DEATH BED SCENES THE DYING INFIDEL NUMBER ONE, VOLTAIRE It is well known that this celebrated infidel labored through a long life to diffuse a poison of infidelity. In life he was preeminent in guilt, and at death in misery. He had been accustomed for years to call the adorable savior, the Wretch, and avowed that he would crush him. He closed many of his letters to his infidel friends with these words, Crush the wretch. Yet such is a detestable meanness, as well as wickedness of infidelity, that during these efforts to destroy Christianity, he was accustomed to receive the sacrament and to attend to some outward acts of religion that he might be able to deny his infidelity if accused of it. Such was he in health, but dangerous sickness and approaching death though they could not soften the hard heart of the hypocritic infidel into real penitence, filled it with agony, remorse, and despair. Voltaire had risen from poverty to be in high and worldly prosperity and fame, but the most high appeared to permit him to rise to the pinnacle of glory, only that he might sink with deeper ruin to the gulfs below, and thus afford a more impressive warning of the effects of his folly and his sin. The following awful description has been given of his last hours. It was during Voltaire's last visit to Paris, when his triumph was complete, and he had even feared he should die with glory amidst the acclamations of an infatuated theatre, that he was struck by the hand of Providence, and fated to make a very different termination of his career. In the midst of his triumphs, a violent bleeding raised apprehensions for his life. Guillaume Barthes de Dero and Marmontel hastened to support his resolution in his last moments, but were only witnesses to their mutual ignominy as well as his own. Here, let not the historian fear exaggeration. Rage, remorse, reproach, and blasphemy all accompany and characterize the long agony of the dying atheist. His death, the most terrible that is ever recorded to have stricken the impious man, will not be denied by his companions in impiety. Their silence, however much they wish to deny it, is the least of those corroborative proofs that could be adduced. Not one of them has ever dared to mention any sign given of resolution or tranquillity by the premier chief during the space of three months which elapsed from the time he was crowned in the theatre until his decease Such a silence expresses how great their humiliation was in his death. It was on his return from the theatre, and in the midst of the toils he was resuming in order to acquire fresh applause, when Voltaire was warned that the long career of his impiety was drawing to an end. In spite of all the infidel philosophers who flocked around him in the first day of his illness, he gave signs of wishing to return to the God he had so often blasphemed. He called for the priest who ministered to him, whom he had sworn to crush under the appellation of the wretch. His danger increasing, he wrote, entreating the abbé Gaultier to visit him. He afterward made a declaration in which he in fact renounced his infidelity. This declaration was signed by himself and two witnesses, one of whom was Marquis de Villeneuveille, to whom, eleven years before, Voltaire was wont to write, Conceal your march from the enemy, and your endeavours to crush the wretch. Voltaire had permitted this declaration to be carried to the Vector of Saint-Salpice, and to the Archbishop of Paris, to know whether it would be sufficient. When the Albi Gaultier returned with the answer, it was impossible for him to gain admittance to the patient. The conspirators had strained every nerve to hinder their chief from consummating his recantation, and every avenue was shut to the priest whom Gaultier himself had sent for. The demons haunted every success. Rage succeeded to fury, and fury to rage again during the remainder of his life. Then it was that d'Alembert d'Héros, and about twenty others of the conspirators, who had beset his apartment, never approached him but to witness their own ignominy. And often he would curse them, and exclaim, Retire, it is you that have brought me to my present state. Be gone! I could have done without you all, but you could not exist without me. And what a wretched glory have you procured me! Then would succeed the horrid remembrance of his conspiracy. They could hear him, the prey of anguish and dread, alternately supplicating or blaspheming that God whom he had conspired against, and in plaintive axioms would he cry out, O Christ, O Jesus Christ, and then complain that he was abandoned by God and man. The hand which had traced in ancient writ the sentence of an impious and reviling king seemed to trace before his eyes, crush then, do crush, the wretch. In vain he turned his head away. The time was coming. He had blasphemed, and his physicians, particularly Mr. Tromkin, called in to administer relief, thunderstruck, retired, declaring the death of the impious man to be terrible indeed. The pride of the conspirators would willingly have suppressed these declarations, but it was in vain. The Mariscal de Richelieu flies from the bedside, declaring it to be a sight too terrible to be sustained, and Mr. Tronquin that the furies of Orestes could give but a faint idea of those of Voltaire. In one of these visits the doctor found him in the greatest agonies, exclaiming, with the utmost horror, I am abandoned by God and man. He then said, Doctor, I will give you half of what I am worth if you will give me six months' life. The doctor answered, Sir, you cannot live six weeks. Voltaire replied, Then I shall go to hell, and you will go with me, and soon after expired. 