The following testimonies from Solomon Shaw are called dying testimonies of the unsaved. The awful death of an infidel son. I will never be guilty of founding my hopes for the future upon such a compiled mess of trash as is contained in that book, the Bible, mother. Talk of that being the production of an infinite mind. A boy ten years of age, if he is half-witted, could have told a straighter story, and made a better book. I believe it to be the greatest mess of lies ever imposed upon the public. I would rather go to hell, if there is such a place, than have the name of bowing to that imposter Jesus Christ, and be dependent on his merits for salvation. Beware, beware, my son, for God is not mocked. Although he bears with the wicked long, yet he will not keep his anger forever. In all manner of sin shall be forgiven men, except to sin against the Holy Ghost, which has no forgiveness. And many are the examples, both in sacred and profane history, of men who have been smitten down in the midst of their sinning against that Blessed Spirit. Very well, Father, I'll risk all the cutting down that I shall get for cursing that book. and all the agonies connected therewith, let it come. I'm not at all scared. Oh, Father, lay not this sin to his charge, for he knows not what he does. Yes, I do know what I'm about and what I say, and I mean it. John, do you mean to drive your mother raving distracted? Oh, God, what have I done that this dreadful trial should come upon me in my old age? Mother, if you don't want to hear me speak my sentiments, why do you always begin the subject? If you do not want me to hear it, don't ever broach the subject again, for I shall never talk of that book in any other way. The above conversation took place between two fond parents and an only son, who was at home on a visit from college, and now was about to return. And the cause of this outburst was, the kind-hearted Christian parents had a say to give him a few words of kind admonition, which alas proved to be the last, and the above were his last words which he spoke to them as he left the house. How anxiously those fond parents looked after him, as though something told him that something dreadful would happen. What scalding tears were those that coursed their way down those furored cheeks. Oh, that they might have been put in the bottle of mercy. Poor wretched young man, it had been better for him had the avalanche from the mountain crushed him. Beneath his deadly weight, ere those words escaped his lips, Little did he think that he who said honor thy father and mother and he that hardeneth his heart and stiffeneth his neck Shall suddenly be destroyed and that without remedy was so soon going to call him to give an account for those words So heart-rending to his aged parents and so dreadful in the sight of a holy God he didn't buy those dreadful principles from an infidel roommate at college and Beware, young men, with whom you associate, lest you fall as did this unfortunate young man. John B. left his home and hastened to the depot, where he took the cards which were to bear him to M., where he was in a few months to finish his studies. The whistle blew, and away swept the cars across the trembling plain. But alas, they had gone but a few miles, when the cars, coming round a curve and a deep cut, came suddenly upon an obstruction on the track, which threw the engine and two of the cars at once from the rails. As fate would seem to have it, the wicked son, John B. , was that moment passing between them. He was thrown in an instant from the platform, his left arm being broken, and his skull fractured by the fall. And in an instant, one of the wheels passed directly over both his legs near the body, breaking and mangling them in the most dreadful manner. Strange as it may seem, no one else was injured. The dreadful news soon reached his already grief-stricken parents, and ere long that beloved yet ungrateful son was born back to them, not as he left, but lying upon a litter, a poor mangled raving maniac. Why these pious parents were called to pass through this dreadful trial, he whose ways are in the deep and past finding out only knows, except that by this sad example of his wrath many might be saved. Many skillful physicians were called, but the fiat of the Almighty had gone forth, and man could not recall it. When the news reached the college, his classmates hastened to see him. When they came, nature was fast sinking, but the immortal part was becoming dreadfully alive. Oh, that heart-rending scene! His reason returning brought with it a dreadful sense of his situation. His first words were an, Oh, may never mortal hear such a cry as that again upon the shores of time. Mother! I'm lost! Lost! Lost! Damned! Damned! Damned forever! And as his classmates drew near to the bed, among whom was the one who had poisoned his mind with infidelity, with a dreadful effort he rose in the bed and cried as he fixed his glaring eyes upon him. Jay, you have brought me to this. You have damned my soul. May the curses of the Almighty and the Lamb rest upon your soul forever. Then, like a hellish fiend, he gnashed his teeth and tried to get hold of him, that he might tear him in pieces. Then followed a scene from which the strongest fled with horror. But