of that heart, sanctified that intellect, and employed that hand! Had the talent with which he was endued been devoted to the service of sin; had he tried to act the buffoon, to turn truth itself into ridicule, and make it his life's business to teach people to laugh; and had he succeeded to his heart's desire, amused the multitude, enriched himself, and left volumes of wit and humour behind him, how dreadful would it be to think of all this now, and while looking upon him as a dying man! Surely this is a serious work which he is now doing. Death is a solemn thing; yes, and life is a solemn thing also, and so it appears as viewed from the dying hour. I blessed God who had thus enabled him to consecrate his peculiar talents to the Best of masters, and to endeavour to be ever teaching truth, and alluring souls to glory by the paths of pleasantness. 66 "Again, I thought this good man will still live when he is dead. And so, a few moments after his departure, we who witnessed the scene kneeled around the breathless clay, so calm and placid in death, and gave God thanks for all his grace and goodness toward the departed; implored consolation and strength for the bereaved widow; and entreated that all present might be enabled to live nearer to God and more for his glory. I felt the value of the Saviour's words, 'He that liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.' The active spirit was now emancipated and had entered on an eternity of sinless service; and Divine testimony assured us that the deserted tenement would, 'when the Lord himself should descend with a shout,' 'be fashioned like unto his glorious body.' I rejoiced also that the truth of God would live and exert a beneficial influence, whatever instruments passed away; and that the works of him who now rested from his labours would yet be blessed. Let all God's saints, while life lasts, and opportunity offers, seek to sow truth broadcast. Our dear old friend wrote some of his little telling papers amidst pain and weakness only a few days before his death. His labour and his life ended very near together." Many are very anxious about the restingplace of the body, when the spirit shall have departed to an eternal world. At one time, Mr. Mogridge expressed an indifference on this point, as the remains of those he loved while living had been entombed in widely distant lands; but in his last visit to Hastings he selected a spot where he wished to be laid. He had often sat on the slopes of the East Hill, amidst the blackberry bushes, furze, and heath, looking on the outstretched expanse of sea, the ruins of the ancient castle on the West Cliff, and the deep ravine below, meditating on those subjects which he afterwards embodied in the papers he has given to the world. Behind him was the pathway to his beloved Fairlight Downs. Beneath him, on the lower side of the hill, lay the picturesque graveyard of All Saints; and there, in the upper part of the ground, against the upper wall, at present a spot almost untenanted by the dead, he desired that he should be interred. His wish was faithfully regarded. The two sons of the deceased, with two old and attached friends, and a gentleman from the Religious Tract Society, as its representative, followed the body to the grave. A considerable number of visitors and towns-people were also present, watching with deep interest the last ceremony. It was a fine day, at the close of autumn, when the brambles and heath on the hill above the churchyard were tinged with a golden brown, and when the leaves of the trees were falling into the opened grave, that they bore the remains to their resting place. The sun was shining in the sky with unusual brilliancy for the season of the year, and casting its rays on |