losophy, by which that truth may be explained. He believed that an agreement in doctrine, so far as to adopt the statements in the very language of the Confession of Faith, is as much as can reasonably be expected in a body containing some two or three thousand ministers, and some five or six times that number of ruling elders, educated in different modes of thinking, in different systems of philosophy, and influenced by different local feelings and prejudices. Under this conviction, he frowned equally on those who would disturb the church by unmeaning or pernicious innovations, and those who would rend her sacred body by their contentions for stereotype technicalities and party shibboleths.

Mr. Spence's peculiar condition in his boyhood, as has been already noticed, subjected him to confinement at that very period of life when bodily action is most necessary for the invigoration of the human frame. This confinement naturally induced early sedentary habits, which, while they contributed vastly to his very great amount of reading, yet created that habitual disrelish for bodily exertion, which proved the greatest misfortune of his life, and prepared him to become the victim of a premature grave. But for this, he would doubtless have been one of the most distinguished men of the present age. For a long time he felt his health to be on the decline, until eventually his sight almost utterly failed him. He was advised by his physicians to submit to bodily exercise, and to relinquish his incessant reading of books. He did partially submit himself to this regi

men, but his aversion to bodily exercise was so invincible, and his passion for reading so strong, as not to be wholly subdued by any resolutions which he could form. But by his very partial submission to the remedies prescribed, his health was in a good degree recovered, and his sight restored. He never had much zest for the practice of his profession, or for the duties of political life; but after this severe visitation, he endeavoured wholly to withdraw from the scenes connected with these pursuits, and to make the cultivation of personal piety, and usefulness in the cause of his Saviour, the exclusive objects of his life. After this, he wholly withdrew from all political contest; but his previous engagements in litigations not then decided, and the importunity of clients who knew the value of his services, rendered his total abandonment of the bar almost impossible. But after this, he became more increasedly devoted to the cause of religion, and more thoroughly dead to the world. More than ever before, he felt himself to be a stranger and a pilgrim on the earth, sighed for purer air and brighter skies, and longed to be with Christ. This disrelish for the world could have been nothing else, but that crucifixion to the things of time, which the christian feels, when by faith, he surveys the glory of the Redeemer's kingdom, and recognises the heavenly felicities not only as his, but also near at hand. It could not have been an austere misanthropy; for never was man more delighted in the society of his family, or more cheered by the presence of his friends than he. It could

not have been the repinings of a disappointed ambition, for in the courts where he practised, his legal standing was all that could gratify ambition, and his political estimation among the people, all that would have secured him the highest honours they could bestow. Nor could it have been the vexation of pecuniary embarrassment, for his earthly possessions were not only unincumbered, but abundant. His indifference to the honours and the possessions of the present state, must then undoubtedly have been, because he was crucified to the world, and the world to him. And the nearer he approached the termination of his earthly pilgrimage, the more this crucifixion became apparent. During the session of the court, in the November preceding his death, he remarked, that he "never expected to plead another cause in a court of civil law," and declaring himself to be weary of the world, he remarked to one of his family, "If my house were in order, I would rather depart and be with Christ." Early in the month following, the illness commenced which eventuated in his dissolution. He endured the painful trial with patience, composure and resignation. He was fully aware from the beginning of the attack, that he could never recover, and expressed his willingness to die. One of his special fears was, that he was too anxious to escape from his post of trial and suffering in this world, before his Father in heaven had called him hence. To the last, his faith remained strong, and his hopes bright. Knowing himself to be justified by faith, he had peace with God. In this sweet

peace, he patiently awaited the call of his God. On the morning of the 11th January, 1836, the messenger death delivered the call, which summoned him to spend the noon of that day in his Father's preHe departed without a murmur or a groan, to be with Christ, and to sit down with him at his table.

sence.

Thus terminated the earthly existence of one, who possessed all the natural elements of mental greatness, but who never enjoyed that celebrity-that notoriety afar off, which his talents, not to say his moral worth, justly merited, and which men of powers far inferior to his, not unfrequently enjoy. That he was known-honourably and affectionately known, in the neighbourhood where he resided, in the counties in which he practised law, and in no mean degree, in the superior courts of his native State, and in her legislative halls, where his talents were an ornament is certainly true; but still in comparison with his endowments, his character as an intellectual man was in a great degree unknown. So indeed it was, because he shunned notoriety and sought retirement. But why were these endowments made by him who does nothing in vain, to be spent in the shades of retirement, when they might have adorned and blessed a nation or a world? Why a mind like his should have been united to a tenement of clay so frail; why it should have been cast upon a spot of earth almost insulated from all the world; and why its energies should have been confined to so limited a sphere, while far humbler minds rise to eminence,

and load almost every breeze of heaven with the burden of their fame, is one of the inscrutable things in the providence of Him whose ways are not as ours; yet this we do know, that heaven can find appropriate exercise for the noblest powers. No human endowments can certainly be too excellent for the service of Him, who makes angels that excel in strength, his ministers. And although He makes neither health, nor locality, nor worldly acquisition, the condition of his grace, yet for aught that we can tell, in his hands whose dark paths are in the deep waters, those circumstances in life, that we are wont to call unfortunate, may be the very parts in the plan of mercy, which he chooses to employ and honour, in weaning immortal spirits from the fading splendours of this world, to crown them with the imperishable glories of the next.

Mr. Spence wisely did what is done by few indeed of the great and the wise of this world. He preferred the things that are unseen, to the things that are seen. Whatever celebrity he might have obtained as a man of taste and genius, or as a scholar of varied and liberal learning; whatever wealth he might have acquired, as a lawyer of extensive erudition and practical eminence; and whatever fame he might have secured, as a statesman of large and enlightened views and unimpeachable integrity-all this, he was willing to sacrifice, and to count but loss, that he might win Christ and be found in him.

Though dead he yet speaks to the living. His