Mr. Spoor was stationed as the superintendent of Stockton circuit in 1868. Although his health was not established, he found himself able, without serious intermission, to discharge the duties of this heavy circuit. He, laboured as earnestly and indefatigably as ever, only content when God's work was prospering. To a young and respected minister he wrote:
"August, 1868. — Glad to hear of your health, and, above all, glad that you are thirsting for more spiritual power. May you ever feel the need of this. Live near to God, — often go to the throne of grace. Work, watch, pray for souls. If we would be of real service to the church, we must be filled with the Spirit of Christ. I am glad to say that I am able to take my work, though I was very poorly last week; but you know I am not what I have been. But I am in the hands of Him who is good and loving to all."
His last letter was written to the same correspondent, dated August 23rd, 1869. In it there is a touching reference to the death of his dear friend and early yoke-fellow, the Rev. T. Jobling, and expressions almost prophetic of his own decease. He says:
"I received a card yesterday from the son of the Rev. Thomas Jobling, announcing his father's death. Thus we go, one by one. I feel his death very keenly. We have been close friends from childhood. We were converted at the same period, met in one class, began to preach together, and were taken out to travel about the same time. Well, his work is completed; mine soon will be. I want to live for the end. I have a strong wish to be of use to the world and to the church while I live, and to go down to the grave with a good hope at last."
The end he foresaw drew rapidly on. It needed no prophetic foresight to see this. His long and severe illness at Durham had undermined his health, and the signs and evidences of a breaking-up of his constitution were palpable enough to his friends. But he scarcely slackened his labour. During the summer of 1869 he attended many camp-meetings, and to say he laboured at them with all his force of body and mind is only to say that Joseph Spoor was himself. His strength failed him, and he returned to his home spent and exhausted; but his zeal, his heart, and his intense and burning desire to save souls, never failed. His last Sabbath's work was at North Ormsby, August 29th, 1869. Although the weather was unpropitious, he laboured with all his wonted energy, but the cold struck a chill into him. The next day he was utterly prostrate, was feverish, and presented signs of febrile derangement. On Tuesday, he had what was concluded to be an apoplectic seizure. Dr. Dale was called in, and found him suffering from congestion of the brain, and pronounced the symptoms dangerous. There can be no manner of doubt that his extreme labours had broken down his constitution; but it is thought the peculiar form of attack was derived and hereditary, as several members of his family had been subject to similar seizures. His consciousness returned, and was mercifully preserved to him to the end of his life. His sick chamber was a scene of triumph as well as of suffering. In every lull of pain he rejoiced in God his Saviour, so that the chamber seemed to be "quite in the verge of heaven." He never wearied extolling the blessed name of Jesus. He talked much to his wife and daughters, speaking words of comfort and counsel to them. For nine days he lingered in suffering. Each day made it clearer to those about him that his departure was at hand. He knew it and they knew it. To him death was the gate of life, eternal life. Every hour and every pang brought him nearer the great goal of his life — to be with Christ! To his family it was to lose a husband and father most tenderly beloved. Their solicitude and anxiety may be better imagined than described. All that skill, affection, and attention could do, was most readily done; but no skill and no affection could turn aside the fatal shafts of death.
A little while before his last hour his anxious wife placed a cloth over his eyes to shade them from the sun, whereupon he exclaimed — "Take this cloth off my eyes; I don't want to go into heaven with my eyes shut; I want them wide open to go right away to Jesus!" His last words were — "If any one asks after me, tell them I am a poor sinner washed in the blood of Jesus!" Worse symptoms now set in, and he sank away to rest on the morning of Sept. 9th. Calm was the scene of his death. He fell asleep, or, as the poet puts it, —
It was arranged that he should be buried at Stockton but the friends at Middlesborough bought land in the cemetery of that town, and built a vault, and defrayed the cost of the interment. In this generous work Mr. R. Knaggs, Mr. I. Cook, and others, lent a ready hand.
