A PERSON who was in Wiltshire about the latter end of the year 1813, heard a pleasing account of a little boy, who had recently died at a village near Trowbridge. Not meeting with any one who could vouch for its authenticity, it is only very lately, on endeavouring to procure suitable tracts for very young persons, that the recollection of the circumstances induced an inquiry to be made of the minister of the place. The reply appears so interesting, that it ought not to be buried in silence; so encouraging to penitent sinners, that it should not be withheld from them; and so great a call to the thoughtless and obdurate, that it is a duty to offer it to them. It is as follows:—Respected, though unknown friend. This morning I received your letter, respecting the dear little boy, who died in this village some time in the month of May, 1813. The whole of the account you have sent in yours, is correct, except that the mother of the late child was not a widow, but was living with her husband at the time the boy died. The woman and her husband were notoriously wicked, they paid no regard to the Sabbath, and every species of wickedness was committed with impunity. The woman had the poor boy in question, before she was married to her present husband; and they were also in very abject circumstances at the time the boy died. Although I had been constantly preaching in the village for nearly seven years, I never saw either of them at the meeting in my life. Indeed I did not know there were such people in the parish.
I relate all this, in order that you may have a clear understanding of the circumstances: the sequel of which will, I believe, be considered by you, a grand display of the free and rich grace and mercy of our good and gracious God, towards the vilest returning sinners. And, as I find you are disposed to publish this affair, I feel it my duty to give you the full statement of it, as it came under my own cognizance, being nearly concerned. I hope I feel thankful in my heart that you are stirred up to this; and may the Lord bless you in the work, and make it abundantly useful. As near as I can recollect, the matter was as follows:—One evening, some friends being at my house, in Christian conversation, a person knocked at the door. Opening it myself, I saw a tall bold-looking woman, in very mean attire. Upon inquiring what she wanted, she told me, she came to ask me to go with her, to see her boy, who had been ill a little time, and she believed would not live the night over; and he had been begging them to send for Mr Dymott. At length she was obliged to come, for the boy would not be quiet, he wanted so much to see Mr Dymott. I replied, “I do not know you, where do you live?” She answered, “About half a mile off.” “Why,” said I, “I never saw you at our place of worship.” “No Sir,” said she, “I never go anywhere on a “Sunday,” I have no clothes fit to go out in.” Said I to her, “How does your boy know me?” “Why,” she said “he has been in the habit of going to your meeting, whenever he could get away unobserved by me; for I did not let him every time he wanted to go, because he was so ragged, and had no shoes to wear; so that I was ashamed for him to go.” She seemed much affected when relating this. She proceeded to say, that when he could get off to meeting of a Sabbath day, he would be talking about the text and the sermon, nearly all the week after; (but you shall hear more of this in its proper place.) Requesting one of my friends to accompany me, we set off about nine o’clock the same evening: when we got to the house, I heard him talk to the people with him, before I got upstairs. Upon some one saying as I entered the room, “Here is Mr Dymott,” the poor child looked up, put out his hand, and taking mine in his, thus addressed me: “Oh! Mr Dymott why had you not come before to me?” I replied, “I do not know anything of you nor of your wanting to see me.” “Ah no,” he rejoined, “I could not get my mother to come for you. But I am going to die, I am going to heaven, I am going to have a crown of life, and there is one prepared for you, and you and I shall be in heaven together. O! my dear Jesus, I want to come to heaven to you, I want to die this night.” As he addressed me by name, I asked him how he knew me. “O,” said he, “by going to hear you preach.” Upon asking him when he went, he replied “Every time I could, when my mother would let me.” I then enquired if he could remember anything he had heard me preach about. He answered, “Yes, that I can, I heard you preach from that text, ‘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 you, and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon.” This was repeated correctly, though he could not read a word. All this while, he appeared as happy as it was possible for a creature to be, and at every interval in the conversation, he would keep on saying, with great earnestness, “O my dear Jesus, I want to die, to be out of this wicked world.” This he would repeat twenty times following, with his hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, with as