In his last ess. Mr. Eichner was frequently vis ited by Bex, Joel Stier, to whom he expressed his resignation to the divine will, assuring him that death had no terrors. On the day of his departure he said to his friends. “ Et is cosy dying.“ He died at his residence in Duanesburgh. Schoharie county, N. Y., March 4, 1847, in the sixtieth year of his age. nate! test e m the REV. WILLIAM ANSON. Father Anson belonged to a former generation. At the time of his death, he had been laid aside from the active duties of the ministry, about twenty-five years; so that he was but little known by either the preachers or people of the present generation. His father, Mr. James Anson, was a member of an aristocratic family in England, and a student of Oxford, In early life he formed an attachment to a young lady, who, being below him in her circumstances, was sent to this country at the instigation of his father, with a view to prevent their marriage. Mr. Anson came to this country in quest of the object of his affection, but never succeeded in finding her. He is said to have been subsequently a secretary under Gen. Washington in the time of the revolution. Two of his sons, brothers of the subject of this sketch, fell in the revolutionary struggle. William Anson learned in early life the carpenter's trade, and when about twenty-six years of age, went from the city of New York to assist in building a church. at White Plains, where he became the subject of converting grace. The yellow fever, which was then pro 20 ter Duane client were lame, and set up an uproarous laugh; but the Squire rallied again, when Mr. Eighmey called him to order, and perceiving that nothing could be done in such a mob, he arose and said, "The trial is adjourned to meet immediately in a private room over the way, where none will be admitted but the accused, and his counsel, the committee, and the witnesses in the case." t He immediately led the way to the place designated; but the case of the accused, with such an array of testimony against him, was so hopeless, that neither he nor his lawyer attended. The trial went on, and the offending brother was expelled. With the external appearance of an honest Dutchman, and a real sincerity of heart, he combined a shrewdness that was not a little surprising to those who were but superficially acquainted with him. The following incident was communicated by Rev. A. A. Farr. that "I recollect attending a camp-meeting some years since in Brandon, when brother Eighmey was one of the preachers. He preached one evening from John iii, 16. 'God so loved,' &c. During the first part of the sermon he seemed somewhat embarrassed, but as he proceeded t his heart warmed with his subject, and the good influence spread through the congregation. Brethren,' said he, in his quaint Dutch manner, I am glad that the presiding elder asked me to preach this evening, I preached on this same text one week ago last sabbath in the afternoon, and God Almighty converted two souls, and if he will convert two more to-night, I will preach on it again to morrow morning. In concluding his sermon, as he was exhorting the brethren, to come up to their privilege. 'O' said he, That God Almighty would rub his hand over his church, and make it shine like a new dollar." In his last illness, Mr. Eighmey was frequently visited by Rev. Joel Squier, to whom he expressed his resignation to the divine will, assuring him that death had no terrors. On the day of his departure he said to his friends,“ It is easy dying." He died at his residence in Duanesburgh, Schoharie county, N. Y., March 4, 1847, in the sixtieth year of his age. REV. WILLIAM ANSON. Father Anson belonged to a former generation. At the time of his death, he had been laid aside from the active duties of the ministry, about twenty-five years; so that he was but little known by either the preachers or people of the present generation. His father, Mr. James Anson, was a member of an aristocratic family in England, and a student of Oxford. In early life he formed an attachment to a young lady, who, being below him in her circumstances, was sent to this country at the instigation of his father, with a view to prevent their marriage. Mr. Anson came to - this country in quest of the object of his affection, but never succeeded in finding her. He is said to have been subsequently a secretary under Gen. Washington in the time of the revolution. Two of his sons, brothers of the subject of this sketch, fell in the revolutionary struggle. William Anson learned in early life the carpenter's trade, and when about twenty-six years of age, went from the city of New York to assist in building a church at White Plains, where he became the subject of converting grace. The yellow fever, which was then pre vailing in New York, was the means, under God, of leading him to reflection and repentance. He joined the New York Conference in 1800, in company with Henry Eames, Henry Ryan, Samuel Merwin, and other pioneers of Methodism, and went to labor and suffer with Jewel, Sawyer, and their few associates, in the wilds of Canada, where he continued two years. The author of the Memorials of Methodism says, he "did heroic service in Canada, New York, and New England." The following account of his labors on his second charge is from the pen of Rev. Ward Bullard. "In June, 1802, the conference was held in New York city; to which he repaired, a distance of four hundred miles or upwards from his remote circuit, was ordained deacon, admitted into full connection, and ap. pointed to Grand Isle, a circuit then entirely new. He might have thought his appointment a hard one, and have been somewhat despondent, particularly when he was informed that the inhabitants of his circuit were a savage race.' He, however, was undaunted, and of the right age, being about thirty-four, to be qualified by vigor, both of body and mind, and maturity of judgment, to introduce the gospel into new ground. Conference was over. With his new credentials as deacon, and in full connection with his companions in toil, consecrated to the service of his divine Master, and with a heart burning with love to God and man, he mounted his steed and directed his course towards his distant charge. No steamer, car, or even stage, then existed through portions of his journey. The region in which his circuit lay, still possessed much of the rudeness and discomfort of a new country. There were no stately mansions with parlors, carpets, and sofas, to receive him; nevertheless, he found hospitality on his way, and if there were not all the refinements and delicacies that now exist, his toil made every meal a luxury, and brought sweet sleep to every resting place. After several days of toilsome travel, he arrived at the Bar, on the eastern shore of the lake. He surveyed the Grand Isle, then directly before him, and but a mile or two distant. He was at length about to step upon his field of labor, but upon ground untrodden before by the itin erant: unattended by any colleague, with no one to introduce him, with no kind family that he had ever heard of to receive him, without a solitary acquaintance, or even a letter of introduction to open his way before him. In this state of things he was not without some misgivings. The Bar could not then be forded, on account of high water, and a float or raft was the only ferry. On this he embarked and proceeded for a distance, but a wind blew him back. He embarked the second time with a like result. He made the matter a subject of prayer and reflection, and concluded to try once more, and if he should not succeed in reaching the island, he should regard it as an indication that the Lord had not sent him. His third trial was successful. ་ "He introduced himself to the first person he met upon the island, as a minister of the gospel, and inquired for a place to preach on the next day, it being the sabbath, but could learn of none. On his inquiry for a tavern, he received for answer, that there was one about two miles distant, but, added the informant, I believe they have no rum at present.' Rum in those days was essential to a tavern. He rode to the tavern, nothing troubled on account of the thing lacking, and put up for the night. Here he introduced himself as a minister, and asked for a place to preach on the following day. His host, a Captain Dixon, was a member of the Congregational Church; the landlady, and now his widow, has long been a member of our church, and from her |