SUSAN GRAY. ul

together for good to them that love God.
(Rom. viii. 28.)

When I arrived at the lodging-house, I was
conducted into a small room; where, on a
little bed, and covered only with a thin blanket,
lay a young woman, apparently in a kind of
doze. She was very pale, and appeared to be
in the last stage of a decline; notwithstanding
which, there was such an expression of peace
spread over her languid countenance as I never
before saw equalled.

While I stood looking upon her, for I would
not suffer the woman of the house to awaken
her, I could not help thinking of James and
Mary Gray, and I said to myself, ‘Is this the
same fair Susan Gray, who, not many years
ago, was blessed with a kind father and mother
to take care of her, and to watch over her! and
is she now without a friend, without a home?
Is sickness so soon come upon her, and must
she die, while yet in the flower and prime of
life? But the days of man are as grass; as a
flower of the field so he flourisheth: for the
wind passeth over tt, and it is gone. (Psalm
ciii. 15, 16.) So saith the royal David.”

While these thoughts passed in my mind, she
opened her eyes, and tried to raise herself in her
bed: and, smiling, said in a faint voice, ‘I most
humbly thank you, Sir, for visiting a poor or-
phan, although I was quite an infant when |
lost my father and mother, yet I remember how
often you visited their humble cottage, and how
often you kindly noticed their little child.” __

I turned away to hide the tears which cane