gifts may be added (besides his annual subscription) donations:—£1,260 to the Stranger’s Friend; £900 to the Misericordia; £500 to the Refuge, and the same to the Orphan Asylum; and to the Bible Society, £900. Of several other small amounts one need only be mentioned, from his purse,—that of £300 to the Temple parish, towards providing a better supply of water to the poor. Mr. Reynolds’s last visit to Ketley, the scene of his labours, and the source of his vast income, was in June, 1816. His funeral took place on the 18th of September, amidst a manifestation of respect, as marked and profound as ever was paid to the remains of mortal man. The city of Bristol offered spontaneously to his memory that signal tribute of general regard that a name embalmed by good deeds alone can win. Columns of schoolboys, with mournful recollections of the good man’s smile, formed a melancholy passage to the dwelling of their benefactor. These were flanked by vast crowds of sympathising poor, who felt they had lost a friend. The clergy of the Church of England, ministers of dissenting congregations, gentlemen forming the committees of various societies, and other leading men, besides a large body of the Society of Friends, followed the several members and relatives of the family in procession. So great was public curiosity excited on this occasion, and such the eagerness manifested by the poor, who had lost their best friend, to pay their last respect to his remains, that not only was the spacious burial-ground filled with spectators and mourners, but the very tops of walls and houses surrounding the area were covered. The behaviour of the vast concourse of people was in the highest degree decent, orderly and respectful, the poor, considering it a favour to be permitted in their turn to approach the grave of their departed friend, and to drop the silent tear as a mark of their regard for the man whose life had been spent in doing good. Montgomery, in verses from which we extract the following, paid a just tribute to his memory: Strike a louder, loftier lyre; Bolder, sweeter strains employ; Wake remembrance! and inspire Sorrow with the song of joy. Who was he for whom our tears Flowed, and will not cease to flow? Full of honours and of years, In the dust his head lies low. . . . . . . . He was one whose open face Did his inmost heart reveal; One who wore with meekest grace On his forehead heaven’s broad seal. Kindness all his looks express’d, Charity was every word; Him the eye beheld and bless’d, And the ear rejoiced and heard. Like a patriarchal sage, Holy, humble, courteous, mild, He could blend the awe of age With the sweetness of a child. . . . . . . .