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LONDON,
Lablished by Houlston & C° 65 Faternester Tow.

Lntered at Statwoners Hall
THE

HISTORY OF SUSAN GRAY,

AS RELATED BY A CLERGYMAN;

DESIGNED FOR

THE BENEFIT OF YOUNG WOMEN WHEN
GOING TO SERVICE, &c.

BY

MRS. SHERWOOD,

AUTHOR OF “ LITTLE HENRY AND HIS BEARER,” &e,

A NEW EDITION.

LONDON:
HOULSTON AND STONEMAN,
65, PATERNOSTER ROW.

1852.
Ore

IT is proper to adeertise the reader, that the
present Edition of SUSAN GRAY has been re-
vised, corrected, and, it is hoped, in some parts
essentially improved, by the Author.

_ tO
| THE

HISTORY

OF

SUSAN GRAY.

<>

IN the parish over which it has pleased God
to appoint me pastor, not far from the fair town
of Ludlow, on the bank of the beautiful river
Teme, are the garden, the little orchard, and
the ruins of the cottage, which, many years
ago, were rented by James Gray.

A little coppice on the hill-side shelters this
pleasant spot from the north wind, and a row
of large willows grows at the foot of the garden
by the river-side. I became acquainted with
James Gray when I first came to my living.
He was a pious young man, and was so happy
as to have a wife who feared God: the charac-
ter still given in this country by those who re-
member Mary Gray is, that she was a pious,
sober-minded young woman—g keeper at home,
(Tit. ii. 5,) as the apostle exhorts women to
be, and a most kind and dutiful wife.

James gained a comfortable livelihood by
working in his garden. He cultivated his land
with so much care, that he had the earliest and
best peas and beans, gooseberries and currants,

A 3
6 THE HISTORY OF

salads and greens, in the couutry: thesc he al-
ways sold ata moderate price, never attempting
to deceive or cheat the purchaser; for it was
one of his most favourite sayings, that honesty
is the glory of a poor man.

For some years these worthy young people
lived happily in their cottage. It is true, that
they were obliged to work very hard ; and, now
and then, in a severe winter, to live rather hard-
ly also: but they loved each other, and, next
to serving their God, they thought it their duty
to please each other; and, as the holy Scrip-
ture says, a dinner of herbs, where love is, is
betier than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.
(Prov. xv. 17.)

After his daily work, James never omitted
reading a chapter in the Bible, and praying
with his wife before they went to bed. “‘ For,”
as he often used to say, “ when we lay our-
selves down in our beds, we know not whether
we shall be ever suffered to rise from them
again; many have died in their sleep: every
night, therefore, we ought to renew our cove-
nant with our Saviour, confessing to God the
evil we have committed during the past day,
and seeking anew to be made partakers of the
benefits of the death of Christ; so, should
. death visit us in the hour of night, we shall
not go into another world unprepared.”

These excellent, though humble, persons had
one little girl, to whom they gave the name of
Susan; a child so exceedingly lovely in out-
ward appearance, that strangers passing by
would stop to admire her as she stood at the
SUSAN GRAY. 7

cottage-door, and the more so as, by the bless-
ing of God on the instructions of her Christian
parents, she was remarkably modest and cour-
teous in her deportment. Moreover, the very
great neatness and plainness of her rustic dress
was much to be commended, and proved that
her mother was one of those women who are
observant of these words of the apostle: I will
that women adorn themselves in modest apparel,
with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with
broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly
array; but (which becometh women professing
godliness ) with good works. (1 Tim. ii. 9, 10.)

I often went to visit these pious persons, and
was greatly delighted with their holy discourse ;
for a foolish or profligate word never proceeded
from their lips, and their child was so clean, so
well ordered, so dutiful, and so gentle, that,
young as she was, I formed the greatest hopes
of her, and believed she would become a good
Christian.

_ It pleased Heaven, however, to deprive this
poor child of her good parents. She was just
turned six years of age, when a fever, which
raged in this neighbourhood at that time, seized
first upon Mary Gray, and then upon her hus-
band; and, notwithstanding all the care that
could be taken, they both died. But death to
them was no evil, for they had always trusted
in. their Saviour, and endeavoured to fulfil his
will; and it pleased him to take them from this
world of sorrow and labour, to that happy place
where men are made equal unto the angels, and
are the children of God. (Luke xx. 36.)
8 * THE HISTORY OF

But their death seemed to be a sad evil to
their little girl, for whom I and my wife felt so
much sorrow, that had we not had many young
children of our own, we would have taken
her into our family. As soon as her dear
father and mother were dead, she was carried
to the parish poor-house; after she had remain-
ed there about two months, an old woman, her
father’s aunt, who lived in Ludlow, undertook
to maintain her till she should be twelve years
of age, if the parish would allow her twelve-
pence a week.

The parish having given their consent to this
plan, the child was carried to the town by the
old woman, and for many years I saw no more
of her; for about that time it pleased God to
afflict me with a disorder, which for some time
prevented me from attending to my parish, or
taking heed unto the flock over which the Holy
Ghost had made me an overseer.

When, at the end of twelve years, by the fa-
vour of Heaven I was restored to health, and
could ride about the country and visit my chil-
dren, (for so I call my parishioners,) I went
several times to Ludlow to enquire after Susan
Gray, but could hear nothing of her; her old
aunt was dead, and her house shut up.

Thus it was out of my power to serve the
claughter of the worthy James and Mary Gray;
but I trusted that Heaven, who vistts the
sins of the parents upon the children unto the
third and fourth generation, would not fail to
bless the child of these excellent people: and
80, as I hoped, it proved to be. God did
SUSAN GRAY. y

bless Susan Gray: for a time indeed did he
try her; but at length he made her who had
sown in tears reap in joy, and rewarded her
with an exceeding great reward.

James and Mary Gray had been dead about
thirteen years, when one evening, as I was
sitting by my fire with my wife and family, I
was called out to a poor woman, who kept a
very homely but reputable lodging-house in the
village. ‘1 made bold to come, Sir,” said
she, “‘ to ask you to read prayers this evening
to a poor young woman, who is, I fear, at th
point of death.” ‘

« And who,” said, I is this young woman?”

“{ know but little of her,” answered
she: *‘she came to my house fourteen days
ago; soon after that great storm of thunder
and lightning which struck the church steeple,
and blasted your great pear-tree, Sir. It was
after twelve o’clock in the night when she
knocked at the door. 1 happened to be up,
finishing some work, or I could not have let
her in.”

** And pray,” asked my wife, who had step-
ped out into the kitchen after me, “from
whence do you suppose she comes?”

«‘ Indeed,” replied the woman, “I should
think from no great distance; for, although she
had a small bundle of linen in her hand, she
had neither hat nor cloak on.”

‘T fear,” said my wife, looking at me and
shaking her head, ** that this is some unfortu-
nate young creature, who knows not the fear
of God.”
10 THE HISTORY OF

“Truly, Madam,” said the woman, “I would
not wish to harbour any bad person in my
house; but I really think that this poor friend-
less girl is one whom no one can say any thing
ill against. She is extremely neat and plain in
her dress, and most civil and obliging in her
carriage; while she was tolerably well, which
she was during the first week of her being with
me, she did some little work for Farmer Flem-
ming, who, as-she told me, knew her father and
mother; and then she paid me every night her
two-pence for her lodging. But since she has
been ill, she has scarcely been able to raise
enough to keep her from starving, by selling,
one by one, the few clothes which she brought
with her. She has a handsome Bible and
Prayer-Book, which are constantly in her
hands: these, she says, she would not sell, if
she could possibly help it, for she calls them
her only comforters.”

“Did you not say,” asked my wife, “ that
Farmer Flemming knew this poor girl’s father
and mother?”

“Yes, Madam,” replied the woman; “ they
lived many years ago in this parish; their
names were Gray.”

“‘Gray!” exclaimed my wife; “is it pos-
sible!” And she looked at me.

1 immediately put on my hat, and, following
the woman, hastened down into the village,
thinking, as I walked along, of the wonderful
ways of God: how sometimes for a season the
good seem to be chastened and the wicked to
flourish. But we know that all things work
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
12 THE HISFORY OF

into my eyes; and she not understanding
wherefore I turned from her, and why I did
not answer, said, ‘Sir, I fear by the freedom
of my speech, I have offended you. You,
perhaps, do not remember Susan Gray. My
father and mother lived many years ago in the
little cottage on the river-side, just below the
church.”

By this time I had recovered myself, and
turning to her I took her hand, and said, ‘« Poor
young creature, do you think it possible that I
should be offended at your innocent joy on see-
ing me? No, my daughter, I have not forgot-
ten you: I have not ceased to remember with
affection your worthy parents. But where
have you lived since the death of your aunt?
what has reduced you to this state? have you
not met with any friends in this world to pro-
tect you, and to supply to you the place of
your lost parents?”