A short service was held in the Stockton Chapel, conducted by the Revs. H. Kendall and J. Worsnop, and then the funeral procession, which consisted of a hearse, several mourning coaches, many private carriages, besides a great number of persons who followed on foot, moved off. From Stockton to Middlesborough, a distance of four miles, the procession gradually increased, and on reaching the cemetery a vast multitude gathered round the grave. Amongst those present were W. B. Brayshaw, Esq., Mayor of Stockton; the Revs. H. Kendall (Congregationalist), Darlington; W. Leng (Baptist), Stockton; H. Phillips, J. Jackson, A. Lattimer, G. W. Moorse, D. Moore, J. Laverick, W. Scafe, W. Bowe, B. Wild, J. Taylor, G. Hutchinson, J. Worsnop, J. Elliott, T. Knox, and others.
Many of the ministers of this district sent letters of condolence to the bereaved family and expressed their profound regret that, owing to the quarterly meetings of their respective stations being appointed for that day, they were unable to attend. There was also a large number of leading officials, members and friends from the Sunderland, Brompton, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Darlington, Stockton, Durham, Spennymoor, Barnard Castle, Crook, Stokesley, Hetton, Thornley, Hartlepool, Shildon, and other circuits.
When the mourners had taken their places beside the grave, the Rev. H. Phillips read the first part of the burial service. The Rev. J. Jackson then offered a most appropriate and affecting prayer; and whilst he very tenderly and earnestly prayed for the bereaved ones, "the tributary tear" gushed from many an eye, and responsive utterances were heard from many a tongue.
The Rev. H. Kendall next delivered a very touching and beautiful address, in the course of which he indicated the two most distinctive features in the character of the departed: (1) His quenchless ardour; his apostolic zeal for the conversion of souls; his desire for the salvation of men, as a consuming passion. To save men was truly the burden of the Lord upon him; and to accomplish this object his life was one of incessant toil. (2.) His untiring endeavours to stir up Christian believers to seek a closer communion with God, and more thorough self-sacrifice for Christ and His cause. He concluded by enforcing the lesson — "he, being dead, yet speaketh" to the ministers and people of Christ.
The, Rev. H. Phillips, in a very solemn manner, read the remainder of the burial service, and offered the closing prayer. Long after the termination of this memorable service numbers lingered round the tomb to take their last look at the grave of a man of God, universally esteemed and greatly beloved.*
It only now remains to set down a few characteristics of our deceased brother, to give an extract from his Metropolitan speech, as "a taste of his quality," and to mention certain testimonials to his worth.
The one commanding excellence of his life, raising him head and shoulders above the mass, was his never-flagging earnestness; not the fitful thing we often see, but a life-long passion. He felt that "in the salvation of souls moderation is madness, and want of zeal, death." He would hunt for souls from house to house. He never hesitated about speaking for Christ in any company, in the streets of the busy town, or on the country roadside. If it was impressed upon his mind, as it often was, to speak to or pray with any person or company of persons, he would accost them with a few words about their souls, and fall upon his knees and plead with God for their salvation. The love of Christ and the love of souls was the great momentum carrying him resistlessly onward, and making him —
His boldness was never offensive, not mere bravado, not springing from braggart self-sufficiency. It was an inspired heroism; it was heavenly daring, prompted by the powerful motions of the Holy Spirit within him. As to himself, notwithstanding all the rough, hard work he did, it would be difficult to meet with a quieter and gentler spirit. He was always serious, never sour or ascetic. He was, however, no manufacturer of parlour laughs, — he lived too near heaven for that. He is described to the writer, by one who knew him more than thirty years ago, as a fine-looking young man. But the thing that struck an observer most was his, intense spirituality: he seemed to be wrapt in Divine communings, and an unction from on high attended his words. This was the great characteristic and recommendation of his public ministrations. Though you had heard him handle the subject, or relate the adventure before, "yet his flowers never lost their fragrance, nor his fruit its bloom; the growths of his youth kept the dew on them to the end." Instead of polishing sentences he was saving souls from death; and many who prate of freshness and originality, never got hold of the very souls of their auditors as Joseph Spoor did with his oft-repeated message.
