with its blossoms and butterflies; the rising or setting sun, casting its golden light across the sky; or the rippling waves on the seashore, filled him with delight, and often incited him to throw his thoughts and feelings into the shape in which they have been given to the world. To "rise from nature up to nature's God" was not an effort of the mind, but an instinct an impulse. To him there were "tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything." In the visits of Mr. Mogridge to various places, he occasionally found that the influence of "Old Humphrey" had extended to quarters where he little expected to find it, and which he discovered in a way that encouraged and amused him. At other times, it led to the formation of endeared friendships, which were maintained to the close of life. In the year 1847, during a visit to Edinburgh, he was enjoying a morning walk along the footpath leading to Arthur's Seat, when, as he turned aside to the left, to gaze on the ruins of St. Anthony's chapel, he saw a lady and gentleman approach, accompanied by one of the guide boys. Both parties stood awhile, beholding with interest the venerable remains, when Mr. Mogridge politely asked permission to put a question to the young guide, and then passed on his way. Again they met on higher ground, where from a projecting rock are unfolded to the view the deep blue waters of the Firth of Forth, Salisbury-craig, and Calton-hill, with the whole town of Edinburgh lying at the feet. Words of mutual delight were exchanged at the scenery around them, when Mr. Mogridge exclaimed with a burst of joy, "It is not any one part I admire, but the beautiful whole: this grand mountain and the vast prospect spread around charm me. When I gaze on them, my mind is led upward to their great Creator.” The conversation was continued; it was mutually felt that fellow-pilgrims to the heavenly city had been brought into company. As they spoke of creation, they rose into a contemplation of redemption, and then onward to a state of glory. In parting, the solitary traveller struck his cane on the ground with one hand, with the other stretched upward, and with a heart full of intense emotions, said, "Oh! I sometimes long to put off this mortal body, that I may go to heaven, and see Him as he is, and worship before him.” The lady and gentleman had observed notices F of a meeting to be held in Edinburgh, and that a deputation from America would attend it. They at once suspected that the aged stranger was a trans-atlantic visitor; and following him a few paces, asked if they were right in their conjecture, to which he merely replied "No;" but after they had cordially shaken hands, he said, "You ask me if I am one of the deputation; I do not preach, but I am read by thousands good bye." These words naturally increased a desire to know with whom they had been holding such friendly communications. : Again the gentleman met the stranger in the suburb of the city, strolling in search of the beautiful; after some agreeable conversation, it was found that he was none other than "Old Humphrey." An intimacy ensued from this casual interchange of kindly and Christian sentiments, which led to an agreeable visit from Mr. Mogridge to the residence of the gentleman at Bath, and to a profitable correspondence, which lasted till death removed one of the parties to a better world. A worthy Christian family in a western suburb of London, to whom he had become known through his writings, also "showed him much kindness ;" and to whom his letters, characterized as they were by a cheerful, unaffected piety, were at all times welcome. One of his epistolary communications to a young lady of this household will not be unacceptable. "Kingsland, May 1, 1845. "You have heard of that ancient and neverto-be-sufficiently-valued adage, 'Better late than never,' and I am now, I trust, supplying you with an instance of its correctness. Late, indeed, is this fulfilment of my promise to send you my name in my own hand-writing. If my inattention has proved that I do not possess the virtue of punctuality, let my present communication prove, also, that I do possess the virtue of shame for my transgression. What more can erring boy or man "Were I to ask you the simple question, What have you thought of, spoken, and done, since we formed part of a family fold, with our kind-hearted and well-beloved shepherd at our head-in the very precincts of a palace? you would not venture to tell me. Well, then, I will forego questioning you as to your words and deeds, if you will only tell me all that you have thought of! But no, not you. Oh, what a budget of keepsakes and kid-gloves-of songs and sermons-of feathers and family affairs-of gaieties and gravities of mourning weeds and wedding-apparel-of faithful and faithless friends of sadness and gladness-of light-hearted trifling and holy thoughts-of black and white, shine and shade, prose and poesy-of hopes and fears, broken intentions and resolute resolutions -in short, what a medley of small and great, vain and important, fading and eternal, has passed through your brain since we last met ! But has it been so with you only? feelingly pronounces an emphatic No. If, however, in all this chaos there be some order; if, with all this shifting of the compass, the needle has tremblingly tried to point northerly — or rather to the hills whence cometh our help'let us be thankful. That verse My heart 'Come, poor sinners, heavy laden, Ye will never come at all,' is beautiful; but its beauty consists less in its poetry than in its truth. What a mercy that as our worthiness cannot save us, so neither can our unworthiness sink us to perdition. What a mercy it is that in all our wanderings of heart, the door and the way yet remain ope |