She replied with a degree of piety which
caused my eyes to fill with tears of joy, “1
have not indeed, Sir, met with many friends;
but that God who is the Father of the father-
less has not forsaken me. I have had many
trials and temptations,” she added, “‘ and those
who ought to have been my protectors laid
snares forme. But! trusted that Jesus Christ,
who gave himself for our sins, would deliver me
jrom this present evil world, according to the
will of my God and my Father. (Gal. i. 3, 4.)
And praised be God,” said she, clasping her
hands together, “he has delivered me; I am
now. above the power of wicked pleasures.
SUSAN GRAY. 18

Although I am poor, Sir,” continued she, “ and
soon nust die, yet 1am not unhappy; and now
I am so far on my journey, I would not, were
it in my power, be restored to health, and
return again into the busy and wicked world.”

While she was speaking she grew very faint:
so for the present I besought her to speak no
more of the things that were past, telling her
that I hoped, should she get better, to hear all
her history. Then taking up a Prayer-Book
which lay by her side, I read a few prayers to
her; for I saw she was not able to go through
the whole of the service for the sick with me;
and then, having wished her a good night, and
promised that I would visit her again. the next
day, I hastened home.

When my wife heard my account of Susan,”
late as it was, she put on her hat and cloak,
and, having made a little gruel, and warmed it
with a glass of our best made wine and some
spice, she herself went down into the village to
see the poor girl. As she passed by, she called
upon Nurse Browne, a good old woman, whose
cottage is close by my garden-gate, and engaged
her to attend and wait upon the poor sick girl
till her disorder had taken some turn either for
the better or the worse; if death to so good a
girl, as Susan proved to be, can be said to
be worse than a restoration to health.

But methinks I run rather too much into
length in my story; suffice it to say, that for
about ten days my wife and I continued to visit
Susan in the poor lodging-house, at the end of
which time she was so much better, that we re-

B
14 THE HISTORY OF

moved her from thence to Nurse Browne's cot-
tage, which, being higher up the hill, and situ-
ated on the same sunny bank with my house,
we thought would be more cheerful and airy
for the poor girl. .

Nourishing food and good nursing had done
much for her; but still the doctor, who some-
times visited us from Ludlow, declared she
could not live. She had caught a cold, which
had fallen upon her lungs, and was in a deep
decline, which we believed would probably end
in her death before winter. But although she
as well as those about her knew that she was in
a dying state, yet never did I see a more cheer-
ful or happy creature than she was when we
brought her to the nurse's cottage.

Thank God, she was not in much pain, and
she had made her peace with him; her lamp
was trimmed, and she was prepared for the long
journey which she was soon to take. She spent
many hours of the day in reading and prayer,
and sometimes at noon, when the sun was high
in the heavens, and the air was warm, she would
sit at the door of the house, looking around her
upon the green woods, the river rolling through
the meadows, and the church upon the hill,
where she hoped her body would be laid beside
those of her dear parents, while her soul was
mounting, far above the clouds, to that happy
place, where those who have endured tempta-
tion shall receive the crown of life, which the
Lord hath promised to them that love him,
(James i. 12.)

While she was at this cottage, she, by little
SUSAN GRAY. 15

and little, when she found herself able, told us
her story, which, much as we loved and ad-
mired her before, rendered her still more and
more dear to us.

But before I relate it, as | intend to do to
the best of my power in her own language, I
must address a few words of my own to those
young women who shail hereafter read the his-
tory of Susan Gray.

I am an old man, being seventy-four last
Old Christmas-day: I have been Rector of this
parish forty years; and during that time I can
say, with King David, I never saw the righteous
forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.
(Psalm xxxvil. 25.) I will not say that misfor-
tunes do not sometimes come upon very good
people; but God is a strength to the poor man
who fears him, a refuge from the storm, a
shadow from the heat. (Isaiah xxv. 4.)

Yet, while I affirm this for the encouragement
of those who try to serve their God to the best
of their power, I must not hide from you who
shall read this, what has been the end of all the
bad people whom I have been so unfortunate as
to know since I lived in this village. I will
speak particularly of bad women. I never
knew a vain, a light, or bold girl, whose end in
this world was not shame, poverty, or disease.
For a time a bad young woman may seem to
prosper; she may deck herself in silver and
gold, she may paint her face and tire her head
like the wicked queen Jezebel. But these are
the words of God, Hear now this, thou that art
given to pleasures, that dwellest carelessly, that
16 THE HISTORY OF

sayest in thine heart, Tam, and none else beside
me: evil shall come upon thee, thou shalt not
know from whence it riseth; and mischief shall
fall upon thee, thou shalt not be able to put it
off; and desolation shall come upon thee sud-
denly, which thou shalt not know. (Isaiah
xlvii, 8, 11.)

And I pray you, my daughters, do not de-
ceive yourselves, nor suppose, because you see
many bad women around you, that God will
spare them for their numbers: the city of So-
dom, in which there were not ten good men,
was burnt with fire from heaven; so, were there
not ten good girls in the town or village in
which you live, the multitude of the sinners
would not save them. All bad people will
have their portion in the lake which burns
with brimstone and fire.

Nor must you hope that you will be saved
by being secret in your crimes, for night is not
dark with God. He knows even all your
thoughts; and if we suffer our minds to be
filled with evil thoughts, he will not receive us
into heaven when we die.

Attend, therefore, my daughters, to what an
old man says, who has studied God’s book from
his cradle to his old age; and all of you try to
equal Susan Gray, that you may with her
enter into the joy of your Lord.

But now let me proceed to tell you her
story, as I heard it from herself.
SUSAN GRAY. 17

SUSAN GRAY’s
Account of herself.

WHEN I consider the early part of my life,
and the pious instructions which I received
from my beloved parents, (said Susan Gray,)
my mind is filled with shame and sorrow, to
think how little 1 profited by them, and how,
for a time, I entirely forgot all that had been
taught me, and yielded to every temptation
which fell in my way. Thus I became, early
in life, convinced, by sad experience, of the
utter depravity of my own heart, and of my
total incapacity of turning to good without
divine assistance.

Many particulars concerning my childhood
you are well acquaited with, my dear Sir;
but, much as you respected my parents, and
often as you visited them, you can form little
idea of their anxiety to give me a right appre-
hension of the religion of Christ. So great
were the pains they took, that they made me
acquainted, before they were called hence, with
most of the leading doctrines of Christianity ;
such as, the fall of man—the evil of the human
heart-—the need of a Saviour--the nature of
God—and the wonderful plan formed by divine
wisdom for man’s salvation. AndO! what en-
dearing ways were used by these loved parents
to win my infant heart to God! How often did
my gentle mother mingle her tears with prayers
for my eterual welfare! How sweet is the re-

B3
18 THE HISTORY OF

collection of pious parents! The memory of
the just how blessed! (Prov. x. 7.)

But I will leave this part of my story, and go
on to that time when I was taken by my aunt
to her house in a little narrow street in the
town of Ludlow. I was too young to feel very
much the sad change: asad one indeed it was,
for even in the poor-house I had lived in clean-
liness, and had been encouraged to behave
well; but with my poor aunt I lived in dirt and
wretchedness, I was suffered to keep company
with bad children, to tell lies, to take God's
name in vain, and even to steal. My aunt was
old, and made herself very sickly by having
been in the constant habit, from her youth up,
of drinking strong liquor. She had never been
an industrious cleanly woman; and now that
she was advanced in years, she became so dirty
and disagreeable, that no decent person cared
to enter her house.

She had, since the death of her husband,
sold, by little and little, all her furniture, till
there was scarcely any thing left in her house.
The floor of the house was covered with litter
and dirt, the broken windows were filled up
with paper and rags, and we had no other
than straw beds to sleep upon.

But what was worse than all this, was the
wickedness which went on in this house. My
aunt not only herself took God’s name in vain,
and entirely neglected all religious duties, but
she encouraged all sorts of bad people to come
about her. I never loved my aunt; for al-
though she often indulged me to an extreme,
SUSAN GRAY. 1

giving me of the best of what she had to
eat or drink, and suffering me to go unpu-
nished for many grievous faults, yet she
sometimes fell into the most violent passions
with me upon the most trifling occasion. She
would sometimes beat me severely for throw-
ing down her tobacco-pipe or snuff-box; and
would, at the same time, allow me to swear
and tell lies, without correcting me in the
least.

In this manner I lived till I was about ten
years of age, and seemed entirely to have for-
gotten every lesson I had ever received from my
parents; but although God was absent from
my thoughts, yet was I remembered by him,
and in due time he returned and took pity
upon me.

Where was I different from my young com-
panions? Where was I better than these, that
the Lord should save me as a brand plucked
out of the fire, while these were left to perish?
O, God! how can I praise thee sufficiently for
that thou hast preserved me from the ways
that lead to destruction? .

