When Lady—sent up her message of inquiry, Mr. B. said to his friend, “Go down and tell Lady—how I am, and thank her for her kindness in coming so often to ask after me.” The friend went down. Lady—asked him to come into her carriage, and then spoke to him of the awful danger of his friend’s position—dying and unsaved. The man was startled, and so thoroughly alarmed, not only about Mr. B.’s condition, but also about his own, that he promised Lady—to go next morning and fetch me, and take me up to Mr. B.’s room. He came accordingly to my house, and, finding me out, he walked up and down the square for three hours, till I returned. He then implored me to come and see his friend, saying, “He and I are alike going to hell. We never had a thought of God; and I should never have thought of Him now, had not my friend been struck down before my eyes. I entreat you to come to him before it is too late.” I was unable to go that day, but promised to go the next day. Next morning, however, I received a note from the friend, saying, “I am just starting to return to Ireland. Do not go to my friend for a day or two, for I have told him how much I wish him to see you, and he is so angry at the bare mention of it. I am sure he would not see you just yet. Wait a day or two and then try.” I accordingly waited, and then made the second attempt. To my surprise, I was admitted. As I went in, Mr. B. only remarked, in a surly voice, “I promised my friend I would let you come, and there you are.”
To my inquiries and remarks, he made no answer. I read to him the word of God, and spoke to him of Jesus. His only answer was a growl, with his face turned away. I remained with him about ten minutes, and then left him. He would not turn to take leave of me. He had said nothing during the whole of our interview, except the few words I have mentioned.
The next day, I received a letter from the friend in Ireland. He said, “I hope you have seen my poor friend. Unless he is saved, he must shortly be in hell. What an awful thought! Bear with his rude manners-mind nothing, if you can only get at him and tell him how to be saved.” I took his note, and went again to Mr. B.’s house. Again I was admitted. I had no warmer welcome than before. I said, “I have received a note from your friend in Ireland; I will read it to you.” I did so. “What a precious humbug!” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose that fellow means what he says?” “Yes,” I replied. “Had you seen him the other day, when he came to speak to me about you, you would not doubt. He knows too well now in what road both you and he are going. He told me he had never had a single thought about his soul till he saw you cut down.”
“Did he, indeed?” said Mr. B. I believe you; and I can tell you, that fellow has done more to hinder me from having any religion than anybody I know. I’ll tell you for why—He spent his life just as I did—gambling, horse racing, fox hunting, keeping open house to all who did the same—and yet he would never go to bed without having family prayers! Wouldn’t give you your dinner unless you’d engage to stay to prayers! and that did more to convince me that all religion is cant and humbug, than anything else. Now he tells you he never had any religion all the time, and he was right.”
I now felt that it was the time to speak to him directly of his own danger, and to put the gospel before him as simply as I could. He stopped me, saying, “Are you not something different from other clergymen?” “Why do you ask me?” I said. “Because,” he replied, “the rest of them always seemed to me only to differ from other people by caring a little more for having a good dinner, and perhaps an extra bottle of wine. However, go on and say what you have got to say.” I therefore spoke to him again of the grace of God. “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord,” &c, and passages about forgiveness and salvation; to which he listened, and this time with a look of interest. He shook hands with me when I left, and said, “You may come again.” From this time I saw him almost every day. He continued to listen, and he appeared interested, but said little.
Jan. 28. When I went to him this morning, the housekeeper, who had shown great anxiety about his soul, said to me, “oh! sir, I am so glad you are come, we think he is sinking.” As I entered the room, he looked at me with joy, and said, “Those beautiful words, ‘Come now,’ &c. (he repeated it, and all the rest), how beautiful they are! Just what I want—just suited to me.” “Yes,” I replied; but the question is, not whether they are beautiful words, but whether you believe them. Do you believe them?” He looked at me earnestly and said, “Will you tell me, faithfully, is there any reason why I should not believe them” No, my dear friend, there is no reason: one only why I believe them, and why you should believe them too—it is because the living God has spoken them. I ask you again, Do you believe them?” He closed his eyes, and gave no answer for ten minutes or so. He then looked at me, and said solemnly, “I do believe them. God has said them—they are true. And now,” he added, “I should like to die at once. I don’t care now for living any longer. Tell my housekeeper, if any of my friends come I will not see them. I wish to be left alone, to think of the wonderful love of God. I will always see you whenever you can come, but no one else; and will you write to that clergyman in Ireland, and tell him what it is to be saved! Jan. 31. I went again this morning to see Mr. B. He received me by saying, “It is wonderful, beyond my comprehension altogether, and yet it is true, for He has said it. How could He have loved me so much! Dear friend, I have just been thinking, what a marvelous kind of love it is, that my Creator, against whom I have sinned, should have so loved me that He gave His only Son to die for me! And not only so, I have been thinking further, if He so loved me as to give me His Son, it stands to reason there is nothing He would not give me.”
This man knew nothing of the Bible. 1 always found that, in repeating texts to him, I must add, “These are the words of God,” as he would not otherwise have distinguished them from my words. I therefore now repeated to him Rom. 8:3232He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things? (Romans 8:32), “He that spared not his own Son” &c. He was astonished to find that he had been led to speak almost in the very words of God. He then continued, as it were, talking the scriptures: not a cloud seemed to pass over his mind. He could not sufficiently express his thankfulness that I had been sent to tell him of Jesus, &c. “You remember, I wrote in my note to you, that I knew a clergyman who would do all I wanted: that was my cousin. He did not come to see me for some time, but a few days ago he came. He stayed some time; he did not, however, speak of religion. I don’t know what he believes, perhaps you do.”
Feb. 2. I left Mr. B. more than rejoicing. He asked me for some of the promises printed on loose pages, that he might keep them under his pillow. “I can fully trust Him,” he said. “You know, it would not be worth His while to disappoint me. Why should He?”
Feb. 4. When I called on my friend last night, I found he had died about an hour before. The housekeeper told me he read the texts sent to him by A. B. from the time he received them (twenty-four hours before) till his eyes were blinded by death; and then he called her, and made her sit beside his bed that she might read them to him, which she did, till he fell asleep on the bosom of Him whose promises he had been listening to. Seeing his great interest in them, the housekeeper said, “Are not these sayings beautiful, sir?” Her dying master answered, “They are altogether lovely.”
It was his last effort. B.
“Where shall my wondering soul begin?
How shall I all to heaven aspire?
A slave redeemed from death and sin,
A brand plucked from eternal fire,
How shall I equal triumphs raise,
Or sing my great Deliverer’s praise!
Ο how shall I the goodness tell.
Father, which thou to me hast showed?
That I, a child of wrath and hell,
I should be called a child of God,
Should know on earth my sins forgiven,
Blest with this antepast of heaven!”