2 Thomas Paine This unhappy man is well known to have been one of the most malignant enemies of Christianity. He was an avowed infidel in principle, and an opium profligate in practice. He lived despised by the wise and good, and, like many other infidels, died apparently full of dread of the future, though a stranger to that repentance which is unto life. The following account of the concluding scenes of his life is from the pen of Dr. Manley, a respectable physician who attended him in his last illness. During the latter part of his life, though his conversation was equivocal, his conduct was singular. He would not be left alone night or day. He not only required to have some person with him, but he must see that he or she was there, and would not allow his curtains to be closed at any time, and if, as if it would sometimes unavoidably happen, he was left alone, he would scream and hollow until some person came to him. When relief from pain would admit, he would seem thoughtful and contemplative, his eyes generally closed and his hands folded on his breath, although he never slept without the assistance of an anodyne. There was something remarkable in his conduct at this time, which comprises about two weeks before his death, particularly when we reflect that Thomas Paine was the author of The Age of Reason. He would call out during his paroxysms of distress, without intermission, O Lord, help me! God, help me! Jesus Christ, help me! O Lord, help me! and so on, repeating the same expressions without the least variation, in a tone that would alarm the house. It was his conduct that induced me to think that he had abandoned his former opinions, and I was more inclined to that belief when I understood from his nurse, who is a very serious and, I believe, a pious woman, that he would occasionally inquire, I seeing her engaged with the book, what she was reading, and being answered, and at the same time being asked whether she should read aloud, he assented and would appear to give particular attention. I took occasion during the night of the 5th and 6th of June to test the strength of his opinions respecting revelation. I purposely made him a very late visit. It was a time which seemed to suit my errand. It was midnight. He was in great distress, constantly exclaiming in the words above mention, when I addressed him in the following manner, the nurse being present, Mr. Payne Your opinions, by a large portion of the community, have been treated with deference. You must be sensible that we are acquainted with your religious opinions as they are given to the world. What then must we think of your present conduct? Why do you call upon Jesus Christ to help you? Do you believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ? Come now, answer me honestly. I want an answer as from the lips of a dying man, for I verily believe that you will not live twenty-four hours. I waited some time at the end of every question. He did not answer, but ceased to exclaim in the above manner. Again I addressed him, Mr. Payne, you have not answered my questions. Will you answer them? Allow me to ask, do you believe? Or let me qualify the question. Do you wish to believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God? After a pause of some moments, he answered, I have no wish to believe on the subject. I then left him, end quote. He was also visited by a Quaker, who was in the practice of visiting the sick, for the purpose of affording them consolation. He said he never saw a man in so much apparent distress. He sat with his elbow on his knee, and his head leaning on his hand, and beside him stood a vessel to cache the blood that was oozing from him in five different streams, like spider's webs, one from the corner of his mouth, one from each eye, and one from each nostril. This friend endeavored to get him into conversation, but was only answered by horrible looks and dreadful groans. He was also visited by a preacher of the Methodist order. His object was, if possible, to get from him the truth in his dying hour in relation to his future prospects with eternity. But all he could get from him in answer to his questions was awful groans, which seemed to unnerve the whole system. This man was with him until he drew his last breath, and his immortal spirit had fled. Francis Newport, who died in the year 1692, was favored with both a religious and liberal education. After spending five years in a university, he was entered into one of the inns of court. Here he fell into the hands of infidels, lost his religious impressions, forsook the paths of virtue, became an avowed infidel, and associated himself with a club of educated but abandoned wretches who met regularly to encourage and confirm each other in wickedness. He continued thus for several years, till habits of dissipation and vice brought on an illness during which his former religious impressions revived with invincible force. The horror of his mind was inexpressible. The sweat poured from his system and in nine days he was reduced, principally through mental anguish, from a robust state of health to perfect weakness. His expressions and language, all the while, were the most dreadful that imagination can conceive. Writing to his companions, he said, who, alas, can write his own tragedy without tears, or copy out the seal of his own damnation without horror? That there is a God I know, because I continually feel the