When I was about the age of ten years,
my aunt sent me to gather sticks in the
fields; and I took with me, as a companion,
a little girl of my own age, the daughter of a
widow, who kept an huckster’s shop near my
aunt's house. This little girl, whose name was
Charlotte Owen, was no better taught than my
self, though she was indulged in being dressed
in as costly a manner as her mother could
afford; and the gay apparel of this little girl
20 THE HISTORY OF

often used to excite in my young mind the
most envious and malicious feelings.

Charlotte used to take a delight in ridiculing
my ragged and dirty appearance; and I, on the
other hand, found a thousand little ways of
venting my spite at her. Thus, even in those
early days, a spirit of hatred and rivalry began
between us, which, on my part, I have only
been able to subdue by the assistance of my
Saviour; for, though weak in myself, in him [
found strength. (2 Cor. xii. 10.)

When Charlotte and T had gotten into the
fields opposite to the castle, instead of looking
for sticks, she began to taunt and reproach me
with my ragged dress, and I failed not to say
every thing to her which I thought would vex
her. Our contention at last ran so high, that
we parted; she running home to her mother,
and I going further out in quest of sticks.

As I was sauntering down a narrow lane at
the back of the town, I saw, in the hedge, one
of the prettiest little birds I had ever beheld.
It was not much larger than a robin, and had
a hooked bill like a hawk, but his feathers
were of the brightest red, blue, and purple.
I immediately laid down my sticks, and walk-
ed softly up to the bush in which the bird
sat: but no sooner had I put out my hand to
take hold of him, than he hopped. through the
hedge into the next field; I followed it there,
and thought I was sure of it, when it again
made its escape into the lane.

At length, with much trouble, I caught the
pretty little creature, and was surprised to find
SUSAN GRAY. 21

that it was so tame as to sit upon my finger,
as my aunt's magpie used to do.

I was so delighted with my prize, that, for-
getting my sticks, I hastened into the town,
proudly holding up the bird, who perched
quietly upon my hand.

Just as I was got into oné of the largest
streets, I heard somebody cry out, “Ah! there
is my mistress’s paroquet;” and immediately a
very decent elderly woman came up to me, and
said, with an air of much joy, “ My good little
girl, where did you find my mistress’s bird ?”

“Your mistress’s bird, indeed!” said [;
*it is my bird.”

No,” replied the woman, “that cannot
be; it flew out of my mistress’s window this
morning, and over the garden-wall into the
fields.”

“For all that, he is not your bird,” I answer-
ed; “he is my mine:” and I was going to run
off with him, when she caught hold of my
gown, and said, ‘‘ My mistress will give you
half-a-crown for it.”

** No, no, no,” I cried, “1 will have it.”

At that moment, my aunt coming out of a
shop hard by, and seeing me struggle with the
servant, called out, ‘“ Hey-day, what is the mat-
ter? what are you doing to the child?”

*«Come, aunt, come!” Lexclaimed; ‘come
and take my part: I won't part with the

ird.”

My aunt was at first very angry with the
servant; but when she heard that I was to have
half-a-crown, if 1 would consent to part with
22 THE HISTORY OF

the bird, she turned all her anger upon me, and
bade me give it to the servant, and follow her
to her mistress’s house to receive the money.

I obeyed; but I was sadly vexed, and
went muttering the whole way to the lady’s
house.

We passed through several streets, till at
length wé came to one which leads up to the
castle. The servant stopped before an old
house close by the gates of the castle-walk ;
she opened the door, and bade me wait in the
hall.

White I stood there I stared around me with
wonder, for I had never before been in a house
belonging to gentlefolks. The hall was a large
room, hung round with pictures, which I after-
wards learned were taken from the history of
the Bible. At the further end was a window,
partly filled with coloured glass, which looked
into a garden full of tall trees; beside the win-
dow was a clock made of very shining black ©
wood, ornamented with golden flowers. On
one side of the hall was a door which opened
into a kitchen, and on the other was one which
led into the parlour.

When the servant had brought me into the
house, she went immediately towards the par-
Jour, and left the door open so wide that I
could see all within. The parlour was hung
with paper of a dark colour; and in one corner
there was a cupboard, filled with very fine
china.

Over the fire-place was a coloured picture
of three very pretty little girls; one of them
SUSAN GRAY. 23

held an orange in her hand, and one had a
bird upon her finger, and the least held a
rose.

By the fire-side sat an old lady. O! I cid
not then know what a sweet good lady she
was, or I should have cried for joy. She was
very short, and, having lost her teeth, her
mouth had fallen in. But she was fair, and
her eyes were bright, and looked very good-
humoured; so that her face was still very
agreeable. She was dressed in a black sil
gown, with a short white apron; she had long
ruffles, and a white hood over her cap. A
little round table stood before her, upon which
lay her large Bible; and a small yellow cat
was asleep at her feet. .

“* Here, Madam,” said the servant, going into
the parlour, “here is Miss Polly come back.” |

The old lady smiled, and holding out her
hand, the bird hopped upon her finger; and
while she stroked it, she called it naughty bird,
and asked it why it flew away from its best
friends? She then enquired how it was found:
and the servant having told her, she arose from
her chair, and taking a little gold-headed stick
in her hand, ‘I will go myself,” said she, ‘and
speak to the child.”

I was by this time in a better humour; and
when the old lady came up to me, and began
to talk to me in a gentle and kind way, I felt
no longer inclined to be cross, but I smiled and
curtsied, and gave an account of the way in
which I had found the bird as civilly as possi-
ble. When the old lady had talked to me for
24 THE HISTORY OF

some time, she called her servant, and said to
her, “ Sarah, I do not know whether my me-
mory may have failed me, but I think there is
some resemblance between this child and what
my eldest daughter was just before she died.”

“It is now forty years or more,” replied
Sarah, “ since my dear young mistress’s death,
and being then but young, I do not remember
her very well.”

‘* But,” said the old lady, ‘look at the pic-
ture of my dear Clary, as it hangs there over the
mantle-piece, and tell me if she has not the
same white hair and rosy colour, and the same
smiling eyes, as this little girl:” then looking
kindly at me, she asked me many questions
about my parents, and my way of living; and
when I had answered them, she gave me the
money which had been promised me, telling
me to come again to her house four days
afterwards.

“But be sure,” added she, “before you
come again, wash yourself quite clean, and
comb your hair; for however poor you may be,
there can be no necessity for unclennliness,”

Thus did Almighty God provide a friend for
me, remembering the virtues of my excellent
parents; for, as the holy Psalmist says, Blessed
ts the man that feareth the Lord; his seed shall
be mighty upon earth, the generation of the up-
right shall be blessed. Surely he shall not be
moved for ever: the righteous shall be had in
everlasting remembrance. (Psalm cxii. 1, 2, 6.)

So did God in his mercy remember my
parents; and when they were no more, he be-
SUSAN GRAY. - is

came a father to me, making me strong against
those who thought to have tempted me to do
wickedly, and blessing me with the hopes of
eternal happiness.

Four days afterwards I went again to Mrs.
Neale’s house; for Neale was the name of this
good Jady. When Mrs. Sarah saw that I had
taken care to make myself clean, she took me
into a little room beside the kitchen, aud taking
off my old rags, she put on me an entire new
suit of clothes, which good Mrs. Neale had
caused to be made forme. My new gown was
of purple stuff, and I had a blue apron, and
white tippet, and round cap.

When I was dressed, she took me by the
hand into the parlour; and said, ‘‘ Here, Ma-
dam, is the little girl to whom you are so
good.”

The old lady got up from her chair; and,
having put on her spectacles, she looked at me
for some time, and turning me round, said,
‘Tis a nice little tidy girl to look at; I wish,
Sarah, that as happy a change could be brought
about within as we have been able to effect
without.” .

«* Ah, Madam,” answered Mrs. Sarah, “‘ that
is not so easy a matter. There is no great dif-
ficulty in washing the outside of the cup, but it
is a hard matter to cleanse the inside.”

‘ Sarah,” replied Mrs. Neale, “ with God all
things are possible. Know you not that tix.
purifying of the heart is not the work of man,
but that of the Holy Spirit? We will, God
permitting, use the appointed means for rescu-
c
26 THE HISTORY OF

ing this little girl from her present state of sin
and ignorance, and will humbly wait God's
blessing upon our endeavours.”

Then sitting down, and taking my hand as J
stood before her, “Little Susan,” she said,
“you cannot be so ignorant as not to know that
there are two places ordained for men after
death: the one hell, to which men have doomed
themselves by their disobedience; and the
other heaven, the way to which is opened for
sinners by God the Son, who himself bore our
sins upon the cross... Are you willing to learn
this holy way—to forsake your late sinful prac-
tices, and to follow your blessed Saviour whi-
thersoever he may lead you? If you are so, I
will place you in a school, where you shall be
taught the will of God; and we will pray for
the divine help, that you may be enabled to
practise it.”

As I made no objection, though I did not
then understand the value of this offer, I was
sent to a day-school, where I was taught to
read my Bible, and to repeat my catechism.
And every Sunday | was allowed to dine at
Mrs. Neale’s, and was taken to church; after
which, Mrs. Neale examined me as to what I
had learned during the week, and explained
the Scriptures to me.

