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

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No. 803.

NARRATIVE SERIES.

THE
DYING GIPSY

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

Conscience, say some, is a mere whim, that frightens weak minds, renders man a coward, and cuts short half his purposes. But is it not rather the candle of the Lord shining in man’s dark bosom, to bring to light the hidden wickedness of the heart; that well-known voice which gives no sound, yet will be heard—that hand often felt, though never seen? Reader! it you regard this inward monitor, (and I trust you do,) you will not then turn away from the following relation of facts.

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

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

“My name is Stanley, my ancestors were once respectable, my great-grandfather was a principal officer in the army of the commonwealth; but the family falling to decay, my father took up with the wandering life of the gipsies; among them I was born, and have continued to the present time. I am now in my eightieth year, and have led a long and wicked life; but there is one thing that troubles me above all the rest. About forty years ago, in the course of conversation with a brother of mine, I cursed the Almighty to his face! From that time, sir, I have been a stranger to peace; the recollection of my blasphemy has followed me ever since; I cannot forget it; it haunts me from place to place; alone or in company, it is the same. I get no rest; my wickedness fills me with horror; I am indeed a monster; often have I tried to remove the impression, but it is impossible. O, sir, my sin it too heavy for me to bear! Such has been its influence upon my spirits, that the bare mention of God’s name would bring a trembling upon me, and fill my mind with anguish. As long as I could, I concealed the cause of my uneasiness, till it became too painful to bear, and I was at length induced, about two years ago, to reveal it to my family; from that time I have earnestly sought for God’s forgiveness, but I still feel his hand heavy. O might I but be pardoned! I could then die in peace; but, sir, with this burden upon my soul, death will indeed be dreadful.”