effects of His wrath. That there is a hell I am equally certain, having received an earnest of my inheritance there, already in my breast. His friends, who had only heard he was distracted, hearing him deliver himself in such terms, were amazed, and began to inquire of those around what made him talk at such a rate. He hearing them whispering together, and imagining the cause, called them all to him, and said, You imagine me melancholy or distracted. I wish I were either, but it is part of my judgment that I am not. No, my apprehension of persons and things is rather more quick and vigorous than it was when I was in perfect health. And in my curse, because thereby I am more sensible of the condition I am falling into, would you be informed why I am become a skeleton in three or four days? See how, then, I have despised my Maker and denied my Redeemer. I have joined myself to the atheists and profane and continued this course under many convictions, till my iniquity was ripe for vengeance, and the just judgment of God overtook me. when my security was the greatest, and the checks of my conscience were the least. How idle is it to bid the fire not burn, when fuel is administered, and to command the seas to be smooth in the midst of a storm! Such is my case, and what are the comforts of my friends! But I am spent. I can complain no more. Would to God that the cause of my complaining would cease! The cause of my complaining! This renews my grief, and summons up the little strength I have left to complain again. like an expiring blaze before it is extinguished. It is just so with me, but whither am I going?" As he said this, he fainted away and lay in a swoon for a considerable time, but by the help of some spirits he was brought to himself again. My business as a writer, calling me away for a day or two, I came again on Thursday morning, pretty early. When I came in, I inquired of his friends how he spent his time. They told me he had little company, and his expressions were much shorter. But what he did speak seemed to have more horror and despair than before. I went to his bedside and asked him how he did. He replied, damned and lost forever. I told him the purposes of God were hidden. Perhaps he was punished in this life to fit him for a better. He answered, they are not hidden to me but discovered, and my greatest torment, my punishment here is for an example to others. Oh, that there was no God, or that this God could cease to be, for I am sure he will have no mercy upon me. Alas, I said, there is no contending with our Creator, and therefore avoid such words as may provoke him more. True, he replied, there is no contending. I wish there was a possibility of getting above God. That would be a heaven to me. I entreated him not to give way to such blasphemous thoughts, for here he interrupted me. Read we not in the revelation of them that blaspheme God because of their pains? I am one of their number. Oh, how do I envy the happiness of Cain and Judas! But I replied, You are yet alive, and do not feel the torments of those that are in hell. He answered, This is either true or false. If it be true, how heavy will those torments be of which I do not yet feel the uttermost? But I know it is false, and that I endure more than the spirits of the damned. For I have the very same tortures upon my spirits that they have, besides those I endure in my body. I believe at the day of judgment the torments of my mind and body will both together be more intense. But as I now am, no spirit in hell endures what I do. How gladly would I change my condition for hell! How earnestly would I entreat my angry judge to send me thither, were I not afraid that out of vengeance he would deny me! Here he closed his eyes a little, and began to talk very wildly, every now and then groaning and gnashing his teeth. But soon after opening his eyes, he grew sensible again, and felt his own pulse, saying, How lazily my minutes go on! When will be the last breath, the last pulse, That shall beat my spirit out of this decay'd mansion. Into the desired regions of death and hell, O, I find it is just now at hand, And what shall I say now? Am not I afraid again to die? Ah, the forlorn hopes of him that has not God to go to! Nothing to fly to for peace and comfort. Here his speech failed him. We all believe in him to be dying, went to prayer, Which threw him into an agony. in which, though he could not speak, he turned away his face and made what noise he could to hinder himself from hearing. Perceiving this, we gave over. As soon as he could speak, which was not till after some time, he said, Tigers and monsters, are ye also become devils to torment me and give me a prospect of heaven to make my hell more intolerable? Alas, sir, said I, it is our desire of your happiness that casts us down at the throne of grace. If God denies assistance, who else can give it? If He will not have mercy, whither must we go for it? He replied, Oh, that is a dart that wounds me. God has become my enemy, and there is none so strong as to deliver me out of His hands. He consigns me over to eternal vengeance, and there is none able to redeem me. Were there such another God as He who would patronize my cause, or were I above God or independent of Him? Could I act or dispose of myself as I please? Then would my horrors cease, and the expectations and designs of my formidable enemies be frustrated. But, oh, this cannot be, for I— His voice felled again, and he began to struggle and gasp for breath, which, having recovered, with a groan dreadful