those poor parents had to hear and see it all, for he would not allow them to be away a moment. He fell back upon his bed, exhausted, crying, Oh, mother, mother, give me some water to quench this fire that is burning me to death. Then he tore his hair and rent his breast. The fire had already begun to burn, the smoke of which shall ascend up forever and ever. And then again, he cried, Oh, mother, save me. The devils have come after me. Oh, mother, take me in your arms and don't let them have me.' And as his mother drew near to him, he buried his face in that thorn bosom which had nourished and cherished him, but alas could not now protect her shield from the storm of the Almighty's wrath, for he turned from her. And with an unearthly voice he shrieked, Father! Mother! Father! Save me! They come to drag my soul, my soul to hell! And with his eyes starting from their sockets, he fell back upon his bed of corpse. The spirit had fled, not like that of Lazarus, born on the wings of a convoy of angels, but dragged by fins to meet a fearful doom. May his dreadful fall prove a warning to those who would unwittingly walk in the same path. Taken from a tract called the Ernest Christian, September 1867. Story number two, the sad death of a lost man. Near the town of Killeen in Texas, there lived and prospered a wealthy farmer, the son of a Methodist preacher, with whom the writer was intimately acquainted. He was highly respected in the community in which he lived. He was a kind-hearted and benevolent man, but however had one great fault, he was very profane. He would utter the most horrible oaths without seemingly the least provocation. On several occasions, I remember having seen him under deep conviction for salvation during revival meetings. On one occasion during a camp meeting, he was brought under powerful conviction. He afterwards said he was suddenly frightened and felt as if he wanted to run away from the place. Just one year from that time, another camp meeting was held at the same place, and he was again brought under conviction but refused to yield, after which he was suddenly taken ill and died in three days. I was with him in his last moments. He seemed to be utterly forsaken of the Lord from the beginning of his sickness. The most powerful medicines had no effect on him whatever. Just as the sun of a beautiful Sabbath morning rose in its splendor over the eastern hills, he died in horrible agony. All through the night previous to his death, he suffered untold physical and mental torture. He offered the physicians all his earthly possessions if they would save his life. He was stubborn till the very last, and would not acknowledge his fear of death until a few moments before he died, that suddenly he began to look, then to stare, horribly surprised and frightened, into the vacancy before him, then exclaimed as if he beheld the king of terrors and all of his merciless wrath, My God! The indescribable expression of his countenance at this juncture, together with the despairing tones in which he uttered these last words, made every heart quake. His wife screamed and begged a brother to pray for him, but he was so terror-stricken that he rushed out of the room. The dying man continued to stare in a dreadful astonishment, his mouth wide open and his eyes protruding out of their sockets, till at last with an awful groan, like a flood with rapid force, death bore the wretch away. His three-year-old son, the idol of his father's heart, was convulsed with grief. This little boy, then so innocent, grew up to be a wicked young man, and died a horrible death. Oh, how sad! When we reflected in hell, there are millions of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, hopelessly lost, given over forever to the mad ravages of eternal, pitiless wrath, ever frightened by real ghosts. tortured by serpents and scorpions, gnawed by the worm that never dies, and when we reflect that this, the future state of the wicked will never abate its fury, but, according to the natural law of sin, degradation and wretchedness will grow worse and more furious, as the black ages of eternity roll up from darker realms. We turn for relief from the sad reverie to the man of sorrows who tasted death for every man, Then to the beautiful city, whose builder and maker is God, to the bliss of the glorified who will shine as the stars forever and ever. Then with renewed efforts we continue with gratitude to work out our own and the salvation of others with fear and trembling." The Ambassador. The next story is called, Oh, I Have Missed It At Last. Some time ago, a physician called upon a young man who was ill. He sat for a while by the bedside examining his patient. And then he honestly told him the sad intelligence that he had but a very short time to live. The young man was astonished. He did not expect it would come to that so soon. He forgot that death comes in such an hour as you think not. At length he looked up into the face of the doctor and with the most despairing countenance repeated the expression, I have missed it at last. What have you missed? inquired a tender-hearted, sympathizing physician. I have missed it at last, again he repeated. Missed what? Doctor, I've missed the salvation of my soul. Oh, say not so. It is not