inward regenerating grace, became clear and consistent. He now saw that salvation, which he had deemed almost or altogether hopeless to him, was possible. His mind became calm, and he attended to religious instruction and advice. In a short time he began to give as much evidence of a change of heart as a deathbed repentance (rarely to be greatly relied on) can easily afford. He sent for his companions in iniquity, and, notwithstanding his disorder, exerted himseslf to the utmost to address them, which he did in the most awful and impressive manner, as a person who, by the infinite mercy of a prayer-hearing God, had been delivered from a Hell gaping to receive him. This happy change was a reviving cordial to the distressed father. His soul was overjoyed; his mind prepared to surrender the son of his advanced age to the God who gave him. After a few days more of severe suffering in body, but rejoicing in mind, the son was removed from time to eternity.

When Mr. Whitefield was last in this country, Mr. T. paid him a visit as he was passing through New Jersey; and one day dined with other ministers, at a gentleman's house. After dinner, Mr. W. adverted to the difficulties attending the gospel-ministry; lamented that all their zeal availed but little; said that he was weary with the burdens of the day; declared his great consolation was, that in a short time his work would be done, when he should depart and be with Christ; he then appealed to the minis ters if it was not their great comfort that they should soon go to rest. They generally assented, except Mr. T. who sat next to Mr. W. in silence; and by his countenance discovered but little pleasure in the conversation. On which Mr. W. tapping him on the knee, said, "Well! brother Tennent, you are the oldest man amongst us, do you not rejoice to think that your time is so near at hand, when you will be called home?" Mr. T. bluntly answered, "I have no wish about it." Mr. W. pressed him again; and Mr. T. again answered, "No, Sir, it is no pleasure to me at all; and if you knew your duty, it would be none to you. I have nothing to do with death; my business is to live as long as I can, as well as I can, and to serve my Master as faithfully as I can, until he shall think proper to call me home." Mr. W. still urged for an explicit answer to his question, in case the time of death, were left to his own choice. Mr. T. replied, "I have no choice about it; I am God's servant, and have engaged to do his business as long as he pleases to continue me therein. But now, brother, let me ask you a question. What do you think I would say, if I was to send my man Tom into the field to plough; and if at noon I should go to the field, and find him lounging under a tree, and complaining, 66 Master, the sun is very hot, and the ploughing hard, I am weary of the work you have appointed me, and am overdone with the beat and burden of the day: Do, master, let me return home, and be

discharged from this hard service?" what would I say? Why, that he was a lazy fellow; that it was his busines to do the work 1 had appointed him, until I should think fit to call him home. The pleasant manner in which this reproof was administered, rather increased the social harmony of the company; who became satisfied that it was very possible to err, even in desiring with undue earnestness "to depart and be with Christ," which in itself is far better" than to remain in this imperfect state; and that it is the duty of the Christian in this respect to say, "All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change

come.'

Among Mr. T.'s qualifications, none were more conspicuous than his activity. He hated sloth. He was almost always in action never wearied in well doing, nor in serving his friends. His integrity and independence of spirit were observable on the slightest acquaintance. He was so great a lover of truth, that He could not bear the least aberration from it, even in a joke. He was remarkable for his candour and liberality with regard to those who differed from him in opinion. His hospitality and domestic enjoyments were even proverbial. His public spirit was always conspicuous; and his attachment to the best interests of his country were ardent and inflexible.

About the end of February 1777, Mr. T. was suddenly seized with a fever, attended by violent symptoms. He sent for his physician, who was in the act of setting off for the legislature of the state. He called, but could spend only a few minutes with him. He, however, examined carefully into Mr. T.'s complaints, and with great candour informed his patient, that the attack appear ed unusually violent; that the case required the best medical aid; he feared that, at his advanced age, there was not sufficient strength of nature to overcome so severe a shock. The good old man received this news with his usual submission to the divine will; he calmly replied, "I am very sensible of the violence of my disorder, and that it is accompanied with symptoms of approaching dissolution; but, blessed be God, I have no wish to live, if it should be his pleasure to call me hence."

During his whole sickness, he continued perfectly resigned to the divine will, until death was swallowed up in victory, on the 8th day of March, 1777. His body was buried in his own church at Freehold, a numerous concourse of people attending his funeral.

Mr. T. was rather more than six feet high; of a spare thin visage, and of an erect carriage. He had bright, piercing eyes. His general countenance was grave and solemn, but at all times cheerful with his friends. He appeared, in an extraordinary manner, to live above the world. He seemed habitually to have such clear views of spiritual and heavenly things, as afforded him much of the foretaste of them. His faith was really "the sub stance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen."

Literally his daily walk was with God; and he lived "as seeing Him who is invisible." The divine presence with him, was frequently manifested in his public ministrations, and in his pri vate conduct. His ardent soul was seldom satisfied, unless he was exerting himself in some way or other in rendering kind offices of friendship, both in spiritual and temporal things to his fellow-men. Take him in his whole demeanour and conduct, there are few of whom it might more emphatically be said, that he lived the life, and died the death of the righteous.

MEMOIR

OF

THE LATE MR. JOHN RANCE,

First Pastor of the Baptist Church at Hackney, Middlesex.