and horrid, as if it had been more than human, he cried out, Oh, the insufferable pangs of hell and damnation! and then expired. EDWARD JABAN Edward Jaban, a celebrated author of the history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, is well known to have been what is termed a philosopher and an infidel. He was born in 1737. In early life he became a papist. He afterwards renounced potpourri and seems to have paid little attention to religion in any form, nor does it appear that he ever made it a matter of serious thought or inquiry. In his memoirs, he has undesignedly presented a striking view of the cheerless nature of infidelity. Quote, The present is a fleeting moment. The past is no more, and our prospect of futurity dark and doubtful. This day may possibly be my last, but the laws of probability, so true and general, so fallacious and particular, still allow about fifteen years. I shall soon enter into the period which is the most agreeable of his long life, as selected by the judgment and experience of the sage Fontenelle. His choice is approved by the eloquent historian of nature. who fixes our moral happiness to the mature season in which our passions are supposed to be calm, our duties fulfilled, our ambitions satisfied, our fame and fortune established on a solid basis. In private conversation that great and amiable man added the weight of his own experience, and this autumnal felicity might be exemplified in the lives of Voltaire, Hume, and many other men of letters. I am far more inclined to embrace and to dispute this comfortable doctrine. I will not suppose any premature decay of mind or body, but I must reluctantly observe that two causes, the abbreviation of time and the failure of hope, will always tinge with a browner shade the evening of life." At another time, alluding to the death of a friend, whose excellencies he had mentioned, he wrote, All this is now lost, finally irrecoverably lost. I will agree that the immortality of the soul is at some times a very comfortable doctrine. Having no hope for eternity, he was eager for the continuation of his present existence. He declared to a friend, about twenty-four hours previous to his departure, in a flow of self-gratulation, that he thought himself a good life for ten, twelve, or perhaps twenty years. During his short illness, he never gave the least intimation of a future state of existence. This insensibility at the hour of dissolution is, in the language of skepticism, dying the death of a philosopher. Hobbes Hobbes was a well-known infidel a century and a half ago. When alone he was haunted with the most tormenting reflections, and would awake in great tear if his candle happened but to go out in the night. He can never bear any discourse of death, and seemed out of all thoughts of it. Dr. Wallace relates of him that, discoursing one day with a lady in high life, Hobbes told her that, were he the master of the world, he would give it all to live one day longer. She expressed her astonishment that a philosopher who has such extensive knowledge, and so many friends to gratify and oblige, would not deny himself one day's gratification of life, if by that means he could bequeath to them such ample possessions. His answer was, What shall I the better be for that, when I am dead? I say again, if I had the whole world to dispose of, I would give it to live one day. How different is the language of the real Christian! Having a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better, far better than the highest enjoyments that can be attained in this world. He lived to be upwards of ninety. His last sensible words were when he found he could live no longer. I shall be glad, then, to find a hole to creep out of the world at. And notwithstanding all his high pretensions to learning and philosophy, his unneededness constrained him to confess when he drew near to the grave that he was about to take a leap in the dark. A certain individual, who resided not far from Dudley and Worcestershire, was for some years a steady and respectable professor of Christianity. During this time he was a good father, a good neighbor, and a loyal subject. A wicked man, however, put into his hand Thomas Paine's Age of Reason and Volney's Ruins of Empires. He read these pernicious books. renounced Christianity, and became a bad father, a bad neighbor, a disloyal subject, and a ferocious infidel. At length, sickness seized him, and death stared him in the face. Before the period of his dissolution, some Christian friends, who had formerly united with him in the sweet duties of devotion, resolved, if possible, to obtain access to him. With much difficulty they accomplished their object. They found him in a most deplorable state. Hora was depicted on his countenance, and he seemed determined not to be comforted. They spoke to him in a suitable manner, respecting the Lord Jesus Christ and salvation. But he replied with fury, It is too late, I have trampled on his blood. They offered to pray with him, but he swore they should not. However, they kneeled down and presented their supplications to God in his behalf. And while in this humble posture they were plead in the merits of Jesus, the poor miserable infidel actually cursed God and died. Number 11. Altamont. The late Dr. Young, in an account of the last hours of a young man of rank and talents, whom he denominates Altamont, has described one of the most affecting deathbed scenes that has ever been beheld. The sad evening before the death of the noble Altamont, I was with him. No one