Some delight in their muslins and money,
And all the sweet things they can get,-
Could I send you a hogshead of honey,
Alas! I should still be in debt.

May your days like a holiday Monday,
From trouble and care give you rest ;
Or still better, a sunshiny Sunday,

All peaceful, and happy, and blest.
Oh my head! but I will not distress you,
For why on my grief should I dwell?
Accept then, a hearty God bless you!
Dear Jenny, and so fare thee well.

Usefulness was the great aim of Mr. Mogridge's life, as will appear from an examination of his works, and no less certainly from the following appeal, which is one of the earliest productions we can trace :

O lady! I love to look on thy face,

For thou hast an eye of fire,
A vermeil cheek and a form of grace,
And splendid is thine attire :-
Thou art lovely, light and gay,
But, lady hast thou prayed to-day?

Lady! think me not severe,

But this world is a world of cares,

And if thou hast not learned to pray,
Thou wilt surely need thy prayers :—

Love and duty bid me say,

Lady hast thou prayed to-day?

Lady! foster not the thought

That thy charms offend me-never!
No! I would still improve their grace,
I would have them bloom for ever:
Hence I cannot cease to say,
Lady! hast thou prayed to-day?

LADY! LOVELY LADY!-PRAY!

Time was I felt what I durst not name,
A sad, a wilful, wild desire,
And I had an erring heart of flame,

And I had a soul of fire;

And passions strong, and thoughts unblest,
Roved lawless through this wayward breast.

But lady! the tempest-it onward past,
Far away was its fury hurled,

And now there is that hath whispered peace,
And the hope of a better world :

Passions lure, and lead astray—
Lady! hast thou prayed to-day?

Lady lady swift is time,

Call to mind thy fleeting breath, Ponder on Eternity,

Learn in life to think on death;
-Marvel not that I should say,
Lady hast thou prayed to-day?

If thou never yet hast prayed,
Lady lady! now begin;
Think not that thy heart is pure,
That thy life is free from sin;
Surely thou hast sinned to-day,
Thou hast reason then to pray.

O take the blessed Book of Truth,
And kneeling on thy bended knee,
Now raise thy firm clasped hands to pray,
O God! be merciful to me!

O raise a contrite heart to Heaven,
That all thy sins may be forgiven.

Lady! I too will pray for thee,

Kneeling on the cold flint stone,
When the midnight hour is past,
All in darkness-all alone.
O lady! turn thee not away,
Lady lovely lady !—Pray !

353

On the 22nd of May, 1844, a man named Walker was brought before one of our police-courts, for obtaining money from Mr. Charles Dickens on false representations; Mr. Mogridge thus addressed that gentleman on reading the report in the "Times."

SIR,

3, Enfield Road, Kingsland Road,
May 4th, 1844.

I am sure that could I make manifest the emotions now influencing my heart and hand, you would need no apology from me for thus adding to the number of your unknown correspondents.

I am not about to offer incense to your talents, for even supposing your appetite for praise to be equal to your influence in exciting it, you must long ere this have been feasted to satiety, and yet, having addressed for years with my pen under various names, and not altogether unsuccessfully, youth, maturity, and old age, in an humble department of literature, I might be pardoned were I led by sympathy with an author's hindrances and helps, depressions and exultations, to express somewhat floridly the high estimation in which in common with the world I have held your literary achievements.

Having just read in the police reports in one of the journals of this day the evidence against "John Walker" (in which it plainly appears that with a liberal heart and hand you have ministered to the wants and distress of an afflicted stranger, though certainly an erring one), I am moved by feelings which I trust are common to humanity, as one of the great family of mankind, to offer you my heartiest thanks. The kindest acts when publicly performed are liable to misconstruction, but the circumstance alluded to (in connexion with others whispered abroad by those who have a right to be grateful) sets forth beyond the power of scepticism to deny it, the fact that you are accustomed thus privately to gratify the benevolence of your nature, a fact more creditable to your heart than your happiest literary efforts are to your understanding. As I fling these

66

OLD FATHER THAMES."

355

hurried but sincere acknowledgments on my paper, while yet the journal containing the intelligence which has called them forth is before me, my emotions must necessarily be somewhat of an impulsive kind; but I should do myself injustice in restraining them, as I doubt not that the impulse of the present moment will be accredited by the cooler judgment of an after hour; and that as a lover of kindly deeds, interested in the philanthropy of the literary character, I shall remain as much as I now feel,

Yours gratified, obliged, and very obediently,
GEORGE MOGRIDGE.

Under the name of "Ephraim Holding," Mr. Mogridge not only prepared a highly interesting and useful volume for families, but another no less so, for Sunday-school teachers. When the Working Men's Educational Union was established, he was one of the first to encourage it by a contribution from his purse, and also from his pen; nor was there an effort in behalf of man's temporal or spiritual interests with which he did not most heartily sympathise, and according to his means, promote. No sooner therefore were Ragged Schools established than he heartily wished and prayed for their prosperity; and some of the most eloquent and impressive papers he ever penned was for them, under the name of "Old Father Thames." It is the purpose of the present writer speedily to edit a volume of his friend's Pennings and Pencillings, should his so doing be warranted by the favour shown to this biography.

THE

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DAY BREAKING.

I have dreamed that I slept on the verge of a rock,
Where the waters eternally roll;

That I fell, and sank deep in the depths of the sea,
And the billows passed over my soul.

But that time is gone, and the vision is fled

And the dreadful emotion is o'er,

And the rock and its terrors have vanished away,
And the waves have o'erwhelmed me no more.

I have watched till the darkness of night has prevailed
O'er a mortal resigning his breath;

And have gazed with a pang till the features of life
Have been lost in the shadows of death.

But the darkness of midnight has gone far away,
And once more the bright day has been given;
And the shadows of death, and the gloom of the grave
Shall be chased by the glories of Heaven.

SPRAINED ANKLE.

LETTER то

MOGRIDGE.

MONTGOMERY.

VISITS ΤΟ

HASTINGS. MR. MOGRIDGE'S LAST ILLNESS.-HIS GRave.

RETURNING home one night, Mr. Mogridge suddenly set his foot on a broken flag-stone, which produced intense agony in the leg, a deathly coldness came over him, and steadying himself against a closed shop window, he awaited the crisis. Somewhat recovered by a cold perspiration, he hopped to some palisades by the road-side, and assisted by these, he contrived to reach his own dwelling which was not far distant.