No doubt that in his seasons of great mental elevation, when most possessed and inspired, he committed what fastidious and unsympathising critics might designate extravagances. But when in sympathy with the full tide of his grand passion, we feel these extremes to be the natural outcome of a nature like his, in his circumstances and doing his work. The proprieties must not be too rigidly required of a man working the kind of work he wrought, and among the material he had to do with. This much may be said, there was no acting, no buffoonery, no mere attempts to create a sensation; all was natural and spontaneous. Had sticklers for elegance and cold correctness heard Luther or Latimer, their refined ears would have been shocked at the frequent occurrence of irregularities of metaphor, allusions, and manner. The noise in many of the meetings conducted by Mr. Spoor would likely enough grate upon these refined and sensitive people. But would there not be noise and commotion in the great revival at Pentecost? In these great moral upheavings, commotion and noise are perhaps unavoidable. As Joseph Spoor used to say, his work was not to fit the well-prepared stones in the temple, but to be in the quarry blasting the rocks.
As one of his "extremes" take this case: In the midst of one of his revival efforts, the movement became the subject of remark among certain pothouse reformers. In a heated discussion one evening about this revival, one of these said worthies, a bold heroic spirit, wagered considerable stakes that he would go into the chapel where Mr. Spoor was conducting a revival service, and break the meeting up; yes, he would show them how to stop this "noisy crew." His prowess is seen in his prompt departure for the chapel; he marches in, surveys the scene, discovers how formidable a task he has undertaken, and is seized with a strange sensation, but screws his courage up to go on; he mounts a seat and shouts aloud, making frantic noises to interrupt the meeting. The quick eye of Mr. Spoor saw the device to break up the service, and alert as thought he resolved upon his measures. He seized the man by the collar of his coat, brought him forcibly down, motioned to those whom he could rely upon to form a cordon of praying batteries round him. The plan was soon carried out, and these batteries opened fire. Spoor held the disturber down by main force, who was all the while trying to throw off the grasp of his captor, and looking anxiously for some way of escape; the people were praying with all their might of soul and voice, and Spoor, as he says, "shouting glory into his face." After the intruder had been in this torment for some time, trembling from head to foot, Mr. Spoor loosed his grasp, when the wretched man leaped up, rushed out of the chapel, and ran as for life, Spoor after him, shouting at the top of his voice, "Glory, glory! Lord, save the man," &c., till he reached his own house, when he rushed in and banged the door. Then Mr. Spoor returned to his place, and continued the meeting, and many were converted. The story got abroad, and the man was for a long time the butt of joke and remark, much to his chagrin and mortification.
The dramatic turn Mr. Spoor gave to many of his pulpit efforts would have been ridiculous in any one else. In him, however, all was artless and natural. The effect upon his audiences was impressive and strikingly solemn. As, for example, when preaching upon the parable of the sower, after expounding the parable, he described himself as a sower sowing the seed of the kingdom; and rising with his subject and wholly absorbed in it, he opened the pulpit door and came down the steps, striding along the aisle throwing out his arms as if sowing, preaching the truth all the time. The effect was electric.
On another occasion he was dwelling upon his frequently used theme, the prodigal son. He so dramatised the imagery of the parable, that where representing the youth going into a "far country" with his substance, he, with amazing rapidity, stripped off his coat, and rolled it up to represent the goods the youth carried away. He almost ran down the pulpit stairs, and along the aisle, returning to the pulpit, preaching all the while. Coming at length to the penitent's return, he shouted out, "He's coming, I see him coming;" and, taking the part now of the venerable father, he ran down the steps and along the chapel, crying, "He's coming back!" At the door stood a Ploughman, just come from the field, with some plough irons strung over his shoulders. He seized this man, as if he were the penitent prodigal, and marched him up the aisle, shouting out, "This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."
Once when preaching on the awful solemnities of the last day, from the angel standing one foot on the land and the other on the sea, and proclaiming the end of time, so absorbed was he in his awful subject, that he personified the "majestic angel," and by an agile leap placed one foot on the Bible-board and the other on the back edge of the pulpit, and taking a roll of circuit plans just as he leaped, he placed them to his mouth, shouting through them, "Time shall be no longer!"
