The next evening we visited him together; a small tent pitched upon the ground, enclosing room just sufficient for a bed, contained the sufferer. As we drew near, a young woman of about twenty, in features, dress, and manners every way the gipsy, came forward, and (as is frequently the case with unenlightened relatives) wished us not to introduce the subject of eternity any more. She said he had felt much more composed in consequence of my friend’s preceding visit, but still she feared if we mentioned the subject then, it would again disturb him; besides he was already much fatigued. However, on our replying that the tidings we brought were calculated to soothe, instead of disturb, a person in his circumstances, she drew the curtain from the front of the tent, and the object of our attention lay before us, gasping for breath. I confess I was much struck with the affectionate attention the family appeared to pay to their aged father; however careless of their own persons, they did not neglect him—there was every thing that could be expected under such circumstances—a feather bed, bolster, and pillows, supported the limbs of the dying man—the sheets and pillow-cases were white and clean, and a patchwork counterpane, equally clean, covered him outside. He immediately noticed us, and though nearly breathless made an effort to speak; he replied to some of my friend’s questions concerning the subjects they had discoursed upon; said that his mind was easier than it had ever been before—that he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off from him. We asked, “What has been the practice of your past life?” He replied, “Nothing but sin.”—“What do you deserve at the hands of God?” “Eternal punishment.”—“Would God be just, if he were to refuse you mercy?” “O yes!”—“If you should be spared and recover, would you live as you have done?” “O no! not for the world.”—“What do you now desire? what do you most need?” “Mercy! mercy!”—“What, if you might be pardoned?” “O I would give the world to obtain it!”—“Are you then really desirous of pardon, that you may join the redeemed in glory?” To this he signified his full assent, not indeed in so many words, they were too feeble to convey his meaning; but with eyes and hands uplifted, and a countenance remarkably animated, he seemed at once to collect all the remaining energies of body and spirit to say, “O yes! indeed I am!” This assent was accompanied with a force of expression, which I apprehend none but a dying man could give to it.