am afraid I shall sink into the grave before returning home. This is my last sacrifice for the Redeemer’s cause.” Naturally, wherever he passed along, he was received by all the churches, and throughout every county, with more than cordiality—with great joy. He was very successful in raising money for the purpose which urged him forth from home: perhaps his popularity was never so great as now. Mr. Cross, one of his biographers, says, that wherever he preached, the place was thronged at an early hour, and, frequently, multitudes remained outside, unable to obtain admittance. He reached Monmouthshire, and preached before the County Association; and it is said, that the sermon evinced all his vigour of intellect, and splendour of genius, and as perfect a command over the feelings of the great audience as ever. One of his great images here was his description of the Gospel, on the day of Pentecost, as a great electrical machine, Christ turning the handle, Peter placing the chain in contact with the people, and the Holy Ghost descending like a stream of ethereal fire, and melting the hearts of three thousand at once. His text was, “By grace ye are saved.” But the effort was too much for him, and he was laid up for a week at the house of Mr. Thomas Griffith, a kind host, who, with his whole family, attempted, in every way, to minister to his comfort, and, with affectionate assiduity, sought to restore him. On the whole, he appears to have been full of vivacity that week, and, during the intervals of pain, cheered, and charmed his friends. He had, one day, come downstairs, and Mr. James, the son-in-law of his host, was helping him up again. He had only got a few steps, when he said buoyantly, “Mr. James, I dare say if I thought the French were behind me with their bayonets, I should be able to get upstairs without your help.” With the word he took his arm from Mr. James’s shoulder, and briskly ran up the flight of steps, laughing at his feat. His conversation was, however, usually brightly religious. “This is the Gospel,” he said once in the course of talk—“This is the Gospel: ‘He that believeth shall be saved.’ Now, in order to the truth of this declaration, every believer must be saved. If, in the last day, the great enemy find one single soul not saved, who ever believed the Gospel, he would take that soul up, present that soul to the Judge, and to the immense assembly, and say, ‘The Gospel is not true.’ He would take that lost believer through all the regions of pandemonium, and exhibit him in triumph to the devils, and the damned.” “But,” said his host, “that shall never be, Mr. Evans.” “No,” said he, planting the forefinger of his right hand on his knee, as was his wont, and exclaiming, in a tone of triumphant congratulation, “_Never_! _never_! _never_!”