so. Do you remember the thief on the cross? Yes, I remember the thief on the cross, and I remember that he never said to the Holy Ghost, go thy way. But I did. And now he is saying to me, go your way. He lay gasping a while and looking up with a vacant, starting eye. He said, I was awakened and was anxious about my soul a little time ago, but I did not want to be saved then. Something seemed to say to me, don't put it off. Make sure of salvation. I said to myself, I will postpone it. I knew I ought not to do it. I knew I was a great sinner and needed a savior. I resolved, however, to dismiss the subject for the present. Yet I could not get my own consent to do it until I had promised to take it up again, at a time not remote and more favorable. I bargained away, resisted, and insulted the Holy Spirit. Never thought of coming to this. I meant to have made my salvation sure and now I have missed it at last You remember said the doctor that there were some who came at the 11th hour My 11th hour he rejoined was when I that call of the Spirit came I've had none since, shall not have. I'm given over to be lost. Oh, I have missed it. I have sold my soul for nothing. A feather, a straw, undone forever. This was said with such indescribable despondency that nothing was said in reply. After lying a few moments, he raised his head and looked all around the room as if for some desired object. He buried his face in the pillow and again exclaimed in agony and horror, I've missed it at last and died Reader you need not miss your salvation for you may have it now What you have read is a true story how earnestly it says to you now is the accepted time Today, if you will hear his voice hard and not your hearts Hebrew 3 verses 7 and 8 From a tract called the firebrand and The following story is called The Awful End of a Backslider. The following is a short account of the life and death of William Pope of Bolton in Lincolnshire. He was at one time a member of the Methodist Society and was a saved and happy man. His wife, a devoted saint, died triumphantly. After her death, his zeal for religion declined. And by associating with backslidden professors, he entered the path of ruin. His companions even professed to believe in the redemption of devils. William became an admirer of their scheme, a frequenter with them of the public house, and in time, a common drunkard. He finally became a disciple of Thomas Paine and associated himself with a number of deistical persons at Bolton. Assembled together on Sundays to confirm each other in their infidelity They amused themselves with throwing the Word of God on the floor kicking it around the room and treading it under their feet God laid his hand on this man's body and he was seized with consumption Mr. Rhodes was requested to visit William Pope and He says when I first saw him he said to me last night I believe I was in hell and felt the horrors and torment of the damned But God has brought me back again and given me a little longer respite the gloom of guilty terror does not sit so heavy upon me as it did and I have something like a faint hope that after all I have done God may yet save me. After exhorting him to repentance and confidence in the Almighty Savior, I prayed with him and left him. In the evening he sent for me again. I found him in the utmost distress, overwhelmed with bitter anguish and despair. I endeavored to encourage him. I spoke of the infinite merit of the great Redeemer. Mentioned several cases in which God has saved the greatest sinners But he answered no case of any that has been mentioned is comparable to mine. I have no contrition I cannot repent God will damn me. I know the day of grace is lost God has said as such as are in my case. I will laugh at your calamity and mock when your fear cometh I said have you ever known anything of the mercy and love of God and Yes, he replied many years ago. I truly repented and sought the Lord and found peace and happiness. I Prayed with him after exhorting him to seek the Lord and had great hopes of his salvation He appeared much affected and begged. I would represent his case in our society and pray for him. I Did so that evening and many hearty petitions were put up for him Mr. Barraclough gives the following account of what he witnessed. I He says I went to see William Pope and as soon as he saw me he exclaimed You are come to see one who is damned forever. I Answered I hope not Christ can save the chief of sinners He replied I have denied him. I have denied him Therefore hath he cast me off forever. I know the day of grace has passed gone gone never more to return I Entreated him not to be hasty and to pray. He answered, I cannot pray. My heart is quite hardened. I have no desire to receive any blessing at the hand of God. And then cried out, oh, the hell, the torment, the fire that I feel within. Oh, eternity, eternity, to dwell forever with devils and damned spirits in the burning lake must be my portion, and that justly. Thursday I found him groaning under the weight of the displeasure of God his eyes rolled to and fro He lifted up his hands and with vehemence cried out. Oh the burning flame the hell the pain I feel I have done done the deed the horrible damnable deed I prayed with him and while I was praying he