my SPIRIT, saith the LORD of hosts." His last end was peace. He had no doubts of his acceptance with God; no gloomy apprehensions of futurity; no fear, no anxiety.-All who knew WILLIAM ELLERY, and his late excellent wife, who also died in the triumph of faith, will, without hesitation, say of them, "They were both righteous before GOD; and walked in all his ordinances and commandments blameless."

10. Died, August 5th, aged fifty-five, MRS. ANN BOOTH, the wife of MR. JOHN BOOTH, of Brightholmlee, near Sheffield. Her first effectual awakenings were experienced at the Old Church in Sheffield. She earnestly sought the mercy of GoD, in the use of all the means of grace; from which neither distance, rugged roads, nor inclement weather, could detain her. Through faith in CHRIST, she obtained the great salvation of the Gospel; the hallowing influence of which pervaded her subsequent life, and rendered it uniformly exemplary and useful. Her last hours were employed in solemn charges to those of her children and servants who were present; and in distinct and fervent prayers for them,for her absent children and relatives,for the Church of CHRIST,-and for the world. She anticipated her departure with a peace, which, at times, approached to rapture; and expressed a pleasing surprise that she could pass the valley of death's shadow without fear. Various delightful sayings fell from her lips; which, as well as her many previous acts of piety, deserve to be recorded, as not of the ordinary kind. But, disclaiming all merit and all eulogium, she enjoined that nothing should be said in her praise. She was deeply conscious, she said, of much unfaithfulness and imperfection; and tenacious of her SAVIOUR'S glory. Her "record is on high." Worksop. B. W.

RECENT DEATHS. Nov. 24, 1823. At -, near York, aged twenty-six, MRS. HEPPER, the wife of MR. JAMES HEPPER. "Early instructed in the principles of Christianity, at the age of twelve years she sought the LORD earnestly, and soon obtained a sense of pardon. Four years ago, the work of grace in her heart was much deepened; and she continued to hold fast her profession without wavering till her death, which was signally triumphant. Her last words were, The LORD GOD is a Sun and a Shield,' &c. W. B."

Nov. 26th. At Rochdale, universally esteemed, MR. BENJAMIN BUTTERWORTH. "He was an old disciple;' having been for nearly fifty years a firm, upright, and consistent Member of the Methodist Society, and a useful Class-Leader for thirty years. His death was sudden. R. P."

Nov. 29. At St. Anthony's, near Newcastleupon-Tyne, in his eighty-fourth year, MR.

JOHN TAYLOR, who had been for nearly sixty-two years, a useful member of the Methodist Society. "He had serious impressions from his childhood; but was awakened more deeply to a sense of his lost condition, and the necessity of inward religion, by the pious conversation of the Master with whom he was an apprentice, and who was one of the People called Quakers. About 1758, the Methodist Preachers first visited Whitby, (the place of his nativity,) and by attending their preaching he received further light into the doctrine of justification by faith, and the knowledge of salvation by the remission of wins. About fifty years ago, he removed to this neighbourhood; and for the greatest part of that time was a useful Class-Leader, and a faithful and confidential servant in one situation. His whole life was uniformly devoted to GoD. After a month's painful illness, which he bore with christian meekness and fortitude, he fell asleep in JESUS. J. D."

December 11. At Handsworth, near Bir

mingham, HENRY FOXALL, ESQ., of GeorgeTown, near Washington, in America, a highly respectable Local Preacher. The following is an Extract of a Letter from the REV. JOSEPH ENTWISLE." I have again to report to you the ravages of death! MR. FOXALL died on Thursday, Dec. 11. For some days he suffered much from a violent complaint, which he bore with christian fortitude. In the afternoon of Wednesday the 10th, I was hastily called to visit him. I found him in the agonies appeared to be quite sensible, though unable of death, and evidently in great pain. He to converse; and joined with us while engaged in prayer. When I spoke to him of the goodness of Gon exercised towards him for many years, by an effort, he with difficulty articulated, Yes, for above thirty years!' After suffering a few hours longer, he fell asleep in JESUS.-Death to him is gain. But many will feel the loss. To his poor relations he was kind and bountiful. He was ready to distribute to the necessities of the saints. He loved the cause of CHRIST, and sought its good; and the Methodist Connexion in America, in particular, will feel and deplore their loss. He died in his native country, within a short distance of the spot where he drew his first breath, and near to which his inti. mate friend, the late REV. FRANCIS ASBURY, was born. He now sleeps in the place of his fathers' sepulchres, the church-yard of WestBromwich. Within five days of his departure, he took a ride in his carriage, to show to his now disconsolate widow the houses in which he and MR. ASBURY were born."

Dec. 16. At Mansfield, MR. H. COWLISHAW, Surgeon, of that Town, "after a very tedious affliction, which he bore with christian resignation. He was a useful Local Preacher and Leader in the Methodist Society, and a man of more than common mind. His piety and talents commanded universal respect. He died in the hope of the Gospel. G. W."

