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England," with his wanderings through its length and breadth. This was followed by a tour to the Highlands of Scotland, and another visit to the lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland. Of these excursions he has left the records in his published works.

In these journeys he made acquaintance with numerous persons, whose society he had sought, or into which he had been cast by the course of events. With some of these, the casual interview resulted in the endeared inter

course of friendship. Among those to whom he became known in his tours, was the poet-laureate, Wordsworth. When in the neighbourhood of Rydal Mount, he could not repress a desire to see the man whose talented writings had afforded him hours of enjoyment. Not with a feeling of idle and intrusive curiosity, but with a sense of deep respect and honour, he wrote rapidly a brief note, in which he enclosed his card, and forwarded it to Mr. Wordsworth.

"And I, too, (among the thousand and one strangers passing through this land of mountains and meres, who would enjoy the same privilege) would fain see Wordsworth. letters of introduction are a graven brow, a sprinkling of the grey on my head, a respectful and affectionate admiration of the author of

My

the 'Excursion,' and a pledge that I will not rob him of more than five minutes of his valuable time.

The Builder of the mountains,

The Maker of the meres,

Go with thee, gifted man, and spread
The sunbeams round thy honour'd head,
Through this low vale of tears."

On reaching Rydal Mount, he heard the painful intelligence that Mr. Wordsworth had lost his only daughter a month previously. It appeared, for a moment, wrong to trespass on the grief of an afflicted parent, but the very loss increased the desire of Mr. Mogridge to see him. He accordingly delivered his note to a servant; and in a few moments the poet-laureate came forward, and took the visitor by the hand in a most cordial manner. There was a welcome in his words and looks; and in a short time, they were walking together round the beautiful grounds of the Mount, beholding the striking objects of the glowing scene.

The simple and courteous demeanour of Mr. Wordsworth soon made the visitor feel quite at ease. They walked together through the retired walks and mossy alcoves of this lovely retreat, while grave and serious observations and more cheerful remarks alternately diversified their

conversation. When an allusion was made to the promised five minutes, the laureate refused to hear of it. Scarcely less than an hour had passed before Mr. Mogridge took his departure, impressed with the hospitable and benignant spirit of the gifted occupant of Rydal Mount.

The frequent tours of Mr. Mogridge, together with his enterprising temper, often brought him into considerable peril. In trying to pass along the face of the Lickey Hills, in Herefordshire, where the earth had been taken away, the ground, believed by him to be firm, was fragile, and crumbled beneath his feet. The height was great, and deep the gravel pit below; and his escape was little less to him than a miracle. At the ruins of Kenilworth, he imprudently attempted to pass from tower to tower along the high wall, when coming to a broken part, he was compelled to turn back. The loftiness of the wall, the earth and stones giving way beneath his feet, and the action of turning round, affected his self-possession. He commenced his enterprise bravely, but completed it humbly by crawling back along the wall on his hands and knees, narrowly escaping with his life. When wandering in Wales among slippery rocks, he lost his footing, and slid from crag to crag, to the edge of a hole traditionally unfathomable. A rugged

point of a rock, caught by him in his rapid descent, was the means of his preservation. When on a tour in Scotland, he was benighted in a bog nearly twenty miles in extent. Three times a spot was selected on which to rest for the night, and three times he took courage and went forward. At length he extricated himself from his condition, and found a shelter till the morning. Had he taken a false step in some places, he must have perished. When ascending the shaft of a deep copper mine, one of the rounds of the ladder on which he stood, gave way as he laid hold of it, and came out of its place loose in his right hand; had he not suddenly grasped the ladder he would have been precipitated to the bottom. These, and other instances of providential preservation, were often recalled to mind, and awakened a burst of gratitude from his lips. When reviewing these repeated proofs of the Divine protection, he would embody his emotions in a stanza—

The Lord of life, the Prince of peace,

How wondrous are his ways!

Oh, for a harp of thousand strings
To sound aloud his praise.

CHAPTER V.

OLD HUMPHREY IN DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL LIFE.

THE character and personal dispositions of an author may be the reverse of those which appear in his writings. The moralist on paper is not of necessity a moral man in practice, nor does the philosopher always exemplify his principles in daily conduct. Genius may play about the head, while it is uninfluential on the heart. The author of the "Night Thoughts" was a volatile wit in private life, and the ruggedtempered Johnson wrote on the importance of good humour and courtesy. It may, however, be declared, without undue praise, that the man and the Christian, as depicted in the writings of Old Humphrey, were seen in reality in the life of the author. That a feigned character was so well sustained for more than twenty years, may be explained by the fact that he therein represented and embodied-though unwittingly, yet with much truthfulness-his own feelings and habits. The sentiments he expressed were not alien to his heart. He did not act a part,

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