said with inexpressible rage I I will not have salvation at the hand of God. No, no, I will not ask it of him." After a short pause, he cried out, Oh, how I long to be in the bottomless pit, in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone. The day following, I saw him again. I said, William, your pain is inexpressible. He groaned, and with a loud voice cried out, Eternity will explain my torments. I tell you again, I am damned. I will not have salvation. He called me to him as if to speak to me. But as soon as I came within his reach, he struck me on the head with all his might, and gnashing his teeth, cried out, God will not hear your prayers. At another time he said, I have crucified the Son of God afresh and counted the blood of the covenant an unholy thing. Oh, that wicked and horrible deed of blaspheming against the Holy Ghost. I know I have committed He was often heard to exclaim. I want nothing but hell come Oh devil and take me At another time. He said oh what a terrible thing it is Once I might and would not now I would not and must not he declared that he was best satisfied when cursing The day he died when mr. Rhodes visited him and asked a privilege to pray once more with him He cried out with great strength considering his weakness. No and passed away in the evening without God Backslider, do you know you are in danger of the fires of hell? Do you know you are fast approaching the line by us unseen? that crosses every path that marks the boundary between God's mercy and his wrath You are, and unless you turn quickly, you with William Pope will be writhing in hell through all eternity. God says a backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways. But he says again, return you backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings. Oh, come back and be healed before God shall say of you, he is joined to his idols, let him alone. From a tract called Remarkable Narratives. The following sentences are called, it is easier to get into hell than it will be to get out. In a village of Montgomery, Michigan, in the spring of 1884, an infidel, a husband of a spiritualist, was stricken down with disease. He had such a hatred for the cause of Christ that he had requested previous to his death that his body should not be carried to a church for funeral services. or any pastor be called upon to officiate. As he was nearing the shores of eternity, he turned his face toward a wall and began to talk of his future prospects. His wife saw that he was troubled in spirit and endeavored to comfort and console him by telling him not to be afraid, that his spirit would return to her, and they would commune together then as now. But this gave him no comfort in this awful hour. With a look of despair, he said, I see a great high wall rising around me. And I am finding out at last when it is too late, that it is easier to get into hell than it will be to get out. And in a few moments, his spirit had departed from this world to receive its reward. My sister-in-law was present at the time and heard the conversation. These sentences were written for this book by Reverend W.C. Muffet in Cleveland, Ohio. The following is called The Fins. They come. Oh, save me. They drag me down. Lost. Lost. Lost. The following incident is concerning a young lady who, under deep conviction for sin, left a church meeting to attend a dance, which had been gotten up by a party of ungodly men for the purpose of breaking up the meeting. She caught a severe cold at dance and was soon on her deathbed. In conversation with the pastor, she said, Mr. Rice, my mind was never clearer. I tell you all today that I do not wish to be a Christian. Don't want to go to heaven. I would not if I could I would rather go to hell than heaven They need not keep the gates closed But you don't want to go to hell. Do you Jenny was asked? She replied oh no, mr. Rice. Oh that I had never been born. I am suffering now the agonies of the lost If I could but get away from God, but no I must always see him and be looked upon by him How I hate him I cannot help it. I drove a spirit from my heart when he would have filled it with his love. And now I am left to my own evil nature, given over to the devil for my eternal destruction. My agony is inexpressible. How will I endure the endless ages of eternity? Oh, that dreadful, unlimited, unfathomable eternity. " When asked by Mr. Rice how she got into that despairing mood, she replied, It was that fatal Friday evening last winter when I deliberately stayed away from the meeting to attend the dance. I felt so sad, for my heart was tender. I could scarcely keep from weeping. I felt provoked to think that my last dance, as I felt it to be for some cause, should be spoiled. I endured it until I became angry. Then, with all my might, I drove the influence of the spirit away from me. And it was then that I had the feeling that he had left me forever. I knew that I had done something terrible, but it was done. From that time, I have had no desire to be a Christian, but have been sinking down into deeper darkness and more bitter despair. And now all around and above and beneath me are impenetrable clouds of darkness. Oh, the terrible gloom. When will it cease? She then sank away and lay like one dead a short