Surprise has often been excited that on such giddy heights, and such dangerous places, he never fell. So entirely absent was all art, trickery, and sensationalism from his mind that he seldom remembered afterwards what had transpired. An instance of this is related by the Rev. W. Lister. "While preaching in our chapel at Darlington," says Mr. Lister, "one Sabbath evening, in the early part of 1836, a great power rested on him and the congregation. Towards the latter part of his discourse he was as it were drawn up, and placing his feet on each side of the Bible-board, he stood for about two minutes urging the necessity of faith in Christ for a present salvation. On removing his feet, he went as gradually down to the floor of the pulpit as if it had been done by machinery. It was named to him the next morning, but he knew nothing about it. A person took him to the chapel, and described the whole circumstance to him, while he shuddered to think of the dangerous position he had been in, saying, "Well, the Lord must have had hold of me, or I should have fallen."
He lived nobly, if not long. Labouring as he laboured, no man could have lived long. Indeed, had his constitution not been an iron one, he would have died years earlier. But better labour and live as he did, than be such helpless drones as many are.
He never feared to speak of his Master, but bore the message of salvation to any and every man with whom he came in contact. To proclaim the truth in the open-air was his delight. Shortly after we became acquainted with him, we were sitting in a friend's house, waiting to commence the service of a chapel opening in a circuit of which he was superintendent, when we heard his clear ringing voice, singing up the streets, "Stop, poor sinner," etc. On going to the door we beheld him alone, with his overcoat thrown loosely over his shoulder, striding up the street, and singing and inviting the people to the service. On several occasions, have we witnessed scenes like this.
It was a sight to see him on the platform or in the pulpit, his face lit up with supernal inspirations, which fired and filled his soul; his nervous system strung to great tension, his frame quivering with emotion, his clear sounding voice exercising its full compass of expression, and his extreme, and what, in others, would be considered his extravagant gestures. To see him thus, we say, was a sight not soon to be forgotten, and we do not wonder at his audiences being carried away with a torrent of enthusiasm. His relations on the platform of his missionary experience and exploits exceeded anything of the kind we have ever heard. Some of these relations are preserved in these pages, that the generations to come may know that there were giants in these days.
Our friend's heart was ever set upon the prosperity of Zion. The sounds of a revival always moved him, — sinners crying for mercy was sweetest music to his soul. We shall not soon forget him at the Conference camp-meeting held at Newcastle in 1859. He had worked hard all day, and about ten p.m. we had occasion to go into Nelson-street chapel, and found our friend conducting a prayer-meeting, with as much vigour and gusto as if it were ten in the forenoon. At the juncture when we entered the chapel he was standing beside two forms, all in motion, exhorting the people to come to Jesus, entreating and reasoning with them to accept Christ then. More telling or appropriate addresses we never heard; he seemed moved with the Holy Ghost as he spoke. Of his intellectual character we cannot speak so confidently as of his spiritual. He regretted to the writer, some years ago, that he had not in his youth cultured himself: he had clear and vigorous powers, but they had not been educated and utilised as they might. He spoke of his lack of opportunities, and of friends to stimulate and guide him in mental improvement. And the nature of the work he performed was inimical to study and mental culture. He was, as the Stockton Guardian says, "a man of plain manners, and discharged his duties with mingled firmness and kindness." All who knew him loved him; his modesty, his earnestness, his integrity and uprightness, as well as his kindness of heart, endeared him to all who came into close contact with him.
He was not a "great preacher" in the conventional sense of the term. He was a man for the masses. Hence, wherever he went the common people flocked around his pulpit or platform. For "special services" he traversed most of the kingdom. And in the north country no man commanded greater congregations, or was held in greater esteem.
Thousands will mourn that they will never see his face and hear his voice again. We hope the race of noble revivalist Primitive Methodist preachers, among whom he was a king, will be long continued to our church.