In this manner I continued to live for about
four years; and was, at the end of that time,
able to read with ease to myself, and could do
any kind of plain needle-work, and, by the
help of Mrs. Sarah, knew a good deal of house-
hold business. My aunt was become very in-
SUSAN GRAY. 27

firm, and unable to leave her arm-chair or her
bed, and Mrs. Neale put me upon reading the
Bible to her; and taught me that it was my
duty to make her comfortable in every way in
my power.

When I was about the age of fourteen, m,
poor aunt died, and, as I now had no home,
Mrs. Neale took me entirely into her family, to
wait upon her, and to assist Mrs. Sarah, who
was getting past ber work.

I lived in this family for more than three
years, and these were the happiest years of my
life. Not a day passed in which I did not
receive some good instruction from my dear
lady,—some holy counsel, by which, with
God’s help, to guide my future life. She
was particularly anxious to make me sen-
sible of the depravity of my heart, and of my
natural inability to do any thing that is good
and pointed out to me, that, as the people
of God were sustained in the wilderness by
the manna which, from day to day, was found
as dew upon the ground, in like manner I
must seek the bread of heaven, as my daily
support in my Christian life. She began and
ended every lesson by leading and commend-
ing me to the Saviour of men; exhorting
me habitually to cast myself as a condemn-
ed and helpless sinner at the foot of the
cross.

At length, it pleased God to take from me
my beloved Mrs. Neale, after an illness of a
few days. She died at the great age of eighty-
two. A few hours before her death, she called
28 THE HISTORY OF

me to her bed-side, and talked to me in such
a way as I never can forget.

** My dear Susan,” she said, “in a short
time J shall be taken from this world, where I
have endured many hard trials, and 1 trust,
through God’s mercy, shall go to that happy
country where there is no sorrow nor crying.

‘Do not weep, my Susan, for I am going,
through the merits of my Redeemer, to the dear
children and kind husband whom I have long
lost; and in a few years, my child, I shall see
you again. Only continue to be mindful of
your Saviour, and remember, that those who
love him keep his commandments; pray for
help, that you may not be drawn aside from
your duty by the wicked pleasures of this
world,—pleasures which endure only for a
short season, and the end of which is eternal
torment.”

She then told me, that, knowing she must
soon die, she had been long endeavouring to
get a service for me, but that she had not suc-
ceeded; for people in general objected to me
on account of my youth. ‘ But,” added this
good lady, “1 would not have you, my dear
child, to seek your fortune when I am no
more: I have provided a situation, in which I
hope that you will improve yourself, and ren-
der yourself fit in a few years for a good
service.

* You know Mrs. Bennet,” said she, “ who
lives about two miles from the town, and gains
a very comfortable living by washing and iron-
ing, and by needle-work. She is an industri-
SUSAN CRAY,” 29

ous woman, and bears a good character, and
has undertaken to receive you into her house
for three years; during which time she will
improve you in her business, and you will then
be fit to wait upon a lady.”

I could not for some time answer, for my
tears and sobs almost choked me; but when I
could speak, I thanked my dear lady for her
kindness, and prayed that I might never forget
the good things she had taught me.

She then gave me three guineas to provide
me with clothes while I was with Mrs. Bennet;
from whom I was to receive no wages; and,
also, she left me her Bible and Prayer-Book,
and a black stuff gown and petticoat to wear
as mourning for her.

The same night this dear lady died; and I
remained in the house only till the funeral was
over: then taking leave, with many tears, of
Mrs. Sarah, who ‘set off the next day to return
to Cornwall, where she was born, and where all
her family had lived, I went to my new place.

It was a small yet very neat cottage in the
midst of a garden; there was behind it a hill
covered with tall trees, and before it were many
pleasant green meadows, which reached down
to the river, through which was a pathway
which led to Ludlow. The town itself would
have been plainly seen from hence, had it not
been for some trees which concealed all the
-houses, and only shewed the tower of the
church and part of the old castle.

As I walked from the town, I continued te
ery the whole way; but when I came near the

r 3
30 THE HISTORY OF

cottage, I wiped away my tears, and strove to
put on a more cheerful look. It was a fine
summer's evening, and Mrs. Bennet was sitting
before the house-door drinking tea, My old
companion, Charlotte Owen, of whom I had
seen but little since I had lived with Mrs.
Neale, was with her, having taken a walk that
evening to see her.

‘QO! here is Susan Gray,” cried Charlotte,
as soon as she saw me.

‘¢ Welcome, Susan,” said Mrs. Bennet;
‘come and sit down, my good girl.” So say-
ing, she placed a chair for me beside her, and,
laying her hand upon mine, added, “I am glad
to see you here, child. You and I shail agree
vastly well, I am sure: and if you will mind
your work, you shall have no cause to regret
the old lady’s death, for you shall want for
nothing.”

“I should be apt,” said Charlotte, “if I
were in your situation, Susan, to be very glad
to see Mrs. Neale laid low, for you must have
led a shocking dull life with those two old
women.”

*Q! no, no, no,” I said, while the tears
came again into my eyes, “I was never so
happy in my life as { have been these last two
years,”

Charlotte laughed, and Mrs. Bennet, staring
freely in my face, said, ‘Come, child, wipe
away those tears, and let me see no more of.
them; nothing spoils beauty like crying.”

“Then 1 never will cry,” said Charlotte,
‘or I shall never get a husband.”
SUSAN GRAY. 82

* Mys. Bennet laughed, and, clapping her ou
the shoulder, said, “Thou art a wise girl.”
Then giving me a dish of tea, ** Come, cheer
up, child,” she added; “if you could but look
a little more bright, you need not be ashamed
to shew your face with any one,” adding some-
thing more to the same purpose, but in a man-
ner so different to any thing I had ever seen in
her before, that I was startled, and, I suppose,
looked surprised, for she laughed, and said,
‘“Why, Susan, Mrs. Sarah has made you as
grave and dull as herself. Do you expect to
find every one as precise as that poor body was?
Why, I used to be afraid of every word I said
when I went to iron at Mrs. Neale’s.”

I made no answer, for my heart sunk within
me; but, hastily drinking my tea, I got up,
and said, that I was ready to do any work
which she might have for me in the house.

“QO! sit you down again,” answered she;
“T have nothing for you to do to-night. Now
your old friend Charlotte is with us, we will
have a little gossiping.”

I sat down, as my mistress desired me; but
as she and Charlotte continued to talk in a
very light and improper manner, I remained
silent.

‘* Bless me,” cried Charlotte, “ how grave
Susan looks! why, we have affronted her, |
suppose, by telling her that she will spoil her
beauty by crying.”

‘© No, indeed,” I answered, ‘1 am not af-
frented: but, if you must know the truth, Ido
not quite like the subject of your discourse,
3 THE HISTORY OF ©

Charlotte. My dear Mrs. Neale pointed out
fo me many places in the Holy Scriptures,
where we are exhorted never to talk. about idle
and ynprofitable things. .Ucould if you please,
shew you those texts in my Buble.”

**No, for Heaven's sake, child,” said Mrs.
Bennet; “ keep your preachments to yourself,
Why, I suppose, by and by, these good Chris-
tians will deny us the use of our tongues.
Come, Jet us hear no more of this.”

I obeyed, for she looked very angry: and,
O! how earnestly did I wish that | was not
bound to remain with this woman.

Had Mrs. Neale known what she was, I felt

assured, she would rather have seén me in my
grave, than have placed me under her care. But
she always had a good character, and no one,
before her betters, spoke with so much modesty
and -propriety, as she had the art to do.
: The next subject of their discourse was
dress; and Charlotte gave an account to Mrs.
Bennet, of the gowns and head-dresses which
the ladies wore at Ludlow. Mrs. Bennet, in
her turn, described some fine dresses which
she had lately made up.

Charlotte wished that she could afford to
buy a silk gown, and said, she should never
be easy till she could get one. Then turning
to me, ‘ Susan,” she said, ‘‘how are you off
for clothes? Have you any finery to shew
us? Come, open your box, and let us set
what you have in it.” ‘

To prove that I was willing to oblige them
in every thing in my power, [ unlocked my
SUSAN GRAY. 83

box, and laid ali my clothes before them: but
I bad nothing fine to shew.

“Well,” said Mrs. Bennet, when she had -
examined all my gowns, “I cannot but wonder
that Mrs. Neale, who every body knows was of
a very good family, should like a servant about
her, dressed in such ordinary garments as these.
Indeed, Susan, you would look much better, if
you would dress a little smarter. I dare say
the old lady gave you a little money before she
died: now if you would spend a few shillings
at the next fair, in buying a bit of ribbon for
your hat, and a little trimming for your cloak,
and one or two lawn aprons, you would cut a
much more creditable figure, and look a vast
deal better in every respect.”