time. But she raised her hand slightly, her lips quivering as if in the agonies of death. Her eyes opened with a fixed and awful stare, and then gave such a despairing groan that sent a chill blood to every heart. Oh, what horror, whispered the sufferer. Then turning to Mr. Rice, she said, go home now and return this evening. I don't want you to pray for me. I don't want to be tormented with the sound of prayer. " About four o'clock she inquired the time and upon being told exclaimed, Oh, how slowly the hours wear away. This day seems an age to me. Oh, how will I endure eternity? And in about an hour, she said, how slowly the time drags. Why may not I cease to be? About 7 p.m. She sent for Mr. Rice. As he approached her bed, Jenny said to him, I want you to preach at my funeral. Warn all of my young friends against the ballroom. Remember everything I have said and use it. He replied, how can I do this, Jenny? How I do wish you were a good Christian and had a hope of eternal life. Now, Mr. Rice, I don't want to hear anything about that. I do not want to be tormented with the thought. I am utterly hopeless. My time is growing short. My fate is eternally fixed. I die without hope because I insulted the Holy Spirit so bitterly. He has justly left me alone to go down to eternal night. He could not have borne with me any longer and followed further and retained his divine honor and dignity. I wait but a few moments, and as much as I dread it, I must quit these mortal shores. I would delay, I would linger, but no, the fins, they come, oh save me, they drag me down. Lost, lost, lost, she whispered as she struggled in the agonies of death. A moment more and she rallied with glazed eyes and she looked upon her weeping friends for the last time. Then the lid sank partly down and pressed out her remaining tear as she whispered. Bind me chains of darkness. Oh that I might cease to be but still exist The worms that never dies the second death The spirit fled and Jenny Gordon lay a lifeless form of clay In quote from the unequal yoke by J.H. Miller I The following story is called, I Have Treated Christ Like A Dog All My Life And He Will Not Help Me Now. About 20 years ago, when we were holding church meetings at Gee, Mr. B, a well-to-do farmer living near the town, was in the last stages of consumption. He was a wicked man. All of his life having been spent in laying up treasures on earth. At the time we visited him, he was about 60 years old. The pastor of the Methodist church, whom we were assisting, had not as yet called on him because he was so ungodly. The pastor said to me one day, I am waiting until Mr. B is near his end, hoping he will then allow me to talk to him about his soul. Several days before Mr. B's death, in company with the pastor of the Methodist Church, we visited this man and talked with him about his moral condition. His mind was very dark and full of unbelief. We talked earnestly with him about the saving of his soul, but left him without receiving much encouragement. In a day or two, we called on him again and found him more willing to converse, but he still seemed to be far away from God. We pled with him and urged him to call on God to have mercy on him for Jesus' sake. I cannot. I have never spoken the name of Jesus, only when using it in profanity. And I have used it that way all of these years. I have treated Christ like a dog all of my life, and he will not hear me now. I would give all I am worth if I could only feel as you say you feel, was his reply. We told him that God was no respecter of persons. That he never turned any away that came to him for pardon. He continued, I cannot get any feeling. What can I do? My heart is so hard. Our hearts ached for him. He was afraid to die without faith in God, but he seemed to have no ability to repent. Before we left the town, he went to meet his God. So far as we know, unprepared as he gave no evidence of salvation. He had treasures on earth, but alas, they did not avail him anything when he came to face eternity. Reader. How are you treating the Christ on whom you must depend if you are ever saved? God grant that your experience may not be like his. The editor. The following story is called Almost a Christian, taken from Jacob Abbott's book, The Young Christian. This is the story of Louisa. You will not come unto me. Shortly after my settlement in the ministry, I observed in the congregation a young lady whose blooming countenance and cheerful air showed perfect health and high elation of spirit. Her appearance satisfied me at once that she was amiable and thoughtless. There was no one of my charge whose prospects for long life are more promising than her own, and perhaps no one who looked forward to the future with more pleasing hopes of enjoyment. To her eye, the world seemed bright. She often said she wished to enjoy more of it before she became a Christian. Louisa, for by that name I shall call her, manifested no particular hostility to religion, but wished to live a gay and merry life till just before her death, and then to become pious and die happy. She was constant in her attendance at church, and while others seemed moved by the exhibition of the Savior's love, she seemed entirely unaffected. Upon whatever subject I preached, her countenance