was there but his physician and an intimate friend whom he loved and whom he had ruined. In my coming in, he said, you and the physician are come too late. I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles. You had raised the dead. Heaven, I said, was merciful, or I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless and to save me? I have been too strong for omnipotence. I plucked down ruin. I said to bless and redeem her. Hold, hold! You wound me. This is a rock on which I split. I denied his name. Refusing to hear anything from me, or to take anything from the physician, he lay silent as far as sudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock struck. Then with vehemence, O time, time! It is fit thou shouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart. How art thou fled for ever? A month? O, for a single week! I ask not for years, though on age were too little, for the much I have to do. On my saying we could not do too much, that heaven was a blessed place. So much the worse! Tis lost! Tis lost! Heaven is to me the severest part of hell. Soon after I proposed prayer. Pray youth, it can, I never prayed, I cannot pray, nor need I. Is not Heaven on my side already? It closes with my conscience. It's a furious strokes, but second my own. His friends be in much trouble even to tears at this. Who could forbear? I could not. With a most affectionate look he said, Keep those tears for thyself, I have undone thee. Dost thou weep for me? That's cruel. What can pain me more? Here is friend, too much affected would have left him. O stay, thou still mayest hope! Therefore hear me! How madly have I talked! How madly hast thou listened and believed! But look on my present state as a full answer to thee and to myself. This body is all weakness and pain, but my soul is as if stung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, is full, powerful to reason, full, mighty to suffer. and that which thus triumphs within the jaws of mortality is doubtless immortal. And as for a deity, nothing less than an Almighty can inflict what I now feel. I was about to congratulate this passive involuntary confessor on his asserting two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the wrack of nature, when he passionately exclaimed, No, no, let me speak on. I have not long to speak. My much-injured friend, my soul is my body, lies in ruin, in scattered fragments of broken thought. Remorse for the past throws my thoughts on the future. Worst dread of the future strikes him back on the past. I turn and turn and find no ray. Dist thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou wilt struggle with the martyr for his stake. And bless heaven for the flame, that it is not an everlasting flame, that it is not an unquenchable fire. How are we struck, yet soon after still more, With an eye of distraction, what a face of despair! He cried out, My principles have poisoned my friend, My extravagance has beggared my boy, My unkindness has murdered my wife, And is there another hell? O thou blasphemed, yet most indulgent, Lord God, Hell itself is a refuge, if it hide me from thy frown. Soon after his understanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered whores not to be repeated or ever forgot. And there the sun arose, a gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched Altamont expired. 12. ANTIPHIAS Mr. Cumberland and the Observer gives us one of the most mournful tales that was ever related concerning a gentleman of infidel principles, whom he denominates Antitheus. I remember him, he says, in the height of his fame, the hero of his party. No man so caressed, followed, and applauded. He was a little loose. His friends would own in his moral character, but then he was the most honest fellow in the world. It was not to be denied that he was rather free in his notions, but then he was the best creature living. I have seen men of the gravest character wink at his sallies, because he was so pleasant and so well-bred. It was impossible to be angry with him. Everything went well with him, and Antitheus seemed to be at the summit of human prosperity, when he was suddenly seized with the most alarming symptoms. He was at his country house, and, which had rarely happened to him, he at that time chanced to be alone. Wife or family, he had none, and out of the multitude of his friends no one supposed to be near him at the moment of his attack. A neighboring physician was called out of his bed in the night to come to him with all haste in this extremity. He found him sitting up in his bed, supported by pillows, his countenance full of horror, his breath struggling as in the articles of death, his pulse intermitting, and at times beating with such rapidity as could hardly be counted. Antitheus dismissed the attendance he had about him, and eagerly demanded of the physician if he thought him in danger. The physician answered that he must fairly tell him he was in imminent danger. How so? How so? Do you think me dying? He was sorry to say the symptoms indicated death. Impossible! You must not let me die! I dare not die! O doctor, save me, if you can!" Your situation, sir, is such that it is not in mine nor any other man's art to save you, and I think I should not do my duty if I gave you any false hopes in these moments, which, if I am not mistaken, will not more than suffice for any worldly or other concerns which you may have upon your mind to settle. "'My mind is full of horror,' cried the dying man. and I am incapable of preparing it for death." He now fell into