I smiled, and, wishing to tura the discourse,
said, ‘‘ Well, Madam, if you will bestow these
things upon me, I will not refuse to wear
them.”

‘Nay, that is quite out of the question,”
answered she; ‘(1 have nothing but what I
work for, and it is not to be supposed that IT
should have money to spend upon others.
But I know very well that you have money, if
you could find in your heart to lay it out.”

*¢] will answer for her,” said Charlotte,
‘that she has plenty. See, how she blushes.
She cannot deny that she has money. But
all I can say is this, that if she chooses to go
about in such ordinary clothes, she cannot
expect that people who cut a better figure
will be seen with her.”

On hearing these words, [ felt my anger
34 THE HISTORY OF

rise, and was going to answer sharply, but was
providentially hindered from committing this
sin, by Charlotte's suddenly turning away, and
speaking upon other matters.

At length, Charlotte Owen took her leave,
and Mrs. Bennet put me in mind that it was
time to go to bed, as I must rise early the next
morning to my work. She then led me to a
small reom up stairs, which was within her
own; this she told me was to be mine. It had
one window, which opened towards the hill
behind the house; and from hence I could
hear the song of the birds among the trees,
and see the flowers which grew beneath in the
garden. This room was so small, that it would
scarcely contain more than my little flock bed
and the box which held my clothes: yet, ne-
vertheless, it was a great comfort to me to
have a place which I could call my own, and
to which I could retire, when I had a leisure
hour, to read my Bible, and commune with
my God.

But not to make my story too long, I must
say, in a few words, that, for the two first
years, my life with Mrs. Bennet was by no
means so uncomfortable as I at first thought
it would have been, for my mistress was sel-
dom at home. As I could soon do most of
the work she had to do within doors, she used
often to go out to iron and work in the genteel
families in and about the town; for there was
scarcely any thing which she could not put
her hand to. So that I-had very little of her
company, and of that light discourse which
SUSAN GRAY. 33

was so unpleasant to me, When she was at
home, it is true, that she did not always treat
me as kindly as I had been accustomed to be
treated with my dear Mrs, Neale and Mrs.
Sarah. But we must not expect that every
thing in this world of trial will always pass on
quietly and agreeably. She sometimes was
very easy and free with me, as if 1 were her
daughter, rather than her servant; and then,
without cause, she would become fretful and
sullen, and it would be totally impossible to
give her satisfaction. But I endeavoured to
remember the words of St. Peter, and, I trust,
was patient.

Servants, be subject to your masters with all
fear; not only to the good and genile, but also
to the froward. For this is thankworthy, if a
man for conscience toward God endure grief,
suffering wrongfully. For what glory is tt,
if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall
take it patiently? but if, when ye do well, and.
suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is accept-
able with God. For even hereunto were ye
called. (1 Pet. ii. 18—21.)

It was my wish to obey my mistress in all she
could ask, whether it was reasonable or unrea-
sonable, except when she was so inconsiderate
as to require me to do any thing sinful. She.
often requested me to go with her to wakes and
merry-makings on a Sunday, instead of going
to church, which I always refused to do; nor
would I ever buy any fine clothes to please
her.

Although I was apparently without a friend,
aa THE HISTORY OF

and living with a woman who was entirely with-
out the fear of God, yet my heavenly Father so
ordered things, that 1 was, for a long time, pre-
served from temptation. My business lay but
little in Ludlow. I had full employment at
home, and few persons came to our house, un-
Jess it might be Charlotte Owen, who some-
times brought with her a young man, the son of °
a neighbour, with whom she was so indiscreet,
sometimes, as to walk in the fields and lanes
about the town.

But I had little to say to Charlotte when she
came. She was not fond of me; and I have
since thought, that I had it not enough at
heart to try to win her to God. Whenever
she was with my mistress on a Suuday evening,
I used to shut myself up in my little room, if
I was not wanted below.

I had now lived with Mrs. Bennet more than
two years and a half, and was looking forward
with hope to the time when I should leave her
service and enter into that of some person who
feared God, when, one evening, towards the
fatter end of last April, my mistress having
been in Ludlow the whole day, I was alone in
the cottage ironing some linen, I remember
that, as it was becoming dusk, many very
serious thoughts passed through my mind. [
considered how many persons whom I had
known and loved during my short life had
passed from a temporal to an eternal state ;
and I considered how soon, even in the com-
mon course of nature, I also should be num«
bered among those who are departed.
SUSAN GRAY, 37

While my mind was filled with these reflec-
tions, some one tapped suddenly at the window,
and, before I could distinguish who it was,
Charlotte Owen called out, “ What! all alone,
Susan? Make haste, and let me in.”

I was surprised at the free manner in which
she spoke to me, but I opened the window, and
endeavoured to speak as cheerfully to her as if
we had always been the best friends.

*¥ came for a little chat,” she said; * will
you let me in?”

I answered, that I thanked her; but at the
same time I advised her, as it was getting late,
to make the best of her way home, as it was
late for a young woman to be seen abroad.

“« There again,” she said, “ you come in with
your scruples, Susan, and your over-niceness.
You have lived with the old woman till you
are good for nothing.”

So saying, she went round to the door, and
knocked very loudly at it till I unbolted it;
for when I was alone | always fastened it as
night drew on.

“Why, Charlotte,” I said, “* you seem very
merry this evening;” and I invited her to sit
down by my ironing-board.

“Merry!” she answered, as she took her
seat, “yes, to be sure: the town’s all alive.
The soldiers are in town, I suppose you know
that. You may hear the drums and fifes down
here very plain; and we had a dance yesterday
at the Blue-Boar. My mother and I were both
there; and the long room was so full, that you
could hardly squeeze in; and the women were

D
38 THE HISTORY OF

all so smart! I am sure you would have liked
it: but here you are shut up, and are so dull.
Don't you thiak your mistress would let you
come among us?”

** Perhaps she would,” I answered; ‘ but I
shall never ask her leave: for to tell you the
truth, Charlotte, I do not think that modest
women have any business at such merry-mak-
ings.”

a Bless me! and why not?” cried Charlotte.
‘‘Why, all the gentlefolks have their dances,
and plays, and routs; and I do not see why we
should not have them too. Do tell me where
the harm of them lies.”

“1 can scarcely tell you, Charlotte,” I an-
swered; ‘for I never was at a dance, or a
wake, or a fair, or a show, in my life. But will
you own to me, whether you ever went to any
of these places, without hearing bad language,
without meeting with bold or drunken men,
who talk familiarly te you, who utter profane
and wicked jests, and take God’s name in vain?
now do answer me this question, Charlotte.”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell: why, why,
why—” said Charlotte.

‘Answer me either yes or no, my dear
Charlotte,” I said. “Surely, if you do not
meet with bad people in these places, you
may say 80; and, if you do meet with them,
you must agree with me, that they are rot
fit places for good young women.”

‘* How scrupulous! how over-nice you are!”
said Charlotte.

‘How can we be too scrupulous in these
SUSAN GRAY. 39

things, Charlotte?” answered I. ‘‘ Can we love
God too much? or serve him too well? Is it
not said in the Bible, No man can serve two
masters: for either he will hate the one, and
love the other; or else ke will hold to the one,
and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God
and Mammon?” (Matt. vi. 24.)

Charlotte made no answer; and, for some
time, she sat quite silent. At last she said,
“Susan, when were you in town last?”

‘““The day before yesterday I fetched this
linen from Mrs. Nichols,” I answered. e

“< Did you see the Captain then?” she asked.

“What Captain?” I said: “1 know no
Captain.”

“Why, have you not heard of the Captain
who is just come to town? Where can you
have lived this last fortnight? He is come to
lodge at Mr. Smith’s, the mercer; and he is the
finest, handsomest, freest, pleasantest gentle-
man I ever saw in my life. He seems to regard
his money no more than the stones in the
streets; and you cannot think how condescende
ing and obliging he is. He smiles, and is so
gracious when one meets him any where, and
speaks so kindly.”

‘* And speaks so kindly!” I repeated. ‘“O!
Charlotte, what business could a gentleman, a
stranger too, have to speak to a poor girl in
your situation?”

She coloured: “A poor girl, indeed!” she
answered. ‘‘] like that, Susan; a poor girl,
truly! Iam no servant.”

‘* Perhaps not,” I answered; ‘ but you must
40 THE HISTORY OF

know that the gentlefolks do not look upon you
as their equal, nor will a gentleman treat you
as such, You may be assured, that when a
gentleman speaks freely to a young woman in
your state of life, he means no good.”

«Who says that the Captain spoke freely to
me, I should wish to know 2” said Charlotte.

‘Did you not say yourself,” I asked, “that
he smiled, and spoke kindly when you met
him?”

“* Well, and suppose he did,” answered she ;
“and suppose he should think me handsome;
and suppose he should think of making we his
lady, where would be the wonder?”