much propriety, gravity, and seriousness as though he had been forty years of age. I then asked him, if he would not be glad to get better and have good clothes, so that he might come to meeting on a Sabbath. “O no,” was the reply, “I want to die and get out of this wicked world.” I think I shall never forget the scene around me; the room was full of people, and everybody so affected, that all wept together. I then availed myself of the opportunity of addressing those that never went to a place of worship on the Lord’s Day. Every now and then, the boy would say, “Hark! Hark! I hear music, music, I hear music!” whilst he pointed upwards with his finger; so that it really seemed as though a part of heaven was let down into his soul, even while in the body; and when he could not hear the music, he would say to his mother, “I want to hear the music again;” and then, “Dear Jesus, I want to come to heaven to you.” Thus in the simplicity and out of the fulness of his heart he spake. I stayed an hour with him, and before I left, asked, if I should attempt to pray with him. “O yes.” After prayer, I took my leave, telling him I would see him again in the morning. Accordingly, about six o’clock the next day I went again; but before I got there, his prayer had been answered; for he died about three o’clock in the morning, and I was informed, continued to the last in the same state I saw him in.
When he was dead, his mother requested he might be buried in our meeting-yard; to which we consented.
On the day of his burial I preached from the words: “Jesus answered and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes.” Astonishing to relate, we had people from five or six miles around us present at this time, and the concourse was so great, that it was supposed hundreds went away, not being able to get near enough to the chapel to hear. This was the end of this dear child. I afterwards heard, from his mother and others, that he would get away Sabbath mornings, and not go back to get food, lest his mother should not permit him to go again. In this way he had stayed the three services of the day, when the snow was on the ground and he had no shoes to his feet and loitered about from the end of one to the beginning of the succeeding opportunity. But had this been known, he would not have fared thus.
I will now inform you a little what effect this had upon his then wicked mother. She, seeing the happy end of her child, began to reflect upon her hard and cruel treatment of him; which so wrought upon her mind, that she was like a distracted woman for many months, not capable of doing her labour. The Lord also gave her light to see her sin, as well as her ill usage of her child upon the account of his religion, the guilt of which so oppressed her, that she would lie down upon the ground and roll herself in agony, expecting every minute to be cut off and sent to destruction. She began immediately to attend the means of grace, not only on the Lord’s Day, but at our meetings for prayer. Her wicked oaths and wicked companions and conduct were immediately left, and her cry was, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” She acknowledged to me, that she often cursed the boy; for, after having been to meeting on a Sabbath, he would be talking to himself of what Mr Dymott said—often repeating these words: “Let the wicked forsake his way,” &c. when his mother would curse him, and say, “Mind your work, you lazy blockhead: what do you know about the wicked forsaking his way?” and very often beat him into the bargain. But after his death, this language to and usage of her child, and all upon account of his religion, recurred to her recollection, striking like daggers into her conscience; and for a long season she went under great terrors of mind. But at length the Lord was pleased to speak peace to her soul, after which she became a member of our society, and I believe her to be now a woman of sterling piety; and though remarkably poor, yet she is an ornament to her profession; and as she was notorious for wickedness, so now she seems to be eminent for rich and sound experience as a Christian; and a more evident or extraordinary conversion I have never heard of. Nor did the matter end here; for, at the same time, this circumstance was blessed to the conversion of four or five of her wicked companions, who were reclaimed from the error of their ways.
“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform.”
Thus I have given you as correct a statement of this affair as I am capable of, all which I was ear and eye-witness to.
The poor creature is now realizing great tribulation: her husband is lying ill in a dropsy, expecting him to die almost every day; and were it not for the help of her friends, they must famish. The parish officers will not allow them anything unless the poor man goes after it himself, and that is impossible for him to do in his present state; but still the poor woman is in good spirits: she says she believes the Lord will provide somehow or other for her to get some food for her husband as long as he lives.