an agony accompanied with a shower of tears. A cordial was administered, and he revived in a degree. When turning to the physicians, who had his fingers upon his pulse, he eagerly demanded of him if he did not see that blood upon the feet-curtains of his bed. There was none to be seen. The physician assured him it was nothing but a vapour of his fancy. "'I see it plainly,' said Antitheus. In the shape of a human hand, I have been visited with a tremendous apparition. As I was lying sleepless in my bed this night, I took up a letter of a deceased friend to dissipate certain thoughts that made me uneasy. I believed him to be a great philosopher, and was converted to his opinions. Persuaded by his arguments and my own experience that the disorderly affairs of this evil world could not be administered by any wise, just, or provident being, I had brought myself to think no such being could exist, and that a life produced by chance must terminate in annihilation. This is a reasoning of that letter, and such were the thoughts I was resolving in my mind when the apparition of my dear friend presented itself before me, and unfolding the curtains of my bed, stood at my feet, looking earnestly upon me for a considerable space of time. My heart sunk within me, for his face was ghastly, full of horror, with an expression of such anguish as I can never describe, his eyes were fixed upon me, and at length, with a mournful motion of his head, alas, alas, he cried, we are in a fatal error, and taking hold of the curtains with his hand, shook them violently and disappeared. This I protest to you, I both saw and heard, and look, where the print of his hand is left in blood upon the curtains. Antitheus survived a relation of this vision very few hours and died delirious and great agonies. What a forsaken and disconsolate creature is man without his God and Savior. The following narrative is from the book Dying Testimonies of Saved and Unsaved by Solomon B. Shaw. This story is also narrated for sermon audio under the title of dying testimonies of infidels. 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 was 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 the 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 mean it. John, do you mean to drive your mother raving distracted? Oh, my, 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 don't want to hear it, don't ever broach the subject again, for I shall never talk of the 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 them that something dreadful would happen. What scalding tears were those that coursed their way down these feral 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 mountains crushed him beneath its 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 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'd imbibed those dreadful principles from an infidel roommate at college. 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 cars which were to bear him to M., where he was in a few months to finish his studies. The whistle blew, and the way swept the cars across the trembling plain. But alas, they had gone but a few miles, when the cars coming round a curve in 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. While 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 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, and O may never mortal hear such a cry as that again upon the shores of time, Mother, I am lost, lost, lost, damned, Damned! Damned forever!" And as his classmates drew near to the bed, among whom was one who had poisoned his mind with infidelity, with a dreadful effort he rose in his 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 fin, 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 it and see it all, for he would not suffer them to be away a moment. He fell back upon his bed, exhausted, crying, Oh, mother, mother, get 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, O mother, save me! The devils have come after me! O mother, take me in your arms, and don't let them have me! And as his mother drew near to him, he buried his faith in that fond bosom which had nourished and cherished him, but alas could not now protect and shield him from the storm of the Almighty's wrath. For he turned from her, and with an unearthly voice he shrieked, MOTHER! FATHER! SAVE ME! THEY COME TO DRAG MY SOUL! MY SOUL TO HELL!' And with his eyes darting 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 friends to meet a fearful doom. May his dreadful fall prove a warning to those who would unwittingly walk in the same path. from the Ernest Christian, September 1867. Near El lived P. K., talented and wealthy, but a hater of God, of the Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Holy Bible. He talked, lectured, and published books and tracts against the Savior and the Sacred Scriptures, circulating them freely wherever he could. His influence for evil had been very great in all that country for years. From a near neighbor and from members of his household, the following facts are learned concerning his death. His death bed beggared description. He clenched his teeth and blood spurted from his nostrils while he cried, hell, hell, hell, with a terror that no pen can describe. A neighbor declared that he had heard him a quarter of a mile away. His family could not endure the agony of that deathbed scene. They fled to an adjoining wood across the road, and there remained among the trees until all became quiet at home. One by one they ventured back to find the husband and father cold and deaf. He literally had been left to die alone, abandoned of God and of man. Written by Milburn Merrill of Denver, Colorado The next story is called, I Have Neglected the Salvation of My Soul. About twenty years ago, while we were doing some evangelistic work at El, early one morning, a little boy with a very sad heart called in our room, saying that his mother was dying and wished to see us. We hurried to Mrs. B.' 