retained the same marks of indifference and unconcern. The same easy smile played upon her features. Whether sin or death or heaven or hell was the theme of discourse. One evening I invited a few of the young ladies of my society to meet at my house. She came with her companions. I had sought the interview with them that I might more directly urge upon them the importance of religion. All in the room were affected and she, though evidently moved, endeavored to conceal her feelings. The interest in this great subject manifested by those present was such that I informed them that I would meet in a week from that time any who wished for personal conversation. The appointed evening arrived, and I was delighted in seeing, with two or three others, Louisa enter my house. I conversed with each one individually. They generally, with much frankness, expressed their state of feeling. Most of them manifested much solicitude respecting their eternal interests. Louisa appeared different from all the rest. She was anxious and unable to conceal her anxiety. yet ashamed to have it known. She had come to converse with me upon the subject of religion and yet was making an evident effort to appear indifferent. I had long felt interested in Louisa and was glad of this opportunity to converse with her. Louisa, I said, I'm happy to see you here this evening, and particularly so as you have come interested in the subject of religion. She made no reply. Have you been long thinking upon the subject, Louisa? I have always thought the subject important, sir, but have not attended to it as I suppose I ought. Do you now feel the subject to be more important than you have previously? I don't know, sir. I think I want to be a Christian. Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa? I know that I am a sinner, for the Bible says so, but I suppose that I do not feel it enough. Can you expect that God will receive you into his favor while you are in such a state of mind? He has made you and he is now taking care of you, giving you every blessing and every enjoyment you have. And yet you have lived many years without any gratitude to him and continually breaking his commandments and now do not feel that you are a sinner? What would you think of a child whose kind and affectionate parents had done everything in their power to make her happy? And who should yet not feel that she had done anything wrong, though she had been every day disobeying her parents and had never expressed any gratitude for their kindness? You, Louisa, would abhor such a child. Yet this is the way you have been treating your Heavenly Father. And He has heard you say this evening that you do not feel that you have done wrong. And He sees your heart and knows how unfeeling it is. Louisa you must be lost unless you repent of your sins and ask humbly and earnestly for forgiveness And why will you not? You know that Christ has died to atone for sin and that God will forgive you for his son's sake if you are penitent To this Louisa made no reply. She did not seem displeased Neither did her feelings appear subdued. I After addressing a few general remarks to my young friends, we kneeled in prayer, and the interview closed. Another meeting was appointed on the same evening of the succeeding week. Louisa again made her appearance with the same young ladies and a few others. She appeared much more deeply impressed. Her coldness and reserve had given place to a frank expression of interest and exhibition of feeling. Well, Louisa, I said, as in turn I commenced my conversing with her. I was almost afraid I should not see you here this evening. I feel, sir, she said, that it is time for me to attend to my immortal soul. I have neglected it too long. Do you feel that you are a sinner, Louisa? Yes, sir, I do. Do you think, Louisa, that you have any claim upon God to forgive you? No, sir. It would be just, in God, to leave me to perish. I think I want to repent, but I cannot. I want to love God, but do not know how I can. Do you remember, Louisa, that Christ has said, whoever he be of you that forsakes not all that he has, he cannot be my disciple? Yes, sir. Well, Louisa, now count the cost. Are you ready to give up all for Christ? Are you ready to turn from your gay companions and lay aside your frivolous pleasures and acknowledge the Savior publicly and be derided as perhaps you will be by your former friends and live a life of prayer in an effort to glorify God?" She hesitated for a moment and then replied, I am afraid not. Well, Louisa, the terms of acceptance with God are plain, and there is no altering them. You cannot serve God and Mammon. If you would be a Christian, you must renounce all sin, and with a broken heart surrender yourself entirely to the Savior." The evening's interview closed as before, and a similar appointment was made for the next week. Some of the young ladies present, I had reason to believe, had accepted the offer of salvation. The next week about the same number were present, but Louisa was not with them. A slight cold had detained her, but the week after she again appeared. To my great disappointment, I found her interest diminishing. Though not exhibiting that cold reserve which she at first manifested, she seemed far less anxious than at our