“© O! Charlotte,” said I, “ gentlemen are not
so ready to raise up poor girls to be their wives.
Do you think, whatever they may say, that
they could like women in our humble station
better than the fine ladies whom they see every
day? How are we fit to appear in the com-
pany of gentlefolks? can we talk of the things
which they talk of? are we fit, with our homely
and countrified discourse, to converse with
learned people? Do not let us expect that our
betters will raise us to be their equals. Ifa
decent young man in our own station offers
himself, we may listen to him; but if we
think of making ourselves greater than our
neighbours, we shall fall lower than we now
are.”

*‘T am sure I don’t want to raise myself,”
said Charlotte. ‘I did nothing to make the
Captain notice me: I was walking very quietly
down the lane, from the town towards the mea-
SUSAN GRAY. Ai

dows, when he first thought proper to speak
to me; I am sure I did not speak first.”

«« But, perhaps, you looked at him,” I said.

“Looked at him, truly !” replied she ; “why,
who would net look at so fine a gentleman?
You cannot think how very handsome he is.”

‘‘ And do you think, Charlotte,” said I, ‘ be-
cause you did not speak, that this gentleman
could not find out what passed in your mind?
When we are angry, do not our looks shew our
displeasure, although we open not our mouths?
You suffered your mind to be full of this
stranger; you looked at him and admired him:
and he, no doubt, discovered these your
thoughts by your looks, although you supposed
them hidden by your silence. If he, therefore,
treated you with any freedom, it was your own
fault; and you have as much reason to blame
yourself, as if you had tempted him to do so
by speaking boldly to him.”

“Upon my word, Susan,” answered she,
“you take finely upon you, indeed! Who
made you ruler over me, that you should dare
to find fault with me at this rate? What, must
I neither look nor speak? I suppose you would
have me walk about with my eyes shut.”

“I beg your pardon, Charlotte,” said I, “ if
I have spoken harshly to you; but you were
the friend of my early days, and although we
have been but little together of late, yet I can-
not but love you, and I wish, if possible, to
convince you that you allow yourself in liber-
ties, which you may think innocent, but for
* which I fear that you will be punished, per-
n3
THE HISTORY OF

haps, very severely after death. For although
you are not so learned as the gentlefoiks are,
yet you have been taught to read your Bible;
and it is your own fault, if you are ignorant of
what is the duty of a Christian. Surely, you
have read in the Holy Scriptures, that every
man that hath hope in God, purifieth himself as
he is pure; and again, he that committeth sin is
of the devil.” (1 John iii. 3, 8.)

‘And pray, what sin have I committed?”
asked Charlotte.

“You have allowed your thoughts to be em-
ployed, my dear Charlotte,” said I, “ by very
vain and improper subjects. Your heart has
seen occupied by this stranger, although God
has commanded you to set your affection on
things above, not on things on the earth. (Col.
iii. 2.) You have broken this commandment of
God, and are exposing yourself to great danger ;
and, unless you call upon your Almighty Sa-
viour, to give you grace to overcome this tempt-
ation, I fear that you will make yourself not
only miserable in this world, but in that which
is to come. - For the holy apostle St. Paul says,
to be carnally-minded is death.” (Rom. viii. 6.)

Charlotte made no answer, but stared at
me; and at that moment my mistress knocked
at the door.

Charlotte ran to open it, very glad, I believe,
to break off her discourse with me.

In came Mrs. Bennet, with a large roll of
fine Irish cloth under her arm, which she laid
upon a small table; and, throwing herself upon
a chair beside it, ‘Now, girls,” said she,
SUSAN GRAY. 43

** guess for whom I am going to make that set
of shirts: look at the cloth first; see how fine
and even it is, and tell me who you think it fit
for.”

Charlotte said, she presumed it was for the
Squire of the next village; and I guessed, the
worthy Dean, the Rector of our parish.

Mrs, Bennet laughed, and, clapping her hand
ou the cloth, said, “You are both mistaken;
it is for a finer gentleman than either of these.
Why, Charlotte, I wonder you cannot think of
him; for I have a pretty shrewd guess that he
is often uppermost in your head:” and then
she laughed again.

1 returned to my ironing without saying an-
other word; and Charlotte, after thinking some
time, cried, “‘ Why, surely, it is not for the
Captain?”

‘You have it now,” said my mistress.
““Mercer Smith called me in to-day, as I was
passing by, and told me that the Captain want-
ed to speak tome. I wondered what he could
have to say to me; but it was about these
shirts: he desired to have two of them made
and washed by next Sunday morning. So,
Susan, you must set to work by day-break;
you have but three days to do them in, for I
cannot help you. I am going out to-morrow,
and we must not disoblige his bonour for
worlds.”

«QO! Mrs. Bennet,” said Charlotte, “ if you
will give me leave, I will come to-morrow and
help Susan: it would be a pleasure to me to
work for so fine a gentleman.”
44 THE HISTORY OF

“1 thank you, Charlotte,” said I, “1 shall
want no help.”

‘* Mind that,” said my mistress; ‘she takes
such pleasure in working for this smart youth,
that she will not have your help, Charlotte.”

Charlotte laughed.

But I will not repeat all their free jests,
O! how truly did the wise king Solomon say,
that the thoughts of the wicked are an abomi-
nation to the Lord. (Prov. xv. 26.)

Charlotte insisted upon helping me in my
work; and, as it was very Jate, Mrs. Bennet
asked her to stay with her all night.

When I had finished my ironing, and had
got them their suppers, I asked leave to go to
bed, that I might hear no more of their vain
discourse ; and when I was alone in my little
room, I knelt down and besought my Saviour
to remember me, and to save me from being
corrupted by this evil world.

Early the next morning, I began my work;
before Mrs. Bennet and Charlotte came down
to breakfast.

As soon as breakfast was over, my mistress
went out, and Charlotte and I sat down to
work before the door. We were for some time
silent; at length, Charlotte, throwing down her
work, took out of her pocket a small pattern
of flowered silk, which she shewed me, asking
me how I liked it.

“It is very pretty,” said I.

‘Should you not like a gown of it?” said she.

**No,” I answered; “I think that a silk
gown would not become a poor servant.”
SUSAN GRAY. 45

« Why, as you are a servant, it might not
suit you; but I shall very soon have a gown of
it,” said she. ‘* Mrs. Hall, the pawnbroker,
has one to part with, as good as new, and she
has promised to let me have it for a guinea and
a half.”

«<A guinea and a half!” I cried; ‘‘ what a
large sum! you will never be able to raise it.”

“ And why not?” said Charlotte: “I have
already given Mrs. Hall half-a-guinea towards
it, and I know that I shall soon be able to raise
the guinea. But you must not say any thing
about it, for my mother is not to know at
present.”

“©O! Charlotte,” said I, « what are you about
todo? in what way can you get the money
unknown to your mother? And can you be
so mean and foolish as to deceive your mother
for the sake of a silk gown?”

“« Bless me! why, what is the matter now?”
cried she. ‘* Why, I shall shew my mother the
gown as soon as I have got it; and tell her that
I paid for it out of the money which my uncles,
and aunts, and grandfather had given me, and
which I shall say I saved up. And she will
not ask many questions, for she will be so pleas-
ed to see me so smart.”

‘* And can you resolve to offend God,” I said,
‘to deceive your mother, and, perhaps, to be
punished for ever in another world, for the sake
of a silk gown, which, in a few years, will fade
and wear away, and will be good for nothing
but to be thrown aside?”

“As to deceiving my mother,” answered
46 THE HISTORY OF

Charlotte, “I am very easy about that; for I
shall only do to her as she does to others, even
to the very best of her friends. For not a day
passes, to my knowledge, but she cheats some
of her customers; and, as to telling lies, she
minds them not the least, when she can get a
few pence by them.”

« But,” said I, “if your poor mother does
wrong, that is no reason you should imitate her.
Remember these words, my dear Charlotte,
which are taken from the holy Bible: All liars
shall have their part in the lake which burneth
with fire and brimstone.” (Rev. xxi. 8.)

** But I am resolved,” answered she, ‘to
have the gown, so you may spare your preach-
ing; only I beg you to say nothing about it.”

‘Will you answer me one question, Char-
lotte?” said 1. «* How did you get that half-
guinea which you have already given for your
gown? I know that but last week you told
Mrs. Bennet that you had spent all you had in
the world on a new hat.”

“O! I am not obliged to tell you that,”
said she, laughing: “ but all I will say is, that
I got it where I hope to get more.”

‘*I begin to be much afraid for you,” said I;
“ this love of fine clothes will one day or other
end in some sad evil. Indeed, my dear Char-
lotte, I beg you to think no more of this silk
gown; be assured, that if you could even get it
honestly, no one would honour you the more
for being dressed above your station; any un-
due degree of finery shews vanity and pride, if
not something worse. Nor is it right for us to
SUSAN GRAY. 47

spend all that we have upon ourselves, little as
that may be. If we deny ourselves some few
pieces of finery, or even some few comforts, that
we may give a little to those who are in greater
want than ourselves, God will reward us ten-
fold: but if we greedily and selfishly spend all
we can earn upon ourselves, our Lord, I fear,
will say to us, at the great day of judgment,
Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fre,
prepared for the devil and his angels. For Iwas
an hungred, and ye gave me no meat; I was
thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a
stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and
ye clothed me not; sick and in prison, and
ye visited me not.” (Matt. xxv. 41—43.)