's home, and as we opened the door, we beheld a sorrowful sight, a woman in despair. The expression on her face and the sad look in her eyes told of great agony. We were at a loss to know just what to say or do. Our heart was full. We said to her, You are in great pain. With a wild look she replied, Yes, I am in great pain, but that is nothing compared with the thought of going to meet God unprepared. What is this physical suffering compared to the remorse of conscience and the dark future before me? Then she cried out in agony, All is vanity! All is vanity! I have lived for self and tried to find pleasure at the dance and other places of amusement. I have neglected the salvation of my soul. I am unprepared to meet God. Pray for me! Oh, pray for me! While we prayed, she responded, Amen, Amen. God help me! What shall I do? Is there any hope for a poor sinner like me? And many other similar expressions. Her ungodly husband cried bitterly while she told of their past sinful life. Her heart was hardened with sin. Her ears were dull of hearing and her eyes too blind to see the light of God. Her friends were coming in from the village and surrounding country to see her die. As they entered the room, they would take each one of them by the hand and plead with them not to follow her example, not to live as she had lived. Holding an uncle by the hand, a man deep in sin and who seemed to be far from God, she said, Uncle, prepare to meet your God. Don't wait until you come to your dying day as I have done. When you plow your ground, pray. When you plant your corn, pray. When you cultivate the same, pray. Whatever you do, pray." She died in the month of May, the season for corn planting. Many of her friends wept and promised to live better lives. Her mental agony was so far beyond her physical pain that she seemed to be unconscious of her intense bodily suffering. Her sins seemed to loom up before her as a great mountain, hiding from her the presence and love of God. As long as she was able to speak, she prayed and requested others to do so. In a few hours, a voice that had been pleading so pitifully for mercy and warning others by the example of her ungodly life was hushed in the silence of death. The pastor of the Methodist church, whom we were helping, preached at her funeral. As we listened to his words of warning, we resolved as never before to further our efforts in warning lost humanity to flee from the wrath to come. Soon after her death, we called on her husband and reminded him of his wife's dying testimony and urged him to attend the revival meetings that we were holding in the town. But he seemed to be full of prejudice against Christianity and gave us no encouragement, and still continued to walk in the same sinful path as heretofore. We trust that our listeners will take warning by the sad experience related in this sketch. God help us all to redeem the time as we see eternity drawing near. Amen. The next story is called, I am dying and going to hell. A fashionable lady attended revival meetings at the Morgan Street Church, Chicago. Deep convictions settled on her soul. She wept and said she would like to find peace, but was not ready to give up the pleasures of the world. To drown her convictions, she absented herself from the house of God. Time hurried on, and soon she was on her deathbed. Realizing her conditions, she sent for a friend who had attended the meetings with her and who had listened to the spiritual pleadings and found the joy of pardoning love. This friend hurried to the bedside of the dying one. As she entered the room, the dying woman looked at her with eyes of terror, and grasping her hand, she exclaimed, Oh, stay with me till I am gone. I am dying and going to hell. Tell Brother C, the minister, to preach hell as he has never preached it before, for I am going to hell.' Then pointing to the wardrobe, she said, Go there, and you will see what has ruined my soul. She opened the door and saw the rich, fashionable clothing, and turned again to the sight of the dying woman, who raised herself up and sang the hymn she had so often heard at the meeting. Parting to meet again at the judgment, Parting to meet me no more here below, O how sad the thought to thee, Traveler to eternity, Parting to meet again at the judgment! As the last word fell from her lip, She fell back on the pillow, And her soul passed into eternity, To meet the God whose mercy she had trifled with, And turned away for the gaudy toys of the earth. Dear listener, take warning from the sad death, Turn away from the vanities of earth, And give God your heart and life service. and eternal happiness shall be yours. The next story is called Devils Are in the Room, Ready to Drag My Soul Down to Hell. Mrs. J.B., the subject of the sketch, came under the personal observation of the writer in 1886. I had often urged her to give her heart to God while she was in health, but she refused. I called to see her during her last sickness and found her in a most distressing state of mind. She recognized me when I came in, and was loath to let me leave long enough to bring my wife, who was only three-quarters