last interview. The spirit was grieved away. This was the last time she called to see me. But alas, I was soon called to see her under circumstances which at that time were but little anticipated. These social meetings continued for some time, and many of Louisa's associates I have caused to hope became the disciples of Jesus. Two or three months passed away. And my various duties so far engrossed my mind that my particular interest in Luisa's spiritual welfare had given place to other solicitudes. When one day, as I was riding out, making parochial visits, one of my parishioners informed me that she was quite unwell and desired to see me. In a few moments I was in her sick chamber. She had taken a violent cold and had settled into a fever. She was lying in her bed, her cheek glowing with a feverish hue, and her lips parched with thirst. She seemed agitated when I entered the room, and the moment I stood by her bedside and inquired how she did, she covered her face with both hands and burst into a flood of tears. Her sister, who was by her bedside, immediately turned to me and said, Sir, she is in great distress of mind. Mental agony has kept her awake nearly all night. She has wanted very much to see you, that you might converse with her. I was fearful that the agitation of her feelings might seriously injure her health, and did all I consistently could to soothe and quiet her. But sir, said Louisa, I am sick, and I may die. I know that I am not a Christian. And oh, if I die in this state of mind, what will become of me? What will become of me? again she burst into tears. What could I say? Every word she said was true. Her eyes were open to her danger. There was cause for alarm. Sickness was upon her. Delirium might soon ensue. Death might be very near, and her soul was unprepared to appear before God. She saw it all. She felt it all. Fever was burning in her veins, but she forgot her pain in view of the terrors of approaching judgment. I told her that the Lord was good and that his tender mercies were over all his works, that he was more ready to forgive than we to ask forgiveness. But, sir, she said, I have known my duty long and have not done it. I have been ashamed of the Savior and grieved away the Spirit. And now I am upon a sick bed and perhaps must die. Oh, if I were but a Christian, I should be willing to die. I told her of the Savior's love. I pointed to many of God's precious promises to the penitent. I endeavored to induce her to resign her soul calmly to the Savior. But all was unavailing. Trembling and agitated, she was looking forward to the dark future. The Spirit of the Lord had opened her eyes. and through her own reflections had led her into this state of alarm. I knelt by her bedside and fervently prayed that the Holy Spirit would guide her to the truth and that the Savior would speak peace to her troubled soul. Oh, could they who are postponing repentance to a sick bed have witnessed the suffering of this once merry girl! They would shudder at the thought of trusting to a deathbed repentance. How poor a time to prepare to meet God, when the mind is enfeebled, when the body is restless or wracked with pain, and when mental agitation frustrates the skill of the physician. Yes, so it is, when half the world are postponing repentance to a dying bed, and when sickness comes, the very circumstances of being unprepared hurries a miserable victim to the grave. The next day I called again to see Luisa. Her fever was still raging and his fires were fanned by mental suffering. Poor girl, thought I, as the first glance of her countenance showed the strong liniments of despair. I needed not to ask how she felt, her countenance told her feelings. And I knew that while her mind was in this state, restoration to health was out of the question. And can you not, Louisa, I said, trust your soul with the Savior who died for you? He has said, come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Oh, sir, I know the Savior is merciful, but somehow or other I cannot go to him. I do not know why. Oh, I am miserable indeed. Do you think, Louisa, that you are penitent for sin? If you are, you will be forgiven. For God, who gave His Son to die for us, is more ready to pardon than we to ask forgiveness. He is more ready to give good gifts to the penitent than any earthly parent to give bread to his hungry child. I then opened the Bible to the 15th chapter of Luke and read the parable of the prodigal son. I particularly directed her attention to the 20th verse. When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion and ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him. Oh sir, she said, none of these promises are for me. I find no peace to my troubled spirit. I have long been sinning against God and now he is summoning me to render up my account and oh, what an account have I to render. The doctor gives me medicine, but I feel that it does no good, for I can think of nothing but my poor soul. Even if I were perfectly well, I could hardly endure the view which God has given me of my sins. If they were forgiven, how happy should I be? But now, oh, her voice was stopped by a fit of shuddering, which agitated those around her with a fear that she might be dying. Soon, however, her nerves were more