T think as you do, Susan,” said Charlotte,
that rich people ought to spare some of their
abundance to give to the poor; but you know
that we are not rich.”

«As to you, Charlotte,” I answered, “ who
have so many of the good things of this world,
who have money to spend on gloves, and rib-
bons, and laces, and fine gowns; can you say
that you have nothiag to spare to the poor? |
have less than you possess, and am obliged to
work hard for what I have; but, like the poor
widow, I think it my duty to give my mite to
the poor. And I remember what St. Paul says
to the man who has been a thief: Let hem
that stole steal no more; but rather let him la-
bour, working with his hands the thing which is
good, that he may have to give to him that need-
eth. (Eph. iv. 28.) And I could repeat to
you twenty other texts in the Bible, to exhort
48 THE HISTORY OF

and command us to take pity on the puor, and
to love our neighbours as well as ourselves;
which we cannot be said to do, when we lay
out all the money we can earn in decking our-
selves forth, or pampering ourselves with deli-
cate food.”

“You have a vast deal to say, Susan,” said
Charlotte: ‘ but I do not think, with all your
fine talking, that I shall give up my silk gown.”
+ Now, my dear Charlotte,” said I, “if you
will promise to think no more of this silk gown,
and will, for a few years, be content to wear
humble garments, and to give of what you save
to those who are in need, and to follow Him,
who, for our sakes, took upon him the fashion
of a servant, I think I can promise, that, at the
end of that time, you shall have a finer gown
than any lady’s in the kingdom; yes, a richer
gown than any queen ever wore on a birth-
night.”

Charlotte smiled, and asked me what I
meant.

“This gown,” said I, “that I promise you,
shall be as white as snow, and as bright as the
sun; it will never soil and never wear away ;
no moths shall ever corrupt it, nor shall any
thieves steal it from you.”

«Why, Susan,” said Charlotte, “ of what are
you talking? I do not understand you.”

“And with this beautiful gown,” added I,
‘* you shall wear a crown of precious stones, as
bright as the stars in the heavens. O! my dear
Charlotte, if you would but think less of this
world with all its vanities, if you will resist its
SUSAN GRAY. 49

temptations, and endeavour to serve your God,
vou shall shine forth as the sun in the kingdom
of the Father, and enjoy pleasures for evermore
in the presence of God.”

““O! now I understand you,” cried Char-
lotte: “you had quite puzzled me with your
shining gown. It reminds me of the fine silver
lace upon the Captain’s waistcoat; you have no
notion how handsome he looked in it.”

I believe that I surprised her a little; for the
moment she mentioned the Captain, I got up
and carried my chair into the house, where |
sat down, at some distance from her.

** What is the matter, Susan?” said she;
** why do you run away?”

** Because I do not choose to hear any thing
said about that gentleman. What ‘business
have we poor girls to be talking and joking
about a Captain? I heard too much of these
jests, Charlotte, last night; and, whatever you
may think of me, I am resolved that I will hear
none of them to-day.”

She got up, and, coming to the door of the
house, stood leaning with her back against the
post, laughing at me for some minutes. But I
made no answer, remembering that it is said,
the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be
gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in
meekness instructing those that oppose them-
selves. (2 Tim. ii. 24, 25.)

. While she continued to laugh at me, two

young men, belonging to the town, came run-

ning through the wood down the side of the

garden. As they passed by the house they saw
E
40 THE HISTORY OF

Charlotte, and one of them called to her; the
other went on to the town.

She no sooner heard his voice, than she ran
to the wicket, and there stood talking and
laughing with him till our dianer was ready.

As soon as dinner was over, she told me that
she was tired of work, and, wishing me a good
day, took her leave.

I had finished two of the shirts, and washed
them on Saturday evening; and on Sunday
morning, it being a fine day, my mistress laid
the shirts in a neat basket, and, strewing them
over with lavender, ordered me to take them to
the Captain’s, ‘ You will not have time,
Susan,” said she, “to get back to the village
church; therefore, dress yourself before you
go, and, when you have delivered the linen,
you may leave your basket at Mercer Smith's,
and go to church in town.”

I accordingly dressed myself neatly, and,
taking the basket under my arm, was Just go-
ing out at the garden-gate, when my mistress,
calling after me, said, ‘Susan, you must ask
to see the Captain himself, and deliver the
linen to him; and if he asks you what he is
to pay for the work, you must say, whatever
his honour pleases; for, you know, we must
not fix a price to so great a gentleman.”

I thought that my mistress knew better how
to deal with gentlefolks than T could do, who
was a stranger to the world. Therefore, when
I came to Mercer Smith's door, I knocked, and
asked to see the Captain.

The Captain's servant came, and asked me
SUSAN GRAY. 51

if he could not take the message to his mas-

_ ter.

‘‘No,” I said, “‘ my mistress ordered me to
see his honour myself.”

I was then led through the shop into a hall,
where I stood for some minutes; at last, the
parlour-door was opened, and the Captain
came out, When I saw his honour, I began
to be frightened; for he was, indeed, a very
fine gentleman; I looked upon the ground,
and, at first, I could scarcely speak.

«Young woman,” said he, “ what did you
want with me?”

*‘T hope that your honour will pardon me,”
I said; “ but my mistress ordered me to bring
this linen to you.”

‘Hold up your head, young woman,” said
the gentleman; ‘I cannot hear what you say.”

1 raised my head, and repeated what I had
said before: but I was very much frightened.

When he saw that I was frightened, he
smiled, and said, very kindly, ‘« Tell your mis-
tress, my good young woman, that I am obliged
to her for obeying my orders so exactly. You
are her servant, I suppose; pray what may
yéur name be?”

“Susan Gray,” I answered.

“* And where do you live?” he said.

‘In the cottage by the river-side, under the
coppice,” I replied. 1 then made a courtesy,
and was going away; but he called me back,
and asked me what he was to pay for the work.

I answered, as I had been told, “ Whatever
your honour pleases.”
52 THE HISTORY OF

He immediately offered me half-a-guinea. 1
was surprised, and said, “‘O! Sir, this is too
much; my mistress would not take half of
it.”

“Then,” said he, “my good Susan, do you
pay your mistress what you think she might
expect, and keep the rest yourself.” .

“No, no, no, Sir,” said I, refusing to take
the money; ‘I am only her servant, and have
no right to the profits of her work.”

The Captain looked very hard indeed at me
when I spoke these words; and, when I had
done, he said, ‘‘ Your mistress is very happy,
my good Susan, in so honest a servant. But
you must take the whole of this money for
yourself; when I see your mistress I will pay
her for the work.”

‘Indeed, Sir, I cannot take it; I thank your
honour for your generosity, but I assure you,
that I want for nothing, and I have no right to
take money which I have not earned.” So say-
ing, I made another courtesy, and hastened —
away. When I got into the street, it was time
to go to church.

While I was at church, I could not help
thinking how very odd it was that the Captain
should offer me money, wondering that so great
and fine a gentleman should talk to so poor a
girl as myself in so free a manner. -

These thoughts so entirely filled my mind,
that I fear I knew little of what passed in the
church; and thus, at the very time when it be-
hoved me to put on the whole armour of God.
1 was entirely off my guard; but faithful was
SUSAN GRAY. 53

He who called me. (1 Thess. v.24.) As the arms
of the mother are a protection on each side of
the careless and wayward child, so did his
everlasting arms uphold me, though I knew it
not. I, who had blamed Charlotte so freely,
but a few days past, had certainly fallen under
the same temptation, had not my Almighty
Saviour upheld me. So foolish was I and ig-
norant ; I was as a beast before thee. Never-
theless, I am continually with thee; thou hast
holden me by my right hand. Thou shalt guide
me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me
to glory. (Psalm Ixxiti. 22—24.)

As I returned home, I came into a narrow
Jane which led from the town to the meadows
in which our house stands. At the end of this
lane was a stile, on each side of which grew
some very tall trees, whose green boughs made
a kind of bower over the head.

When I came in view of this stile, I saw a
gentleman sitting upon it reading aletter; but
I could not teil, because of the shade of the
trees, who he was.

I would have gone back, and taken another
way home, that 1 might not give him the trou-
ble of rising to let me pass, but I supposed
that my mistress would, by this time, be come
from church, and would be in want of her
dinner. So I walked on.

But when I came near the stile, I was much
surprised to find that this gentleman was the
Captain. He went on reading the letter, and
never moved from his seat till [ was come up
close to him. I stood waiting for some mou-

E3
54 THE HISTORY OF

ments; at last I begged his honour's leave tu
pass.

