CHAPTER XV. OLD HUMPHREY. A writer, when he addresses his readers generally, is just like a physician, he may have a general knowledge of human nature, and be acquainted with the most common infirmities of his fellow-creatures, but unless his remarks are deflnitely directed to amend some particular evil, or effect some particular good, his success will at best be but partial. He may mean well, but, like an archer shooting with a bow at a venture, he knows not where, nor with what effect, the point of his observations will fall.-MOGRIDGE. THE 66 'THE VISITOR."-"OLD HUMPHREY" NOT POPULAR AT FIRST.- PAPERS. ABOUT a quarter of a century ago, knowledge adapted to the humbler classes of the community began to be issued in an unusually cheap form. Among the new magazines was the "Weekly Visitor," published by the Tract Society at the charge of a halfpenny. On Mr. Mogridge being asked to contribute to it, his mind recurred to "Jeremy Jaunt:" and he determined as he was already engaged on a series of papers, entitled "The Perambulator," to commence another, of which the ideal should be the same, under the name of " Old Humphrey." Byron said, "I awoke one morning and found myself famous ;" and it might be supposed that as under this appellation Mr. Mogridge obtained no ordinary celebrity, it was equally sudden, if not as great. But the contrary is the fact. The first of the series now commenced in January, 1833, entitled "Old Humphrey's Observations ;" occupied only about half a page of the periodical; and only four other papers were published during the remainder of that year. In 1834, he appeared regularly once a month, and in the following year no fewer than twenty-six times; but now he bids his readers "Farewell," and retires altogether from public view. In 1836 he announces his return in two papers; and in 1837, thirteen of his papers have a place in "The Visitor," which has now become a monthly magazine. These circumstances suggest that some persons were soon satiated with his lucubrations; and it was therefore proposed in 1838, that they should finally cease. happened, however, at this crisis, that the present writer, who only knew Mr. Mogridge by the productions of his pen, had to determine whether this should be; and not only was his answer in the negative, but his opinion was added that if Old Humphrey were duly encouraged, his papers would most probably become far more interesting, effective, and useful. Several years after Mr. Mogridge playfully wrote to his friend, in allusion to this fact: It I can quite realise and shudder at the merciless question : "Shall we kill Old Humphrey?" (Oh, what cruel Turks there are in the world!) And I can hear the music of the prompt reply, "No! certainly not!" And I hereby promise that should I ever hear of a conspiracy against your life or liberty, hiding my gray hairs in an iron casque, like a true knight to rush to the rescue. The following is from one of the "Old Humphrey" Well, my friends, how passes time with you? With me it seems to hurry along as rapidly as a chaise and four; if every week had fourteen days, and every day eight-and-forty hours, I verily believe I should not be able to do one half of what I undertake. Still, in the busiest life, there are moments of leisure, and as even these ought to be turned to a profitable purpose, so you shall now have another hint from Old Humphrey. Many of you know London city, but as to knowing a hundredth part of the strange things that take place there, that is quite out of the question. My method is, when witnessing a multiplicity of odd occurrences to treat them as I do blackberries-I pass by a great many, and pick those I like best. Whoever has been in London in the fruit season, must have heard men, women, and children crying out in all directions, "Hautboys! fine hautboys!" These hautboys are large strawberries, and are sold in baskets, called pottles, which, tapering from the top, go off in a point at the bottom. I was passing along, on a hot day, when a pile of these pottles, in a fruiterer's shop, caught my attention. On one side lay a pottle of particularly fine fruit, and I soon had hold of it, but the man cried out in a hurry, "Stop, stop, sir, I can't sell them." "Can't sell them," said I, "and what is the reason of that? 'Oh,” replied he, "I can't sell them, for they are toppers." Now these toppers were the largest sized strawberries, picked out on purpose to be put on the tops of the other pottles, to make them look better than they really were. Come, thinks I to myself, if you won't let me have the toppers, you can't hinder me from taking away the lesson they have taught me. So I walked off smiling and talking to myself about the toppers. With this introduction Old Humphrey proceeds to show his readers that there are toppers in dress, in trade, and in religion, as certainly as toppers in strawberries. Forty-six of the papers written by Mr. Mogridge, under the general title of "The Perambulator,” derived as we have seen, from "Jeremy Jaunt,” were appropriated by "Old Humphrey," as his "Walks in London," and "Country Strolls," each forming a volume. Six volumes were also made of his other papers, and entitled: "Old Humphrey's Addresses," Observations," "Friendly Appeals,” "Half Hours," "Thoughts for the Thoughtful," and "Pithy Papers;" while a large number remain uncollected. 66 were If this portion of Mr. Mogridge's writings be carefully examined, it will seem that they clearly bring out the character to which he had now attained; the outgrowth, in fact, of the one we have already contemplated. The power of sketching natural objects; a lively interest in the various creatures of God; a profound sympathy with every form of necessity and distress; solicitude for the correction of whatever is evil; and the promotion of "the things which are true and pure, and honest, and lovely, and of good report;" as well as the habitual disposition to derive personal advantage from his appeals to others, are all clearly and strikingly manifest. Some papers are marked by an elevated range of sentiment, and a deeply affecting solemnity. Others abound with those "sportive thoughts" of which Cowper said, "I wonder that they should ever knock at the door of my intellect." But they were the spontaneous and fertile growth of Mr. Mogridge's mind; never degenerating into buffoonery, nor wounding with the razor-like edge of their sarcasm, They were ordinarily the leaves and flowers of the nicely-worked basket, wherein were deposited the rich fruits of practical wisdom. For many years multitudes of his readers were as ignorant of his person as they were of his name. It became evident that not a few had conceived a very pleasing image of him, for they wrote to him as if he were some distant friend, as yet unseen, yet still held in esteem, and from his years which they supposed to be on the very verge of human life, in no ordinary veneration. Presents reached him, to obviate a return of some necessity which it was inferred from some of his papers he had experienced, and it was apparent to those acquainted with his correspondence, that a very slight stimulus would very greatly have increased their number. Had it been thought that the offering would prove acceptable, the cottager would have sent him his " pet," whether rough-coated or feathered; and his industrious wife would have dispatched a basket of plums or apples from her trees, and a pot of honey from her hive. With this feeling there was also entire sym |