Of his manner on the platform the subjoined selection from his Metropolitan speech is a fair specimen. The gathering was a splendid one. The great Tabernacle of Mr. Spurgeon was crowded. The chair was filled that night by Sir J. Meek, the Lord Mayor of York, with his accustomed ability and urbanity. The other speakers had shown themselves in excellent speaking trim. Mr. Spoor came last, and he was equal to the occasion. His wonderful narration of what he had felt and seen, expressed with point and force, "brought the house down," if we may employ a theatrical phrase.
He had been speaking of the opposition of rationalising bishops, priests, critics, and others. Then he plunged into this narrative: "There was a great deal of opposition to the cause a few years ago — arising from a man whom they called Robert Owen. He had got some kind of a new machine constructed — I don't know whether he made it in London or not, — but he had got some kind of a new machine constructed, which he had called 'The New Moral World.' He was going to take all our Bibles from us, and grind all our religious societies into something else, with this new thing that he had got. I never understood it myself; neither do I think he understood it, or else he would not have been such a fool as to say he would do as he said. I remember I was once down in my canny town; you may find out from that word where I come from — the coaly Tyne. You have heard of the Newcastle keelmen. Perhaps some of you never saw one till now; but here on this platform, converted by God's grace — here I am, a sinner saved through Jesus Christ. Well, when I was down in my canny town, Newcastle, some years ago, when that man was making a great stir against our religion, he had large bills put up all over the town and neighbourhood, headed in this way, 'Christianity a failure!' When I saw that against the houses I drew near, and I wondered whether I read rightly or not. I did not wear spectacles then; but if I had had a pair in my pocket I think I would have put them on, to see whether I read rightly or not. 'Christianity a failure!' I had never heard of such a thing as that. I thought I should like to see the man that proved it. I wondered where he lived. I wondered under what circumstances he was placed when he found Christianity a failure! Christianity a failure, Mr. Chairman? No, never. She has had a variety of bad cases to take up, but she has always proved to be what the Bible says she is, where she has been fairly tried, 'The power of God to salvation to every one that believeth.' Now, if you please, at this late hour, let us look at a few of the failures of Christianity. Perhaps that will be the best thing I can strike out just now to keep you. Well, — the failures of Christianity, — let us, see. We have a vast number of failures going on, and some look very ugly and make people very queer; but let us see how these failures look. Now there was one — and mark you, Mr. Chairman, what I am going to say here is a matter of fact; I am not going to take up 'He said and he said;' the things that I give out on this platform are facts that have come under my own notice, and we can write 'Warranted' on them, every one. Mr. Key says he has a book coming out full of them, I hope you will all get that book, and make good use of it; and help him to get rid of his first edition and soon have a new one.
"Well, in one place, Mr. Chairman, they made me a town missionary, and that is a very important sphere of labour. A man to enter into a town on a missionary enterprise, faithfully, is a man worthy of all your support. Well, I tell you what my business was: my business was every morning after breakfast to put a bundle of tracts under my arm and a Bible in my pocket, and to go down into all the dark, dingy back alleys that I could find in the town, amongst the neglected ones, and distribute the tracts and read the Scriptures, and get all the children to Sabbath schools that went to none. And then there was another thing I had in my credentials, Mr. Chairman; it was this. — I had to get everybody made teetotallers that I could; and you may be sure that I was a teetotaller myself, and you may be sure I am one to-night. (Loud applause.) Ever since the year 1836 I have been standing fast in cold water; and, sir, I hope the day is fast approaching when every minister of the gospel, and office-bearer in the church, and every member of society will come flat-footed out on this question, and seek to drive strong drink out of our land; for if you have an enemy in London — it is strong drink; if you have anything that is demoralising — that is, destroying the bodies and souls of the people in London — it is strong drink; and if ever the gospel of Jesus had an enemy more powerful than another to grapple with, it is drink.
