charge you." He loved to preach in a gown; it tended, he said, to conceal his youth, and give weight to his sermon,-otherwise he was indifferent about it. How far this may be considered as sufficient reason for wearing a gown, I cannot determine; certainly, there are matters of higher moment than this; and it is surely cause of regret, that great and good men should ever grow warm, and say or do strong things, upon a subject, confessedly so inferior in importance.--Unsuspecting --he formed an estimate of every individual's bosom by the ingenuousness of his own; no wonder then, if sometimes he should have erred, and the error prove a source of poignant anguish and unavailing regret. He who has never seen a storm, may, all unconscious of his danger, trust the syren sea; but he who has endured the tempest will mark well the signs of the sky, ere he tempt the treacherous element that has once deceived. Sincere; to have his hand, was to possess his heart; and where he could not give the latter, he never presented the former. Whatever he said, he uttered from conviction; and on every assurance, the firmest reliance might be placed. AS A FRIEND, He was WARM-DISINTERESTED--and AFFECTIONATE. The fervour of his friendship is sufficiently displayed in the correspondence preserved in the preceding pages. His whole soul seems infused into his paper; and, if such were his letters, happy must they esteem themselves who were favoured with his private walks and most retired intercourse. "His friendship, I can truly say," observes his most intimate companion, "has given me one of the most lively views that I ever enjoyed of union and communion with the spirits of just men made perfect. I shall not easily forget the impression of awe upon my mind while hearing him preach at White's Row, from these words: Because there is wrath, beware lest he take thee away at a stroke, then a great ransom cannot deliver thee.' I thought, I surely can never more use the freedom of friendship with him. But at his descent from the pulpit, his sparkling eye, friendly squeeze, and affec tionate pressure of my arm to his side as we return. ed, convinced me that he was still the humble, interesting youth with whom I had taken sweet counsel, and walked to that house of God." Nor was he guided in the formation of his friendships by a principle of interest. This indeed governs the world in their associations : "And what is friendship but a name, But he sought not high connexions-exalted friendships or splendid alliances-he shrunk from grandeur, pomp, and parade he felt uneasy when surrounded by any thing like splendour--he preferred the calm mediocrity of life, as furnishing, for the most part, excellence in character, and comfort in intercourse!Of his affection, it were in vain to speak--no language can describe all the tenderness of his affectionate heart--affection the purest and most refined. The following is the testimony of one who deeply participated in it :-~ "And surely I may experimentally say, that a more affectionate spirit than that of Spencer never animated a fallen son of Adam. When we first met he unbosomed himself, freely claimed my frienship, with an affection that overpowered me, and entreated the fidelity of friendship, charging me to watch him narrowly, and point out every imperfection. If ever the delightful scene recorded 1 Samuel xviii. 1, was reiterated, (and doubtless it often has been) it was when Spencer had made an end of speaking. But proofs of the affection of Spencer's heart are totally unnecessary. I shall mention one only. Soon after we became acquainted, he used to call generally on a Saturday evening-Well, where shall you be to-morrow? with Mr. Foster, I suppose.' Why, I suppose so too, unless you draw me away." I am sure I should be sorry to draw you away, you do not see it right: I am sure you must be a loser by hearing me instead of Mr. Foster; yet if you could see it right, I should be very glad.' When he preached in the country, he used, he said, to look round for a retired corner for me, such as I should like, if there. At Hoxton, he pointed out a seat for me, and when he rose from prayer, used to see if I filled it." if AS A STUDENT SUCCESS He was DILIGENT-CONSCIENTIOUS--and FUL.--Diligent; to a habit of study he had been inured almost from his infancy-the elements of knowledge he obtained under peculiar difficulty--and had he not been inspired by an ardent love of that sæered work, for the honourable discharge of which, he deemed the acquisition of human learning necessary, his name would probably never have been known beyond the circles of his native town. But he longed for the acquisition of knowledge, not from a principle of self-gratification, or the love of fame. but as an auxiliary to his great design. Impelled by such a powerful principle, he sought for it with unceasing avidity--and laboured in its por suit with unconquerable ardour. But it was his lot to meet with a continued chain of obstacles to the free and ample gratification of his taste for learning. In his childhood, the circumstances of his family were inauspicious, and he was compelled, at a period when the powers of his mind were unfolding, to devote those hours to manual labour, which he would have gladly consecrated to books. The year he spent at Harwich was the only year of uninterrupted study he enjoyed; for very soon after his entrance into Hoxton Academy he began to preach-and then, bis popularity formed a most serious and insurmountable barrier-whilst, after his settlement in the ministry, the important duties of his new and extensive sphere of aetion forbad the indulgence of any pursuits in private, but such as bore immediately upon his public work. These circumstances, however, taught him the value of retirement, and instructed him in the happy art of husbanding his time. This art he cultivated with conscientious care-and whoever contemplates the numerous papers he has left behind, and compares them with the public engagements he performed, must be sensibly impressed with a conviction of his diligence. He never entered the pulpit without previous preparation. Most of his sermons were written throughout, except the heads of application, in which he usually trusted to the ardour of his mind, enkindled by the subject which he had discussed, and guided by a holy influence. Not that he slavishly committed his compositions to his memory, and delivered them by rote. For, although his discourses were thus precomposed, and numbers of them remain, yet not one conveys a correct idea of what his preaching actually was. The reason is, that in the pulpit he followed, not so much the impression of his written language on the memory, as the holy and ardent bias of his soul, flowing in the channel which he had previously prepared. The sermon in the study was completely formed-correctly arranged— and well connected-but to the lifeless form, deliheated on his paper, and impressed upon his memory, in the pulpit he imparted a living soul; a principle of ardent piety, which operated as a charm, the power of which few were able to resist. Indeed so uniform was his habit of preparation for the pulpit, that when called upon suddenly to address some young persons, he said to a friend, “I wish you would address the children for me this afternoon; I have not prepared any thing-I have not considered a subject for them, and I would not offer, even to a child, that which cost me nothing." But although this was his usual custom, yet, when extraordinary eircumstances conspire to render a departure from it necessary, he could, with the |