Mr. JOHN RANCE was born at Greenwich, in Kent, May 25th, 1748. It appears from some papers which he has left, that he enjoyed the benefit of early instruction in the leading truths of the gospel. His mother being a pious woman, he frequently accompanied her to hear Mr. Olding, of Deptford; and he mentions, that when he was about nine or ten years of age, he had strong convictions of sin, both under the word and at other times; yet he endeavoured to stifle the voice of Conscience, and to defer repentance to a future day, though he found he could not sin with that satisfaction and pleasure which appeared in the conduct of others. At about sixteen, he had a very severe illness, which brought him to reflect on his past follies, and to form resolutions of amending his future life: but these resolutions were made in his own strength, and under the fear of death. Before he was entirely recovered, he fell again into vice, and even went to greater excesses in it than before. Sometimes his conscience accused him; and he would then fear that he was given up to a reprobate mind; that he had sinned away the day of grace, and therefore he might as well take his fill of pleasure in this world. By the removal of his father and mother to Purfleet, he was left the sole guide of his own conduct. He continued in the ways of sin for three or four years longer, frequented taverns, and became a companion of lewd and profane persons. Being once in company with some young men and women, he says, "In the midst of our sport something offended me; and I began to curse and swear in a dreadful manner. A young woman seemed shocked at the horrid imprecations I uttered, and said, How shockingly that young man swears!'"This was like a dagger to my heart; for I immediately thought what a wretch must I be, who have known and heard so much of divine truth, that a person who perhaps never had any religious instruction, cannot help looking upon ane as a monster of iniquity!"

Soon after he had attained the age of 21, he came to London on

a Sunday evening, with three or four of his ungodly companions; they went to the theatre, and afterwards to a different scene of iniquity. While there, his conscience was greatly alarmed, his past and present wickedness filled his soul with terror, and he expected nothing but immediate destruction. The next day he strove as well as he could to be cheerful among his companions; but he felt the sting remained within, and could not get rid of his wounded conscience. He returned home pensive and sad, being now afraid there could be no mercy for him. He would have prayed, but durst not, as he thought it would be altogether in vain.

From this time he began to reform his outward conduct; but still found himself miserable. He knew that religion consisted in something more than he had yet experienced; he therefore began to read the scriptures, and attend where the gospel was preached. It does not appear clearly whether this was at Dept ford (where he had formerly attended with his mother) or at the Tabernacle at Greenwich. The word was greatly blessed to his soul; his terrors went off by degrees; and he began, at times, to entertain many hopes of mercy, but mingled with fears.

Having a personal knowledge of some real Christians, he opened his mind to them, and found great relief from their conversation. He opened a meeting for prayer at his own lodgings; and spake of the great pleasure which he received in such social meetings.

Satan was now very active in suggesting to his mind that all religion was a farce; that he was a hypocrite; that the scriptures were not true, &c. He also felt the workings of inward corruption; and was in great distress of soul for some time. One day, while he was in this situation, it came into his mind, " Well! I will go to the Lord just as I am, and tell him all my fears." He then kneeled down, and cried out in great anxiety of soul, “Lord have mercy upon me! - if I have deceived myself, Lord undeceive me! if I never knew thy saving grace, make it known to me now: - I cast my soul on thee."

This was the time of mercy to his soul; his doubts and fears were removed, and light and joy sprung up in his heart.

From this time, it appears that he experienced alternate hopes and fears, ps ne found his comforts and enjoyments rise and fall; ard it was no till several years afterwards that he fully learnt that his salvation did not depend upon his frames and feelings, but upon the finished work of his glorious Redeemer, and the promises of a faithful God.

The preaching of that eminent servant of Christ, the Rev. William Romaine, was very useful in leading him from every other dependence, to trust in Jesus alone, and in establishing his soul on him as the sure foundation. One time he heard the Rev. Mr. Venn preach from Job. xlii. 5, 6. This was a very humbling season: he saw and felt the depravity of his nature; but the precious remedy which was then set forth, so refreshed and cheered his soul, that he would often say, he could never forget it.

Mr. Rance first associated with the Lord's people at his table at Greenwich Tabernacle, July 29th, 1770. He mentions in his Diary many discourses which he heard from a number of respectable ministers, and the benefit which (under God) he derived from their labours. His business seems to have engaged much of his attention; and he frequently complains of it as a great hindrance to his enjoyment of communion with his God.

After some time, he removed to London; and, after several changes, was at length settled in an extensive concern till his removal to Hackney in 1798.

After the Death of Mr. Romaine, he joined the Baptist Church in London, of which Mr. Upton is the pastor. It appears from his Diary, that for about twelve years before this, he had spoken the word of the Lord occasionally to different societies. He con, tinued to do so afterwards, particularly to a society in Fleet-street, and at a little meeting in Hunt-court, Spitalfields. He mentions the pleasure he felt in his own soul in these exercises, and his hopes that they were made useful to others.

His first discourse at Hackney was delivered in a small meeting in Shore-place, August 21st, 1797; and he continued (for the most part) to preach there till May 14, 1798, when the church. was formed, consisting of only eight members. Mr. R. was invited to preach to them for three months, which he accordingly did; after which, he received a second invitation for a similar period; and in October following he was ordained their pastor, and continued to labour among them till his death. During this period, the church was increased to more than 100 members; the place was twice enlarged; and there is no doubt but much good was done.

For some time before his death, he had been afflicted with a bilious complaint, and also had, at several times, violent spasmodic affections on his lungs; which almost deprived him of breath. His last sermons to his dear people were on Lord's Day, 8th February, 1807, from Rom. viii. 33, 34; and Prov. xxii. 3, concerning which he says, " This was not a lost day. O Lord, grant that some benefit may be given to thy people! and may sinners be converted and saints edified, though by such weak means, and the glory shall be thine!" On the morning of Thursday, February 12th, he was scized with a fit which conti nued near two hours; but he afterwards recovered so far as to come down stairs, and purposed to preach twice on the next Lord's Day. In the afternoon he sent for one of his Deacons ; to whom he said, "I think I shall die suddenly; but there is nothing alarming in this; it is rather desirable." He requested · that he might be buried in the middle of the vestry, and a stone put up with the inscription of his name, &c.; and added, with a peculiar emphasis, "Don't call me Reverend."+

In compliance with this request, we have omitted that title at the head of this Memoir.