"Well, one day in my rambles up and down in the town where I was, I got into a man's house who professed to be a follower of Robert Owen. I did not know him, but he knew me. I am very well known in the North, but I am not well known in London, perhaps; though I fall in here and there, even in London, with persons who say, 'Mr. Spoor, is that you?' I went down to the Crystal Palace the other day, and could not get through the palace without somebody shaking hands with me, and saying, 'How do you do?' Well, this man looked at me as I went into his house, and he said, 'Who sent you here, sir!' 'Oh,' I said, 'the Lord.' 'The Lord,' said he; 'go about your business, for I want nothing to do with you.' 'Oh,' I said, 'sir, if you want nothing to do with me, I want something to do with you; and as to my business, I am about my business, for my business is the salvation of your soul.' He said, 'Mind your own soul, if you have one; as for me, I have none.' 'Oh,' said I, 'my friend, but you have a soul that must live, and live on, in the eternal world, either in a state of happiness or misery.' At last, I said, 'I must pray with you!' He seized his hat and left the house, while I was engaged in prayer with his family. Now, this man, sir, was afflicted, suffering in consumption. I took that man's case before God, for I believe in prayer. I was very restless about that man's soul. The burden of his case came over my spirit, and I felt I could not rest about him; and in three days after that I went to pay him another visit. When I went in I found that he was much worse, and confined to his bed; and when I saw him in bed, I made up my mind that he should have it right and left. He looked at me, and said, 'Have you come back, sir?' 'Oh, yes,' I said, 'I have been so unhappy about you since I was here, that I have not been able to rest.' 'Why,' he said, 'you are a foolish man to make yourself unhappy about me. I am all right enough.' I said, 'You are all wrong; and if you don't speedily repent, and turn away from your sins, and give God your heart, you will be wrong for ever.' He kept ordering me out every now and then, and perhaps he gave me thirty orders to go out, but I never obeyed one of them. At last he said, 'Well, you are the impudentest fellow that ever came into my house.' (laughter.) 'I think,' he said, 'anybody would have gone away but yourself, when I had told them so repeatedly; but if you don't go, I will have a policeman brought, and you shall be taken to the lock-up.' 'Oh,' I said, 'I can pray for you in the lock-up as well as anywhere else;' and off I started again about his state as a sinner, and about Jesus as a Saviour. And at last I said, 'Now, my friend, I must pray with you this morning.' 'You must not pray here,' said he. 'If you pray here I will twist your neck about.' 'Oh,' said I, 'do as you like about that but I am a praying man, and I dare not leave the house without prayer;' and by that time I was down upon my knees; for I never was a man of many ceremonies. However, sir, if ever I prayed in my life, it was that morning. Oh! there is a power in prayer! There is a way to get up to God, and bring salvation down, and we know when it comes. ('Hallelujah;') Oh, yes; we know when it comes. I prayed, sir, until I felt in my heart that God had answered prayer; and under that conviction I got up, believing that God would save this man's soul.
"Well, I left him; and you would have been pleased, and your congregation would have been pleased, if they had been with me a few mornings after that. His poor wife came to my house with tears in her eyes, wishing me to return and pay a visit to her husband again, for he had never been able to rest. This was what I was expecting. This was what I was believing for. When I went, oh! what a sight! The man was in bed; he had the Bible on the bedside, and tears were rolling down his face. He put out his withered arm, and began to beg a thousand pardons. I said, 'My friend, I never had anything against you. It is the Lord and you that must make it up, and we will pray a little.' His wife and I knelt down by his bedside, and, amidst sobs and groans and tears, faith was in lively exercise, and there came down a heavenly power that broke his fetters. He leaped into liberty, clapped his hands, and said, 'I have found it.' Now, this man, Mr. Chairman, continued in that happy state of mind for nine weeks; and he then closed his career in this world, leaving his dear wife the assurance that he was going to be with Jesus, which is far better. That is one of our failures, — it looks very well. (Loud cheers and hallelujahs!)"
Among the letters of condolence and sympathy Mrs. Spoor received, expressive of the high place her dear husband had held in public esteem, the following may be selected. The first is from one of his earliest and most valued friends, the Rev. W. Lister, the ex-president of the Conference. He says: —
"I refrained from writing to you immediately on receiving the melancholy intelligence of the death of your dear husband, as I wished to write when the first gush of feeling had subsided. I shall be only expressing the truth when I say, that from the first time I met your late husband, which is more than thirty-four years ago, amidst all the changes of this changing world my deep regard and high esteem for him have not changed. He will still live in my affection, till I join him before the throne.