quiet, and I kneeled to commend her spirit to the Lord. As I rode home, her despairing countenance was unceasingly before me. Her lamentations, her mournful groans were continually crying in my ears. As I kneeled with my family at evening, I bore Louisa upon my heart to the throne of grace. All night, I tossed restlessly upon my pillow, dreaming of an unavailing effort at the sickbed. Another morning came. As I knocked at the door of her dwelling, I felt a most painful solicitude as to the answer I might receive. How is Louisa this morning? I said to the person who opened the door. She is fast failing, sir. And the doctor thinks she cannot recover. She has to come and see her before she dies. Is her mind more composed than it has been? Oh no, sir. She has had a dreadful night. She says that she is lost and there is no hope for her. I went into her chamber. Despair was pictured more deeply than ever upon her flushed and fevered countenance. I was surprised at the strength she still manifested as she tossed from side to side. Death was evidently drawing near. She knew it. She had lived without God and felt that she was unprepared to appear before Him. A few of her young friends were standing by her bedside. She warned them in the most affecting terms to prepare for death while in health. She told them of the mental agony she was in enduring and of the heavier woes which were thickly scattered. Through that endless career, she was about to enter. All her conversation was interspersed with the most heart-rending exclamations of despair. She said she knew that God was ready to forgive the sincerely penitent, but that her sorrow was not sorrow for sin, but dread of its awful penalty. I had already said all that I could to lead her to the Savior, but no Savior cast his love on this dying bed. No ray of peace cheered the departing soul. Youth and beauty were struggling with death, and it's that eye which but a few days before had sparkled with gaiety, now gazed on to eternity. It was fixed in an expression of despair. By many a deathbed I had been, and many a sinner's parting scene, but never aught like this. There was nothing that could be said. The moanings of the sufferer mingled with the prayer, which was almost inarticulately uttered from the emotions which the scene inspired. Late in the afternoon I called again, but her reason was gone, and in restless agony she was grappling with death. Her friends were standing around her, but she did not recognize them. Every eye in the room was filled with tears, but poor Louisa saw not, and he did not there weeping. It was a scene which neither pen nor pencil can portray. At the present moment, that chamber of death is as vividly present to my mind as it was when I looked upon it through irrepressible tears. I can now see the disorder of the dying bed, the restless form, the swollen veins, the hectic burning cheek, the eyes rolling wildly around the room and the weeping friends. Who can describe such a scene? And who can imagine the emotions which one must feel who knew her history, and who know that this delirium succeeded temporal and perhaps preceded eternal despair? Louisa could no longer listen to my prayers. She could no longer receive the precious instructions of God's Word. And what could be said to console her friends? Nothing. Be still and know that I am God was all that could be said. I could only look and listen with reverence, inwardly praying that the sad spectacle might not be lost upon any of us. For some time I lingered around the solemn scene in silence. Not a word was spoken. All knew that death was near. The friends who were most deeply affected struggled hard to restrain the audible expression of grief. In silence, I had entered the room, and in silence and sadness, I went away. Early the next morning, I called at the door to inquire for Louisa. She is dead, sir, was the reply to my question. At what time did she die? About midnight, sir. Was her reason restored before her death? It appeared partially to return a few moments before she breathed her last, but she was almost gone, and we could hardly understand what she said. Did she seem any more peaceful in mind? Her friends thought, sir, that she did express a willingness to depart, but she was so weak and was so far gone that it was impossible for her to express her mind with any clearness. This is all that could be said of the eternal prospects of one who wished to live a gay and merry life till just before death, and then to become pious and die happy. Listener, be wise today, it is madness to defer. From the book The Young Christian, Jacob Abbott, The Neglect of Religion. Still Waters Revival Books is now located at PuritanDownloads.com. It's your worldwide online Reformation home for the very best in free and discounted classic and contemporary Puritan and Reformed books, mp3s, and videos. For much more information on the Puritans and Reformers, including the best free and discounted classic and contemporary books, mp3s, digital downloads and videos, please visit Still Waters Revival Books at PuritanDownloads.com. Stillwater's Revival Books also publishes The Puritan Hard Drive, the most powerful and practical Christian study tool ever produced. 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