SUSAN GRAY. oy

ing his life taken away before he had time to
repent of his faults, and to make his peace with
God. Then I remembered these lines, which
1 had learned at school:

“ There's no repentance in the grave,
Nor pardons offer’d to the dead :
Just as a tree cut down that fell

To north or southward, there it lies ;
So man departs to heaven or hell,
Fix’d in the state wherein he dies.”

O! how dreadful a thing is it to think that
so many thousands of young people forget that
they have immortal souls, and, for the sake of
a few moments of pleasure, lose millions and
millions of years of happiness !

While such thoughts were passing in my
mind, I saw my mistress come up the grass
walk towards me: in her hand she had a bunch
of May-roses, which she was busied in tying
together with a few sprigs of sweetbriar.

«1 do not see my lady's coach yet,” said I,
as she came up to me.

“It is very extraordinary,” answered she;
“it has struck four this half-hour: I shall be-
gin to think that she will not come; and that
will be very provoking, after I have been at
all this cost and trouble to get things ready
for her.”

“Perhaps,” said I, “ those very black clouds
on the tops of the hills have frightened her; in-
deed, I fear that we shall have a storm this
evening, the air is so hot and sultry, and every
thing is so calm and still. There is not the