But the scene closes rapidly upon us. On the last Sabbath of his life, August 4th, he rose with unusual health and spirits. The family with whom he resided always beheld him with peculiar interest on the morning of the Sabbath, such an air of angelic mildness and composure sat upon his countenance-and so deeply did he seem absorbed in the contemplation of the sacred duties of the day. That morning he preached from Jer. xxxi. 3-I have loved thee with an everlasting love, therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.' The way of his discussing the subject was simple and interesting: I have drawn thee-to the cross-to the throne -to the church-were the leading ideas in the discourse. It was particularly adapted to the occasion, so many new members being that day added to the church. He afterwards administered the Lord's supper in a most solemn and affecting manner. Such as witnessed the scene-and the number of spectators was about three hundred-bear an unanimous testimony to the deep solemnity by which it was characterized. His appeals to the conscience were so close and overwhelming--his invitations to the faint and weary were so pressing and tender his countenance--his voice-his whole manner were so expressive of holy fervour, that every eye was fixed--every heart seemed moved. How long the impression will remain I cannot tell; but the emotions enkindled by the transactions of that day are yet lively in the hearts of many-and numbers love to converse upon it, as one of those rare and highly favoured seasons, in which the distance between earth and heaven seems annihilated--and so

transporting is the joy, that whether in the body or out of the body, the happy Christian can scarcely tell! To a friend, who afterwards hinted that he appeared to be very happy in prayer at the Lord's supper, he replied "O yes; I thought I could have prayed, and prayed, and mounted up to heaven!" At the close of that memorable serviceone, the ardour of whose feelings age had checked, observed, that "Mr. Spencer seemed that morning twenty years older in experience than he really was." At dinner he mentioned to the family, that he had received that morning a letter from a friend in London who had been formerly reluctant to his settlement in Liverpool, as though it were not the sphere designed by Providence for him. He then expressed the full conviction of his own mind, that he was precisely where he ought to be-under such an impression, he observed, that he was perfectly satisfied and happy; and added, "if it had not been the will of God, I should never have settled here.”

In the evening, in the midst of a throng, such as is rarely witnessed, and from which hundreds departed unable to gain access, he preached from Luke x. 42,One thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her.' His chief object in this sermon was to shew, that communion with the Saviour is the one thing needful. Throughout the whole discourse, it seemed as if all the powers of his mind, all the ardour of his soul were infused into his composition, and his delivery. In the application, he was uncommonly urgent with the young-earnestly exhorting them to an immediate decision on the side of Christ.

representing to them the folly and the danger of deferring the important concerns of salvation and eternity to an uncertain futurity-and assuring them, that very soon he should meet them at the bar of God, and that there he should be a swift witness against them. By those who are best able to decide, it was observed, that his last sermon was perhaps the most adapted for usefulness of any he had preached-and this observation, which was made immediately after its delivery, has been since most amply confirmed, in instances perpetually presenting themselves, in which that sermon proved instrumental in effecting the happiest impressions, many of which have issued in a saving change.

After the labours of the day he went to the house of a friend to supper; he did not appear to be unusually fatigued. With great fervour he led the devotions of the family. He read a portion of scripture, and gave out the 165th hymn of the 2d book. He was remarkably copious and earnest in prayer -commending especially to God-the family-the church-the members who had recently joined the missionary, (who was present) and every object to which his holy and benevolent mind recurred. At supper the conversation was pure and spiritual— such as the book of remembrance in heaven preserves-such as will not easily be forgotten upon earth. The subject was sudden death. The countenance of Spencer, always animated, was lighted up with holy joy as he discoursed upon the glory of departed saints he seemed to realize the scenes he attempted to describe, whilst he expressed his own conceptions of the transport and surprise in

which the disembodied spirit will be lost, when first admitted to the immediate presence of God. He spoke much upon the blessedness of putting off the garments of mortality in a moment, and being caught up unexpectedly and instantaneously to heaven! He seemed to lose the memory of the day's fatigue in the interesting theme, and frequently observed, that he had not for a long time felt himself so free from weariness. A little after eleven, he parted with his friends forever. Never did they discover more of the warmth of his friendship, or the ardour of his piety, than in this last, happy interview. His countenance seemed eradiated with smiles of ineffable benignity--his whole deportment: indicated a mind abstracted from the world, except so far as bound to it by the benevolent desire of doing good, and wholly devoted to communion and fellowship with God. So mature indeed did his character appear so ripe did he seem for glory, that some of his friends could not but entertain a presentiment of his early removal. Though not then elevated to a higher sphere, he still appeared mysteriously weaned from earth. His loins were girt, and his lamp burning with unusual brightness, as though he expected the coming of his Lord. In its anticipations of future glory, his happy spirit seemed to try its pinions, preparatory to the glorious flight it was about to take.

On Monday morning, August the 5th, the last day that dawned for him, he rose rather later than usual; his mind was too active for his body: the exhausted frame required rest. After breakfast, he received a visit from a young lady, one of the members lately

admitted into the church.

He entered the room with

a cheerful smile; and the family having retired af ter some general conversation, he said, "Well, M, you are now a member of a Christian church; yesterday you solemnly professed your faith in Christ, while the attention of many of our fellow creatures was fixed on you; God also beheld your profession-all heaven and hell witnessed the solemnity." On her expressing some fears lest she should be unable to act consistently with the profession she had made, he replied, "Live near to Christ -be much in communion with your own heart-be very frequent in addresses at a throne of grace, and there is no fear of you." Then referring to the long and agonizing distress which he had suffered through the alarming indisposition of his dearest connexions, and which seemed now happily removing, he said, "This severe affliction has not been sent, but for reasons the wisest and the best; from it I have learned many lessons, and have enjoyed much of the presence of God under it. O may my heart be filled with gratitude to Him who is the author of all our mercies." He frequently bathed; he found it beneficial to his health. He purposed doing so that day, and had expressed his intention in the morning. He had just repeated the first verse of Cowper's admirable hymn,

"God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm,"

when one of the family came into the room, and said, that if he intended bathing, it was time that