THE

DEATH-BED

OF A

FREE-THINKERS

EXEMPLIFIED IN THE LAST HOURS OF THE

HON. FRANCIS NEWPORT,

Who died at Westminster, Dec. 8, 1692.

AND SOLD AT THEIR DEPOSITORY, NO. 7 NASSAU-STREET, NEAR THE CITY-HALL, NEW-YORK; AND BY AGENTS OF THE SOCIETY, ITS BRANCHES, AND AUXILIARIES, IN

THE PRINCIPAL CITIES AND TOWNS

at

THE

DEATH BED

OF A

FREE-THINKER.

AT sixteen, the honourable Francis Newport was sent to the University, perfectly acquainted with the Latin and Greek languages; where he continued five years, and be haved so agreeably to his religious education, that he was looked upon as a blessing and ornament to his family. At twenty-one, he came to Londen, and entered himself to study the law. His new acquaintance began to rally him for his religion: to whom he would say, "Gentlemen, you who pretend to reason, cannot count laughter a conclusive argument; if religion be so absurd as you would have me believe, why do you not give some fair reasons against it?" This, some of them would attempt; and though their arguments at first were as unsuccessful as their raillery, yet the poison sunk by degrees, and at last tainted him as deeply as themselves. He was adopted into their society, which met to lay down rules for being so critically wicked, that the law should not be able to take hold of them. He had too much prudence to lay himself open: he still kept a fair correspondence with his friends, and in strange places was sober and reserved; but in secret, and among his acquaintance, he was as wicked as good parts, abundance of temptations, and a fair estate, enabled him to be.

On November 30, 1692, he was ill; and found, notwithstanding all his precautions, that he had not shaken off the expectations of another life.

This made him throw himself upon a bed, and break out into these expressions: "Whence this war in my breast? What argument is there now to assist me against matter of fact? Do I assert that there is no hell, while I feel one in my own bosom? Am I certain there is no after retribution, when I feel a present judgment? Do I affirm

my soul to be as mortal as my body, when this languishes, and that is vigorous as ever? O! that any one could restore me to my ancient guard of piety and innocence ! Wretch that I am! whither shall I fly from this breast? What will become of me?"

One of his old companions coming in, said, "How now, brother! Why this? Why this melancholy posture? What is the matter?" He replied, "It is you and your companions, who have instilled your principles into me, which now, when I have most need of them, leave me in confusion and despair. What advice or comfort have you now to fortify me with, against the fearful expectations of another life? Are you sure that the soul is material and mortal, and that it will dissolve with the body?" "So certain," replied the other, "that I venture my whole upon it." Here I interrupted them by coming into the room; and applying myself to the sick person, told him I was a stranger to him, but hearing he was ill, I thought it my duty to offer him what service I was capable of. "I thank you," says he, "I desire you to engage that gentleman, that sits there, and prove to him that the soul is not matter, nor mortal." This I endeavoured to do by several arguments; to which the sick gentleman answered only with a sigh, while his friend made haste out of the room. I was surprised at such an effect, and desired to know the reason. "Alas! Sir," said he, "you have undeceived me too late; I was afraid of nothing so much as the immortality of the soul: now you have assured me of that, you have ascertained me of a hell, and a portion among those who have apostatized from their religion. You have now sealed my damnation, by giving me an earnest of it: I mean an awakened conscience, that brings my sins into remembrance, by reckoning up the numerous catalogue for which I must go and give an account. O! apostate wretch, from what hopes art thou fallen! O that I had never known what religion was; then I had never denied my Saviour, nor beer so black an heir of perdition!"

I stood speechless some time at the strange expressions; but, as soon as I could recollect myself, said, "Sir, I would have you take care how you violate the mercy of God, and think so lightly of the sufferings of Christ, as if they were not sufficient for the redemption of the greatest sinner.

This may be a delusion of the devil. If you are convinced the soul is immortal, I hope it is to a good end; if you had died ignorant of it, you had been miserably undeceived in another world; now you have some time to prepare for your welfare."

To which he replied: "As to the mercies of God in Christ, I once knew and tasted what they were; which is now part of my curse, in that I am now sensible of my loss; they are, I grant you, sufficient for those that have any share in them; but what is that to me, who have denied Christ? I have daily crucified him afresh, and put him to an open shame. The devil has nothing to do with the torture I undergo; it is no delusion of his, but the just judgment of God; and it is also a part of my heavy judgment, that you have given me a sensible horror of my sin, by proving my soul is immortal. Had I gone straight to hell in my old opinion, I had endured but one hell, whereas I now feel two; I mean not only an inexpressible torture which I carry in my own breast, but an expectation of I know not what change. O that I were in hell, that I might feel the worst! and yet I fear to die, because the worst will never have an end." All this he spoke with an air of eagerness, and such horror as is scarcely to be imagined.

He was got to bed, refusing all sustenance, and had an exceeding sweating, through the extremity of his torments. Before I took my leave of him, I desired to pray by him; which, with much reluctance, he consented to. In the midst of prayer, he groaned extremely, tossing himself as if he were in the agonies of death. When prayer was over, I asked him the reason of it. He answered: "As the damned in hell, who lift up their eyes in torments, and behold afar off the saints in Abraham's bosom, have thereby their torments doubled, first, by reflecting on the misery they are in; and, secondly, by observing the happiness they have lost: so I, knowing myself to be hardened, and sealed to damnation, hearing the prayers of the righteous, to which God's ears are ever open, have my torment increased by thinking how I am excluded from such a privilege, and have no other portion left me than blaspheming, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth for ever."

"Pray, Sir," said I, "consider there is a vast difference between you and them in hell: they are lost irrecovera

bly for evermore, without any opportunity of a reprieve, or hope of pardon; you are yet alive, and have the promises, in common with other sinners; Christ died for sinners; and God hath sworn by himself, "As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live."

He replied with his usual earnestness, "I will grant as much difference between me and those in hell, as between common devil and a devil incarnate: if these are irrecoverably lost, without opportunity of reprieve, or hopes of pardon, and I am yet alive, what then? what is the consequence? Not that the promises belong in common to me with other sinners, nor to any sinners but such as believe and repent. If Christ died for sinners, it was such as repent and believe; but though I would, I can do neither: I have outstood my day of grace, am hardened and reprobate. If God delight not in the death of sinners, it is of such sinners as repent and turn to him; but his justice will vindicate itself on such obstinate sinners as I, who have denied his power and providence, both in my words and actions. Now he has met with me for it; and O! it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. If God was not against me, I should not care, though all the power and malice of men were joined against me; though all the legions of hell continued to torture me with the most consuming pains: but when an irreconcilable God looks down upon his creature in wrath, and consigns him over to eternal vengeance, this is intolerable, inexpressible! Ah, who can dwell with eternal burnings! O ye, that have any hope, that have not passed the day of grace, cry mightily to God day and night; think no labour too much to secure you from the wrath of God. O! who can stand before him when he is angry? What stubble can resist that consuming fire?" This, and more to the same purpose, he spoke with so deep a concern, the tears all the while trickling down his face, that no one in the room could forbear weeping. Perceiving this, he said, "If ye weep at the image and bare relation of the effects of God's wrath, what then do I suffer, who actually lie under the very weight of his fury? Refrain your tears, for it is in vain pity is no debt to me: nothing is so proper for me, as some curse to complete my misery, and free me from

Vol. 5.

K 2