of a mile away, saying, Devils are in my room, ready to drag my soul down to hell. She would begin in a low-measured tone to say, It must be done, it must be done, continuing to repeat the same, with increasing force and higher pitch of voice, until she would end with a piercing scream, It must be done. Her husband asked her, Josie, what must be done? She answered, Our hearts must be made right. And again she would entreat me to take her away, affirming she could see devils all around her. She would say, See them laugh. They would throw her into a paroxysm of fear and dread, causing her to start from her bed. But when I tried to get her to look to Jesus for help, she said, It is no use. It is too late. I trust I shall never be called upon again to witness such a heart-rending deathbed seen as hers. There was more that transpired. But I've tried to make this sketch as brief as possible. Written by B.F. Clausen in Bloomington, Nebraska. This story is called, I Have No Feeling, The Spirit of God Has Left Me. A number of years ago, in the midst of a powerful revival, the preacher observed the young lady under deep conviction. He was moved by the Spirit of God to urge her to give her heart to God at once. He pled with her and urged her not to grieve the Holy Spirit, but she replied, not tonight. As she started for home, the man of God followed her to the door of the church and urged her again not to leave the church without salvation. Again she replied, not tonight. He had a strange feeling in regard to the destiny of this young lady. and was strangely moved to follow her out on the street, and pled with her not to go home without giving her heart to God. But again she replied, Some other time, not now. She went home under deep conviction, and told her parents what a feeling she had, and how she had been halting between two opinions, that she had never felt such concern for her soul before, and had never realized her danger of being lost in any period during her life so much as she had realized it that night. Her father and mother were unsaved people. Their minds were planted in sin and unbelief, and they had no sympathy with their daughter's interest in religion. She asked their opinion about becoming a Christian and uniting with the Church. In reply they said, you are young and will have plenty of time when you settle down in life to think about your preparation for eternity. Why not enjoy life while you are young, and not cut yourself off from the society and other young people? With a sad heart she listened to their advice, and the enemy of her soul whispered, Some other time will do just as well. You have plenty of time to seek religion when your surroundings are more favorable. She yielded to the advice of her ungodly parents and the devil, and decided to wait a while. A great struggle had been going on in her mind, Satan struggling with her and showing her the pleasures of sin on one side, and the Spirit of God refilling the kingdom of heaven, and everlasting life on the other. How sad that she should turn away from the Spirit of God and her prospects of heaven in order to please her ungodly parents and to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. The revival meetings closed and her interest in religion was soon gone. In a short time she was taken very sick. After every effort to restore her to health had failed and she continued to grow worse, all human effort and hope were at an end. Her parents realized they could only have her with them for a few hours longer. They went to the bedside of their dying daughter and informed her that she had but a short time to live. They told her that if she wished to be a Christian, they were willing. In fact, they advised her that it was time now to make preparations for eternity. She looked up at her parents in surprise. Her eyes stared, and her face was a very picture of despair. She said, Father and Mother, You remember that during the recent revival I was greatly interested in the salvation of my soul. The Spirit of God was striving with me, and I felt my need of God as I had never felt it before. I asked your advice, and you discouraged me. You advised me to wait until some other opportunity. I listened to your counsel, and now it is too late. My heart is as hard as stone. I have no feeling. The Spirit of God has left me. Her parents urged her, and to please them she consented to have them send for the minister. He came at once and pled with her, and tried to show her that God was a merciful God, but her mind was full of unbelief, and she insisted that she could not repent before she died. She was in great distress of mind and body, and as a last resort she requested that her coffin be sent for. It was brought and placed by the side of her bed. With her own hand she wrapped upon the coffin and cried, O for feeling, O for feeling! But no feeling came. Then she sent out for her shroud. As she looked upon it and held it up before her, she said, as only a dying person could say, O for feeling, O for feeling! But her cry was in vain. The presence of a coffin and a shroud could not awaken her slumbering conscience or bring back the Holy Spirit, and she died in despair. We pray that our readers may take warning by this sad experience, for God says, My spirit shall not always strive with man. Therefore seek ye the Lord while he may be found. Call ye upon him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord. And he will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. 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