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mitted to be of long continuance; for, after well sustaining the part of an affectionate wife and an exemplary mother, she was called from the world at an early age. Her course was that of a Christian, and her end was peace.

The bereaved husband remained a widower for a few years, and then again married. His second wife was Miss Mary Ridsdale. As the companion of the larger portion of his life, this lady rendered the most efficient service to her husband in his literary engagements. Scarcely a volume that he issued but was transcribed and prepared by her hand for the press. It has been her mournful satisfaction to minister to the comfort of her endeared husband in his seasons of sorrow, and to solace him in his passage through the closing hours of life.

When about twenty-four years of age, Mr. Mogridge entered into partnership with his elder brother as a japanner; and so long as the latter remained in the firm it was prosperous; but after a time he retired in possession of a good property. The younger brother continued the business, but he confessed he had no aptitude for it. Too many objects occupied his attention. He devoted too much time, for a young tradesman, to the public, as an overseer, guardian, and commissioner. His generous feelings prompted him to give far too liberally— it may be said indeed improvidently—to every case which had the semblance of distress; and he devoted to books and literature the hours which might, probably, have been better employed in the more active duties of life. The result was an abandonment of his position as a tradesman, with the entire loss of all his property. In reviewing this part of his history, he once observed : “I look back on this period of my life with keen regret. To be deprived of luxuries and limited in comforts is comparatively a light affliction; but to bear humiliation and selfreproach, and still more to be undervalued and censured by those who were before prodigal in praise, is a heavy burden to bear. I drank to the very dregs the bitter cup of calamity, for I found but little kindness, and much severity. The kindness I did experience is graven on my heart.” It is not to be inferred from this language of self-condemnation that his moral character or commercial honour were compromised by an unfortunate issue to busi

He was unsuccessful, but his uprightness and integrity were unimpeachable. His naturally keen susceptibilities and high sense of probity would incline him to scrutinize his conduct with much severity, when others might see little to censure or condemn.

With a nature so sensitive, Mr. Mogridge felt keenly the withdrawal of the friendship of many who had professed much regard for him in days of his prosperity; nor was he less affected by the un. impaired confidence and tried faithfulness which


were manifested by a few in this time of trouble. When, in after life, he had recovered, by his labour and talent, an influential position in society, he referred to the conduct of his friends in the following poetical allegory :

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A ship was stemming the ocean-tide,
And oh, how gallantly did she ride!
A storm came on-it was sad to see
How she roll'd a wreck on the fathomless sea.
Her mariners left her, one by one,
In that season of peril, almost alone;
But a few there were who endured the blast,
And succour'd her in her distress to the last.
She righted again, and she braved the tide,
And oh, how gallantly did she ride!
It was strange to see, when she stemm’d the main,
How her mariners all came back again!
While ocean winds her canvass swell,
That ship of the terrible storm shall tell ;
And her log-book the names of the crew shall bear.
Who abandon'd her not in her hour of despair.

The path of Mr. Mogridge's life was now for a time overshadowed. He was called to consider whether he should retrace his steps and set out afresh in the business of a manufacturer, or enter on other engagements which might give the promise of support, and which were more in harmony with his natural talent and tastes.



It has been said that fewer authors are made by choice than by necessity; nor does the example of Mr. Mogridge militate against the general correctness of the observation. He was not altogether insensible to the fact that no engagements are more fraught with anxiety and disappointment, or are more liable to failure, than those of a professional writer for the press. Yet with this conviction on his mind, he resolved to engage in literature as a source of profit. It was a bold step for one who had hitherto only employed his pen, as a recreation, in such light compositions as might fill a column in a magazine. He seems, however, to have had some confidence in his own powers, though not a single friend at the time encouraged him in his purpose. Looking from our present point of view, we can see much to justify the resolve; but at that time the qualities of his heart, and his peculiar mental power, had been but partially developed. The devout mind will not fail, in his case, to recognise in his decision the leadings of divine Providence; for whatever was the result on his comfort and pecuniary advantage, it undoubtedly promoted the entertainment and improvement of thousands of readers.

In launching on the wide ocean of literature, our author was dependent on any favourable current he might meet, rather than on any fixed course. Without long waiting to weigh the probabilities of success, and under the influence of strong feelings, and relying more on tact than talent, he pushed forth on those deeps whereon so many have made shipwreck

There were some points in his favour. In early life Mr. Mogridge had imbibed an ardent and deeprooted love for natural scenery. The grand and beautiful in creation can scarcely fail to arrest the eye of even incurious spectators; but there are minds of lively temperament which are powerfully affected by the display of infinite goodness and power in the natural world. When Legh Richmond visited Loch Lomond, he gazed intently on the landscape, and hushed his restless companions with the sentence, “ The eye is not satisfied with seeing." On the same spot, Dr. Chalmers exclaimed, in rapture, “I wonder if there will be a Loch Lomond in heaven!" Dr. Cæsar Malan at the sight knelt down and prayed; and the missionary Macdonald wrote of it in his diary, “Oh! how sweet and tranquil was the bosom of the lake! I thought of the peace of God that passeth all understanding.” With similar feelings of devotion

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