very little compared with what you, perhaps, know; but he knew one blessed truth—­he knew that “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life;” and by always thinking on this great mercy of God to man, and the exceeding love of our Lord Jesus Christ, in dying for poor sinners like us, Jack came to hate whatever he knew to be displeasing to that gracious Lord and heavenly Father; and the happiness that he felt in his own soul made him delight in seeking the happiness of every creature around him.

Jack died of a slow decline.  He had much pain, but I never saw him look impatient or unhappy.  He felt what David so beautifully describes in the twenty-third Psalm:  “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:  for thou art with me.”  He knew quite well that he was going to die; but it never made him uneasy.  He knew that God was at peace with him, through the merits of the Redeemer; and he was at peace with all the world.  His dying pillow was not made a pillow of thorns by the remembrance of having made any living thing suffer torment; nor were his short sleeps disturbed by terrible dreams of what he had forgotten until the time drew near to appear before God.  I could tell fearful stories of some who died as young as Jack, and whose death-beds can never be forgotten by those who saw them.  They had been cruel to God’s dumb creatures, and never gave a thought to what they had done; but when death was near, when the poor weak body could not rise from the bed, nor the soul be any longer deceived with the thought of years to come, it was horrible to hear the cries they uttered, and the wild things that they said about beasts, and birds, and insects tortured by them in the days of their health and strength.  There was one in particular, a butcher’s boy, who could not be comforted:  he said, the calves, the sheep, and the lambs, had provoked him by their unwillingness to be caught and driven into the slaughter-yard, and he had revenged himself by making their deaths as painful as he could; and that he saw them then—­whether his eyes were open or shut, he always saw them—­all bleeding, and torn, and struggling, as they used to do:  and whatever was said to him, or whatever noise was made, he heard their cries of agony louder than all.  When he was told that God was merciful, he answered, “Yes; but I had no mercy, and there is no mercy for me.”  I wish I could tell you that he died praying for pardon; but, alas! he died shrieking out that he must go to hell.  At that time, I was asked to write a book about it, to warn others; but I was so much shocked that I could not write about it.  I mention it now, to show you that sometimes, even in this world, the dreadful work of judgment is begun—­judgment without mercy, to those who show no mercy.