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also a duty to the sacred cause of religion when a good man dies—one who has exercised a powerful influence over the feelings and sentiments of thousands—to present some record, however brief, of the fruits of the gracious operation of the Holy Spirit in him, as manifested by his life and labours. That service of Christian friendship we now attempt to discharge.

When this covering is withdrawn, “Old Humphrey'' appears in the person of Mr. GEORGE MOGRIDGE, a native of Ashted, one of the suburbs of the town of Birmingham, England. He was born on the 17th of February, 1787. His grandfather, the Rev. Anthony Mogridge, was vicar of Kimbolton, Worcestershire; his father was extensively engaged as a canal agent—a profitable business in former times, in which he was very successful. His parents appear to have been estimable persons, of decidedly religious character, whose consistent example and affectionate conduct were ever held in grateful remembrance by their son. The homescenes of his childhood were recalled in after life with pious satisfaction. In advancing age he thus gave expression to the power of a mother's piety:


My mother taught my infant tongue

A tear was in her eye-
To lisp in prayer, with holy things,

The name of the Most High;

To pray that God would make me fit

To go to heaven-and smiled :
I put up now the very prayer

She taught me when a child.

The approving smiles of his father and mother were given to his earliest attempts at literary composition, which was not without an influence on his future progress.

The first rudiments of his education were received at a village school. At the age of five, he left home for a boarding establishment. In a brief autobiographical sketch he left behind him, he thus refers to this period of his life: “The school was in the small village of Boarcote, about a mile from Bromsgrove. Tradition says the name was given to the place on account of a huge wild boar that hid himself in the woods there, ravaging the country around. How this may be, I know not; the wildest boar that I ever saw in the place was my schoolmaster, a man of uncultivated mind and ungovernable temper. I am doing no injustice to his memory in representing him as one of little knowledge, strong prejudices, and unreasonable severity. So strangely, on one occasion, did his violence operate on my mind, that, smarting with the indignity of being smitten with his fist, I ran away from school, a course of conduct which I afterwards bitterly lamented. Yet, regarding my old master through the softening influence of years, I have some affection for him in my heart. My schoolmistress, whose tender, gentle, and persuasive voice even now gratefully returns on my memory, used to give us kind and Christian counsel, though she herself had received even less education than her austere husband.” In another paper his reminiscences of the master are referred to. « The celestial and terrestrial globes are of necessity associated in my thoughts with a frowning face, an angry voice, and a clenched fist; and the Latin grammar and a longlashed hunting-whip are inseparably interwoven in my remembrance. He who has no other assistance in perfecting himself in his amo, amas, than that of a hunting-whip, may possibly retain the little he learns; but he is not likely greatly to love his Latin, or greatly to reverence the memory of his master.It is hoped that this schoolmaster is now only to be regarded as a specimen of an extinct genus, and that the days of the clenched fist and the riding-whip have departed forever.

In contrast with the severity of the principal, was the gentleness of a tutor in the school, toward whom the susceptible boy felt the strongest attachment, and of whom he thus writes : “His frame was so delicately strung, that any violent emotion made him tremble from head to foot. He was learned, pious, and kind; but neither his piety, his kindness, nor his learning, could defend him, when excited, from a high state of nervousness. Hardly woula a fit of the palsy have affected him more visibly than any altercation with another. I remember him with much affection, for the many acts of kindness he performed towards me.”

The affection of young George Mogridge for one of his school-fellows was almost romantic. This youth was the son of a merchant, high-spirited, of good abilities, and very daring. They read together books of adventure, became heroes in many boyish enterprises, and exerted a mutual influence on each other's conduct. This early associate afterwards resided for some time in Surinam, and then in Newfoundland. The vessel in which he set sail from the latter place for England, not being sea-worthy, was never heard of after she left the port. Mr. Mogridge, when in the decline of life, remarked that though he was able distinctly to call to memory the names, persons, and dispositions of more than threescore of his school-fellows, he was not aware that one of them had reached his own age : then, with his characteristic piety, he added : “Had I no other monitor to remind me of the long-suffering of my heavenly Father, surely this would put the words into my mouth, “Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that thou hast brought me hitherto ?'"

At the age of fourteen he was placed as an apprentice to the business of a japanner. He well remembered his father encouraging him before he

went to the employment, by telling him that it was a kind of work in which he might engage with white ruffles on his wrists, without rumpling them, or soiling his fingers—a state of things, it is hardly necessary

he did not realize. The thoughts and aspirations of the youth soon soared above the ordinary engagements of trade. His father being a subscriber to the Birmingham General Library, the son had the opportunity of gratifying his eager desire after knowledge; and a natural taste for poetry became confirmed by the perusal of some of the best English poets. Chaucer and the illustrious Spenser were especial favourites; and his brother was wont playfully to charge him with wearing out his copy of the “Faerie Queene," from its being carried in his pocket. His early fondness for old ballads and tales of chivalry is described in some lines which he penned in after life:


And did the magic of romantic lays
Seduce the leisure of my earlier days?
Did fancy spread her varied charms around,
And leave me wandering o’er enchanted ground ?
Oh yes! and oft these transitory toys
Have flung a sunbeam on my passing joys.
And has the midnight taper wasted been
In pondering legend hoar and fairy scene?
Have idle fictions o'er my fancy stole,
And superstition's tale beguiled my soul?
They have; and, spelld by their mysterious power,
Has roll'd away full many a rosy hour.

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