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SELDOM has a task so painfully arduous fallen to the lot of a biographer, as that which, in the mysterious providence of God, has unexpectedly devolved on me. The recollection of departed excellence, which a long series of years had developed and matured, is mingled with a melancholy feeling, and not unfre. quently excites the tribute of a tear: but the individ. ual who erects a monument to friendship, genius, usefulness and piety, prematurely wrapt in the obliye ion of the grave, must necessarily prosecute his mournful work with trembling hands, and with a bleeding heart. And yet the mind is soothed by the communication of its sorrow; the bosom is relieved of an oppressive burthen while it tells the virtues of the friend it mourns; and the best feelings of the heart are satisfied with the consciousness, that instead of indulging in solitude the luxury of unavailing grief, it has employed its powers to portray, in lively colors, for the improvement of the living, the excel. lencies of the beloved and pious dead. For myself, with mournful pleasure, I hasten to sketch the rude outline of one of the loveliest and most finished characters the present age has known;—pausing only to express my deep regret, that one so ripe for heaven, and yet so eminently useful upon earth, should be called from the important sphere he occupied, so soon; and that to hands so feeble should be commit:

ted, together with the solemn trust which he resign: ed in death, the painful duty of erecting this monu: ment to his worth.

The REVEREND THOMAS SPENCER, was born at Hertford, January 21, 1791.—He occupied the third place out of four who surrounded his father's table, but shared equally with them in the tender and affectionate solicitude of parents, who, placed in the middle sphere of human life, were respectable for their piety, and highly esteemed in the circle in which a wise Providence had allotted them to move. It cannot be expected that any thing peculiarly interesting should mark the early childhood of a youth, retired from the observation of the world, and far removed from the presence of any of those cir. cumstances which might be considered as favorable to the excitation of latent talent or the display of early genius. And yet the years of his infancy and child. hood were not undistinguished by some intimations of a superior mind, from which a thoughtful observer might have been induced to augur something of his future eminence, and which his amiable father it appears did with silence watch. He himself obo serves, in a hasty sketch of his life, which now lies before me,-"As far back as I can recollect, my memory was complimented by many as being very retentive, and my progress in knowledge was more considerable than that of my school-fellows; a natural curiosity and desire of knowledge, I think I may say, without vanity, distinguished even the period of my infancy. I now remember questions that I ask. ed when about four years old, which were rather singular, and which were confined chiefly to biblical subjects. No child could be more attached to places of Worship, or could be more inquisitive about their concerns than myself; and I may add, more given to imitate the actions of the minister and clerk.)*

When he had completed his fifth year, he suffered the severest earthly privation a child can know, in the loss of an affectionate mother. Though then too young correctly to appreciate a parent's worth, he deeply felt the stroke; and in the liveliest manner he recalls the impression which at that early period this melancholy circumstance produced upon his tender mind. "When the funeral sermon was preached I could not help noticing the grief which seemed to prevade every person present. Deeply affected myself, I recollect, that after the service, as I was walking about our little garden with my disconsolate father, I said to him, 'Father, what is the reason that so many people cried at the meeting this afternoon.'--He, adapting his language to my comprehension, said, "They cried to see little children like you without a mother." This event, which shed so deep a gloom upon his family, seems to have excited emotions of a serious nature in his mind never totally effaced.

From this time he applied himself with diligence and delight to the business of his school. There was at this early age something amiable and engag. ing in his manners; and this combined with his attention to his learning, soon secured the esteem and approbation of his respective teachers, and gained him, together with the first place and highest honors of his school, the character of “a good boy.It is pleasing to mark the early combination of superior talent and sweetness of disposition in this extraordinary young man; and it would be well, did the patrons of early genius more deeply ponder the reflection, that the graces of a meek and quiet spirit are far more estimable than the rare qualities of a prematurely vigorous mind; and that the talents they cultivate with such anxious care, if unassocia• ted with real excellence of soul, may render the idols of their fond adulation scurces of anguish to themselves and incalculable mischief to mankind.

* M. S. Memoirs.

† Ibid

Whilst a school boy, he became passionately fond of novels, histories, adventures, &c. which he devoured with the greatest eagerness in numbers truly astonishing. The perusal of these he always preferred to play and other amusements adapted to his years. He delighted much in solitude; nor did he know.a happiness superior to that of being alone, with one of his favorite books. He took no delight in the games of his companions, nor did he ever mingle in their little feuds. His natural levity, however, was excessive; and his wit, fed by the publications he so ardently perused, would often display itself in impurity of language to the laughter and amusement of his fellows. Yet he was not without his mo. ments of serious reflection, and that of a very deep and dreadful kind. He was often overwhelmed with religious considerations, and the solemn sermons he sometimes heard, filled him with terror and alarm. So intolerable at one period were the horrors of his mind, that in an agony of despair, he was tempted, as many have been before him to destroy himself, Thus at an early age he became intimately acquainted with the depravity of his nature; and from the deep waters of spiritual distress through which he was called to pass, his soul imbibed an air of humil. ity and a habit of watchfulness, which enabled him

to meet with firmness the dangers of popularity, and to maintain a steady course, notwithstanding the press of sail he carried.

To these deep convictions of his early years may perhaps he traced the peculiarly pressing and im. passioned manner of his address, when he strove to arouse the slumbering conscience, or direct the weary wanderer to the cross of Christ. The sacred poems and the passages of holy writ, which most he loved, were those of a cast similar to that of his own fervent mind; and I have heard many tell, with tears, of the animation and rapture with which he would often repeat from that beautiful hymn of Henry Kirke White, his favorite author, whom in many shades of character he much resembled, and alas! too much in his early and lamented fate

Once on the stormy seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark;
The ocean yawn'd, and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my found'ring bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze;

Death-struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem,
When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm of danger's thrall

It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moor'd-my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for ever more,

The star!--the star of Bethlehem.

The bias and inclination of his mind began at this early period to be disclosed; preachers and preach

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