"And now that our heavenly Father has removed the staff from your side, on which you have leant for many years; is it not that you may more fully rest on and trust in Him? He has said, 'I will never leave thee.' Let such thoughts as these console your heart. God is too good to be unkind in anything He does, and He has done this. Without a doubt your dear one is at home in heaven, and you would not bring him back to this world of sorrow even if you could. My dear friend, the separation won't be long --- -and then what joys will crown that blessed meeting. Look up in your day of darkness. Had I been near I should have been present to have paid my last respects to departed worth.
"May the comforts, the precious promises of the word, and the abiding presence of our gracious Redeemer, abundantly be with you the remainder of your journey."
The next letter is from Mrs. S. B. Pease, North Lodge, Darlington, a member of the well-known family of that name, belonging to the Society of Friends. She writes:
"Dear Friend Alice Spoor, — The memorial card thou hast so kindly sent me, does indeed call forth my tenderest sympathy on behalf of thyself and family. The bereavement of a beloved and devoted husband must truly be a sorrow calculated to wring the heart of one who is left sorrowful and alone, — alone in a certain sense because no other human tie can supply the place of him whom God has seen right to take away from his labours and burdens, to rest for ever in the bosom of his Saviour.
"I can well suppose that thy affectionate children will do all they can to assuage thy great grief. And remember that He whom you have together endeavoured for so many years faithfully to serve, has left many cheering promises for the widow and the fatherless, and for those who are stricken and afflicted; and now, I doubt not, all these distressing states thou art feeling, but I trust thou canst also see and feel mercy and love to be mixed in the bitter cup. It may be hard in this great sorrow from thy heart to say — 'Not my will, but Thine be done,' but the very desire to be helped to do so is a prayer acceptable to our merciful Redeemer, who is ever ready to give us strength and hope in all our weakness. We have heard no particulars of the death of thy dear husband, except that it was said that he had overworked his strength for the good of others and his Master's cause. What a blessed cause of death! When thou art able to send me a few lines they will be very acceptable, — tell me of thy health. Meantime, with strong sympathies, and wishing that thou mayest experience every support and solace, I am thine sincerely,
The, next letter is from J. Bramwell, Esq., Recorder of Durham, a true friend and a great admirer of Mr. Spoor. He writes thus:
"Dear Mrs. Spoor, — I am sure that none have more truly sympathised with you in your severe bereavement than myself and my niece. As a minister of Christ, most devoted and true, I always appreciated, and with the highest satisfaction attended the preaching of the late Mr. Spoor. His was a ministry powerful and mighty in the conversion of sinners, and the consolation of God's people. He is a great loss to the Denomination with which he was united, and a loss to the world around him.
"Seeing that we believe in the ineffable reward he has attained, we sorrow not as those who understand not the promise of the Gospel of Christ. Your family have had a high example set to them, which is of itself a rich inheritance. May you and they, and ourselves obtain a lot amongst the saints of the Most High. Believe me, most truly yours,
Another writer, the Rev. M. Lupton, who for six years filled, with credit to himself and good results to the cause, the office of General Missionary Secretary, and is this year President of the Conference, wrote :
"From the year 1843, a warm and cordial acquaintance, almost amounting to intimacy, existed between us. I have spent much time with him both in private, and public, so that I had an opportunity to observe and form a just opinion of his character.
"As a man I always found him to be upright, frank, and true; as a Christian, he was devoted and pious; and as a minister, he was zealous, fervent, earnest, laborious, and successful. When under special Divine influence in the pulpit or on the platform, such was his zeal, eloquence, and hallowed influence, that he carried the whole audience in rapture along with him. To sum up the whole in one short sentence, 'He was a faithful man, and served the Lord above many.'
"May the whole of our ministry, especially the younger portion, catch his mantle, imbibe his spirit, copy his example, and be equally successful in winning souls to Christ. Yours truly,
[*This account of the interment is taken from the "Primitive Methodist," Sept. 23, 1869.]