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fair. Remember the parable of the prosperous farmer, who said to his soul, "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years, take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry. But God said to him, Thou fool! this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be that thou hast provided? So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God."

"Break up your fallow ground, and sow not among thorns." "Be not deceived, God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting."

Lord of the harvest! God of grace!

Send down thy heavenly rain;
In vain we plant without thine aid,
And water, too, in vain.

But may our hearts, like fertile soil,
Receive the heavenly word;

So shall our fair and ripened fruits
Their hundredfold afford.

CHAPTER II.

GEORGE MOGRIDGE, THE TRACT WRITER.

"The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies."-ECCLESIASTES xii. 11.

Philosophy of old

Her ponderous tomes displayed,

And summoned minds of mighty mould

To tread her classic shade.

Her mysteries to explore

In vain the unlettered tried;

The rich, the noble, learned her lore,

And drank her cup of pride.

But Mercy's light-winged page-
Sweet messenger of love-

Comes to the home of lowly age,
To guide his thoughts above.

The wayside beggar hears

Its ministry divine;

And little children dry their tears,

To read its radiant line.

On, on, ye faithful band!

Your priceless bounty shed!

With single heart and tireless hand

The joyful tidings spread.

"The Lord our righteousness!"

Still on your banners write;

Nor stay your toil until you bless
The world with saving light.

FAMILIAR to the readers of the Religious Tract Society's publications is the name of Old Humphrey; but it is only after he has finished his course that we are permitted to know who he really was. Since the interesting memorials of his life, by two different pens, have been published, we learn that he was as remarkable an example of Christian usefulness as he was urgent in its commendation to his numerous readers.

George Mogridge, was the family name of Old Humphrey. He was born on the 17th February 1787, at Ashted, near Birmingham, a village which arose about the period of the canal navigation in England, and now forms part of the rapidly increasing town of Birmingham. His father was an agent on the canal. At his birth he very narrowly escaped death. "Although," says one of his biographers, “unlike Ebenezer Elliot, at whose birth there was such a bustle that he was placed by one person in a drawer, which another shut, not knowing that the babe was there; of 'accidents,' as they are called, so often befalling children and exciting wonder and gratitude at their frequent escape, George had a

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full share. A servant, not knowing that the child was in the bed which she was directed to "air," put into it a pan of hot coals; and when its agonizing screams aroused her dormant faculties, her terror was so great that she did not remove the pan until it had inflicted injuries that placed his life in peril." Through these and other dangers he was safely brought, and was sent to school to be prepared for his place in the social scale. His father's shrewdness must have considerably aided the schoolmaster's tuition, if we may judge of his "Home School" by the following example Busied in making a boat with his pen-knife, his father brought a snail into the room, and taking away his knife, said, "It is just three o'clock, and I want you to do nothing until the snail has crawled to the edge of the table, so do not stir from your seat until he has finished his travels." The watching began, but the slow movements of the snail tired him. Time lingered, and the watcher wearied. The snail stopped, then went, then stopped again. But just as it was nearing the edge, George, afraid that it should make another stop, blew gently on it, when the provoking little creature drew in its horns for such a long time that he thought it would not put them out again! At length, however, it reached the end, when his father entered and promised that he would give him a ship, full rigged, which a man wished to sell for seven shillings, if he would dig a piece of ground marked off, in another hour. George began resolutely, but there were a thousand distractions, and the hour came before he knew what he was about. He lost the ship, but he gained instruction. "If I live three hundred years," he was wont to say, "I shall not forget my astonishment and disappointment. The lesson impressed on my mind was impressed there for ever: nor have I since required anything to remind

me that however slowly time may move with those who have nothing to do, it runs rapidly enough with all who are fully employed."

At the age of fourteen, George Mogridge was apprenticed to a japanner in Birmingham. During his apprenticeship he cultivated his taste for reading, perusing Chaucer, Spenser, and the best English poets. Thus he acquired a facility of expressing himself in verse-a habit which he afterwards frequently indulged, and with considerable effect. His first attempts at verse were printed in local newspapers; and, being encouraged thereby, he "became a contributor to several of the periodicals of the day." Meanwhile, he was improving his mind by reading and composition, which fitted him for the important services to religion he was afterwards to render. A literary gentleman then residing in Birmingham, Mr. J. S. Pratt, author of "Tears of Genius," &c., encouraged the early efforts of the young japanner, and gave him such counsel as aided his composition much. A service of this kind could not fail to benefit a young writer.

George Mogridge was a great admirer of nature, and made his frequent walks a means of education. Through Warwick, and Derby, and Wales, he undertook journeys in his youth, and acquired a fondness for scenery that never left him. "Had I twenty children," he afterwards said, "I would bring them all up, if I could, to be lovers of green fields. They should delight in breathing the pure air of heaven, in plucking the heath-flower from the hill, and the lily from the valley. They should be taught to gaze on the rising and setting sun, to listen to the warbling birds, and to watch the flight of the buzzing bee and the fluttering butterfly. Everything on which they fixed their eye should call to their mind the goodness of God; and reading the

Scriptures with reverence, while they regarded the creation with wonder, their infant minds should be directed to adore their heavenly Father, for his providence and grace." Thus he trained his own mind, and was adapted for the work in which he afterwards proved so useful.

His religious character seems to have been gradually and silently formed. We have no account in his Memoir of the change through which he passed, but abundant evidence, in a life of faith, and piety, and usefulness, that he had experienced the grace of God. All are not able to describe the process of their conversion. The workings of the Holy Ghost are various, and the developments of the new life are greatly diversified. Mr. Mogridge early gave his writings a religious tone, which indicates the phase of his own mind. In fact his early education at home had been scriptural, and he beheld the beautiful example of godly parents -especially of his pious mother. He never lost that impression of his mother's devotion. He said when, his hairs were gray,

"I offer now the very prayer
She taught me when a child."

In 1811, he entered into partnership with his brother as a wholesale dealer in japan. He married in 1812, but soon became a widower. Instead of giving himself to business, Mr. Mogridge continued his literary studies, and indulged his pen. The local papers became familiar with him under the title of "Jeremy Jaunt," who from time to time corrected abuses, urged reforms, and described incidents to the amusement and profit of his readers. He also attempted a religious tract, Thomas Brown; or, A Dialogue on Sunday Morning, which he wrote to counteract the many immoral songs that prevailed. It was in verse beginning thus:-

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