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 spiritualsuch 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 after 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, when one of the family came into the room, and said, that if he intended bathing, it was time that he should go, as it would very soon be high water. He assented; but whilst a towel was being procured for him, he turned to his young friend, and said, "I can't tell how it is, but I don't feel so much inclined to go, to-day, as usual." She asked if it was thought good for his health-he answered "Yes, it will brace my nerves after the exertion of yesterday." And, indeed, he had an immediate object in view, for he had folded his paper, and prepared his pen, in order to compose a sermon to be preached in the course of the ensuing week, on behalf of the Religious Tract Society, in London; and he was anxious that, by bathing, his mind might be invigorated for study, as he had frequently observed it to have that pleasing influence. Mr. Spencer and his friend left the house together, when turning towards the water, he said, "I must go this way." They parted. His friend sought again the bosom of her family-he went the way whence he never returned! The following pages of this history must be filled with weeping, and lamentation, and wo. They must detail as sad a catastrophe as ever humanity or religion mourned. With cheerfulness Mr. Spencer took the path which leads across the fields towards the Herculaneum potteries, a little above which it was his design to bathe. The eye of his friend, beneath whose roof he dwelt, followed him till distance hid him from his sight. Arrived at the spot which he had selected, not so much from a knowledge of the ground, as from the circumstance of its retirement, he asked a gentleman, who had been bathing, and who then was dressing, "if that was a good place to bathe at "--he answered that it was, but that it was rather stony near the side, but better when further in. Mr. Spencer replied, "I rather think that it is a good place myself, and I don't like to bathe near the pottery, there are so many people." Mr. S. then asked again, “Is the tide nigh up ?" to which he was answered, "About half past eleven." "Oh! dear," said Mr. Spencer, "it is near twelve."-As this conversation passed, Mr. Spencer was undressing, and, at intervals, humming a tune. When undressed, he walked towards the water, and spoke to a workman belonging to the pottery, of the name of Potter, who also was bathing, and who directed him which way to come into the water. While walking in, Mr. Spencer observed, that it was very cold-to which Potter replied, "You will not find it so cold when in." Potter then plunged into the water about breast high, and when he next saw Mr. Spencer, he was swimming within his depth, but soon afterwards the tide swept him round an abrupt projecting rock, where the water was from six to seven feet. Potter himself, who is an expert swimmer, soon found the current driving him round the same rock; but he immediately, with difficulty, swam to the shore, when he looked about for Mr. Spencer, and, not seeing him, was much alarmed. At length, after the lapse of a minute or two, he saw the top of his head floating above the surface of the water. Potter could not tell whether he was amusing himself or drowning. He however cried out to him; but receiving no answer, plunged in again, and swam to the rock, in order to render him assistance-but found it impossible-Mr. Spencer having sunk in seven feet water, and the currents |