He only liv'd, the Everlasting Mind,
Who from himself essential being drew:
All-perfect-inanite!-alone!

Ere suns, or stars, or heavens appear'd,
Immoveable-his radiant throne
Stood in eternity enspher'd!
No cherub at his footstool bow'd,
No seraph-flames intensely glow'd;
No throned spirits, rang'd on high,
Pour'd wide celestial minstrelsy;
Nor heavenly harps, with golden wires,
Nor solemn, sweet, mellifluous lyres,
Their tones of raptur'd worship spread
Through sapphire domes, where rainbows
shed

Their meek, chaste light,
Encircling bright

The emerald throne, on crystal pavement laid.
No! in that vast, unmeasur'd depth profound,
Where finite thoughts are drown'd,
The Triune Glory singly dwelt ;
Eternity his presence felt;

And bliss and beauty in himself he found:
Himself of beauty,-bliss,-the source, the

soul,

Sublime stupendous! vast! He was the mighty whole!

Why then did He, who needed not
The first Archangel's choral hymn,
Nor smallest spark of splendour sought
From flaming ranks of Seraphim;
Why did he call his wisdom forth,

And mete the heavens, and form the earth?
Why breathe bis own immortal fires
Through radiant files of angel-quires?

Be glad, O heavens' sing, O astonish'd earth! For truth and righteousness and mercy meet above.

Time! on this theatre of thine,
This little, low, terrestrial sphere,
Appear'd a mystery divine!

O, of that mystery who shall hear,
Unmov'd, unaw'd, by deepest, holiest fear?
Who, when thy scroll shall wave unfurl'd,
In that broad light which cheers the world,
Shall unsubdued by praise, by love appear!
Who will not own the work, accomplish'd here,
A mystery unparallel'd,

Such as creation ne'er beheld,

Nor shall again astonish'd see,

Through all the unmeasur'd rounds of wide eternity?

From that high throne of everlasting state; Where in primeval glory sat

The Triune DEITY,

He humbly stoop'd who claim'd to be,
In co-essential Majesty,
Equal to Him,-the only Potentate!

Forth from that unapproached light,
For man, or angel's orb, too bright,
Forth from the FATHER's bosom came

His WORD! his WISDOM! He whose name IS JAR! JEHOVAR! infinite I AM!

Who form'd the stars that gem his throne,
Whom princes, powers, dominions, own,
CREATOR! RULER! SOVEREIGN! LORD!
Who spread the heaven of heavens abroad;
Who wak'd the universe to life; the earth
In beauty clad;
While angels glad

Hymn'd forth his praise;-his praise, whose goings forth

From everlasting were, ere yet his works had birth.

He, O stupendous grace! appear'd
A lowly stranger here below:
And yet the gloom his glory cheer'd,
Refus'd the Living Light to know.
Incarnate, through the fleshly shrine
Full oft the Eternal Effluence broke;
The gracious word, the work benign,
The present DEITY bespoke.

The Meek, the Merciful, the Mighty One,
A suffering path majestically trod,

Liv'd, agoniz'd, expir'd! His dying groan Rent rocks of adamant, huge mountains bow'd,

And veil'd the orb of heaven in night's impervious cloud.

Back to himself,-interminable sea, Whence all proceeds that is, and all that e'er shall be!

Time! 'tis thy glory, that though short thy span,

Thou hast to the wide universe display'd
More than, ere yet thy little round began,
Was known of Him who time and nature made.
Him, the CREATOR, in his might,
His wisdom, matchless, infinite,

Thy earliest hours disclose :
Him, the PRESERVER, on whose hand
The fabric rests, at whose command
Thy wheeling orbs, or roll, or stand,

Thy swift succession shows.

And who, O who shall trace
His wondrous works and ways?
What eye acute, intense,
Shall scan his Providence?
Borne on thy restless swell
The nations rose and fell!

But not the murmur of the multitude,
In the full, beating, busy tide of life,-
Nor the deep silence of the desert rude.
Where rest the mouldering wrecks of human
strife,-

Not one of all the changes that have past
On earth's collected,-on her single sons,-
But have been mark'd by Him, whose glance

is cast

Or at his word advance! In deep suspense
All heaven looks down, through all her states;
And every bright intelligence
The mighty consummation waits.

Time! though the radiant beauty of the spheres,

Which mark thy measur'd course,

Has wak'd the music of the morning-stars,
To hymn Creation's Source;

Though the green earth by him suspended,
In bright ethereal fields of space,
Proclaims his Providence extended,
His bounteous, kind, paternal grace;
What though successive generations,
Borne on thy torrent's mighty sweep,
Have shown his judgments to the nations,
A fathomless, a boundless deep :

Yet, 'tis thy richest, thy transcendent glory,
That in the circles of thy sphered flight,
The universe astonish'd heard the story,
Saw-all-incomprehensible!-the sight,
Of the REDEEMER-GOD
On man's terrene abode,

A willing exile from the plains of light,
To bear his captives back to glory infinite!

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