The first time I spoke, he seemed not to hear
me? and when I again asked him to give me
Jeave to pass, he lifted up his eyes from the
letter which he.was reading, and, without mov-
ing from his place, “‘ Your servant, Susan,” he
said; ‘where may you be going, my good girl?”

‘LT am going home, Sir,” 1 said, ‘‘ and beg
your leave to pass.”

“<I will let you go presently, but first you
must answer me a few questions.”

“‘ Sir,” I replied, ‘ you can have no business
with me; if you wish to speak to my mistress,
she shall call upon you at any time you shall
please to fix.”

‘I have nothing to say to the old woman,”
auswered he, “ but I want to have a little dis-
course with you.”

As I found that he was so rude, I turned
back, and was going to take the other way into
the meadows, although it was above half a
mile round. But he, jumping from the stile,
followed me, and said something which I
thought very impertinent. Upon which, I said
to him, “If you forget, Sir, that you are a
gentleman, I shall forget, also, that I am a
servant, and will tell you very plainly what I
think of you.”

“And what do you think of me, little
Susan?” said he, laughing.

**I think, Sir,” I answered, * that you are a
very wicked man; and although I may have
no friend on earth to take my part, yet God
SUSAN GRAY. 55

Almighty will not suffer such behaviour as
this to go unpunished.”

So saying, I pushed hastily by him, and, by
means of running as fast as I could, was soon
out of sight.

When I got home, I found the door locked,
and no one within. I soon opened the door
with a key which I had of my own; and, as
my mistress did not return, I ate my dinner,
and prepared to go to our little village church.

I had not been returned from church above
an hour, before my mistress came in with Char-
lotte Owen, and two or three more young wo-
men, and as many young men, with whom she
had been taking a walk to a village some miles
distant, where they had dined together at a
public-house,

«‘Susan,” said she, as soon as she entered,
“make the fire burn, and set on the tea-
kettle, for we must have some tea as soon
as possible, and set us a table and chairs at
the door.”

I did as I was ordered; but while I was get-
ting tea ready within doors, I was shocked at
the loud laughing and jesting of my mistress
and her company.

The young men, who I found had drank a
few glasses of ale more thau they were used to,
were extremely free and bold in their manner,
and I was very sorry to see, that not only Char-
lotte and the other young women, but, also, my
mistress, encouraged them, by their foolish tit-
tering, and still more foolish jokes, to behave
in a manner which must be highly offensive to
58 THE HISTORY OF

God, who has commanded Christian men to
treat the elder women as mothers; the younger
as sisters, with all purity. (1 Tim. v. 2.)

Having brought the tea-things, and prepared
every thing for the tea, my mistress bade me
bring a chair, and take my place with the
company.

I thanked her, but said, I would beg to be
excused.

‘* Nay, don’t refuse, Susan,” said one of the
young men, whose name was William Ball:
“‘we must have your company. Here, take
this chair by me; come, we are vastly merry.”

“I see you are merry,” I said; ‘but I shall
beg not to make one among you.”

«And why not?” they all cried at once.

«QO! do not oblige me to say,” I answered.

“What, we are not good enough for you, I
presume!” said Charlotte.

** None of these airs, Susan,” said my mis-
tress; ‘‘a fine lady, in truth, you are, with
scarcely a rag to your back, or a shilling in
your pocket, that you should turn up your
nose thus at your betters. Sit you down this
minute,” added she, with a very naughty word.

William Ball, at the same time, took hold of
my gown, and was going to pull me down into
the chair by him; when I, struggling hard,
escaped into the house, and, leaving my mistress
and her company to wait upon themselves, ran
into my own little room; where I shut the
door, and, throwing myself on my knees, prayed
to God to protect me. ‘O! my God,” I cried,
“[ am surrounded by snares and temptations ;
SUSAN GRAY. 8?

deliver me, E pray thee, from the evils which
encompass me.”

My mistress did not call me down until
all the company were gone, except Charlotte
Owen, who complained of a head-ache, and
begged to stay all night at the cottage.

*¢ Susan,” said Mrs. Bennet, as soon as [ came
down, ‘‘ any other mistress but myself would
turn a servant out of doors, who had behaved
as you have done; but, in consideration of your
having always been an honest girl, I forgive you
this once. I cannot say that I should pardon —
you so easily, if you were to shew any of these
saucy airs again. Surely, my friends are fit
company for my servant!”

«*T should think so, in truth,” said Charlotte,
who was sitting in an arm-chair, leaning her
head upon her hand.

I thanked my mistress for forgiving me; and
then turning to Charlotte, to prove that I was
not in an ill humour, but that I had only left
the company for the sake of my God and my
religion, “‘ My dear Charlotte,” I said, « [ am
sorry to see you so poorly.”

She made no answer; and my mistress, pre-
sently afterwards, said, with a laugh, ‘“ Well,
Susan, and what did the Captain say to you?”

“I do not like the Captain,” I answered;
“and, with your leave, I never will go to his
lodgings again.”

“ Bless me! and what now?” cried my mis-
tress. And Charlotte, at the same time, raising
her head, fixed her eyes upon me.

I then told them what had passed between
58 THE HISTORY OF

me and the gentleman. As soon as I had fi-
nished the story, Mrs. Bennet cried out, “« And
were you so rude, Susan, as not to take the
money? Don’t you know that it is the greatest
affront a servant can put upon a gentleman, to
refuse his money? Why, the Captain will
never forgive you! How could you, Susan,
behave in such a manner?”

‘I did not want the money,” I answered.

‘© Not want it!” said my mistress: “ why you
have not a decent gown to your back. Every
body says that you would be well-looking
enough, if you dressed but smartly. But as it
is, you are such a dowdy, such a country
Joan, no one will look upon you. Is it not
so, Charlotte?”

“ Don’t talk to her about it,” said Charlotte;
‘she can’t help her poverty: those who knew
her aunt, don’t wonder at the figure she cuts—
poor low creature! And, as to the Captain, I
am sure he never would offer her money: and,
if he did, 1 am sure she never would refuse it.
Don’t let her deceive you, Mrs. Bennet, with
her fine stories.”

‘Nay, I do not think the girl would tell a
lie,” answered my mistress: “I always found
her honest enough. But now, do tell me,
Susan, why did you not take the Captain’s
money?”

“« Because,” I said, ‘ although I am poor,
yet 1 fear my God, and I will never take any
money, but such as I can get in an honest man-
ner. Did God see fit, he could make me rich-
er in one day than I should become, were 1 for
SUSAN GRAY. 58

a long life to use every wicked means, and every
lying and deceitful art, to get money. For, as
the Bible says, it is an easy thing for the Lord

of a sudden to make a poor man rich. (Ecclus.
' xi, 21.) I know not for what reason the
Captain offered me the half-guinea; but I
knew it could be for no good reason, for I
had done him no service, and stood not in
need of charity.”

‘** Not stand in need of charity!” said my
mistress; ‘ that may be as you think: to be
sure, you have bread to eat, but you certainly
want for many necessaries. Why, as I said be-
fore, you have not a decent gown to your back z
you have not one that has not been patched in
half-a-dozen places; aud since you came to
me, you have not had a new hat.”

“If Iam poor,” I said, ‘1 cannot help it.”

‘Not help it!” said my mistress: “did you
not refuse money to-day? But pride and po-
verty often go together.”

** Pride!” I repeated, and I fear I said it
rather warmly; ‘I am not proud: though I
trust that I am above receiving money which
can be given with no good intention.”

Charlotte took me up sharply: “ And how
do you know,” said she, ‘ that it was with no
good intention that the Captain offered you
money? I understand what you would be at,
Susan; but it is nothing but envy at seeing
people better dressed than yourself.”

She said much more to the same purpose,
and seemed so very hot, that J really was sur-
prised, till I perceived that she had on the very
60 THE HISTORY OF

silk gown which she had been talking of some
days past, and for the purchase of which she
had, no doubt, received money from the Cap-
tain. I was so injudicious, because this was
not a time for it, when she was in the height of
her anger, to charge her with what she had
done; and, though I hope I did not do it ina
rude way, yet she grew so angry upon it, that
my mistress thought it time to interfere, and.
bid me go up to bed.

I obeyed, and, when I got into my own
room, burst into a viclent fit of tears. I was
not pleased with myself: I felt that the past
day had not been well spent; that my mind
was not in a good state; and that I had spoken
to Charlotte with impropriety, and not in a way
which was likely to lead her back to God. I
had not, as in days past, those pleasant and
peaceful feelings of confidence in God which
bad made my little room a most sweet and de-
lightful abode to me. I felt forsaken and
alone: and yet I had no inclination to pray ;
no desire to call upon that beloved Saviour
who had hitherto been my comforter.

I sat at the foot of my bed, and, for some
time, continued to shed tears, not of humility,
but rather of passion and discontent. Char-
lotte and my mistress were talking below; for
Charlotte was to stay with Mrs. Bennet all
night; but their voices were so low, that I
could hardly hear them. It was almost dusk,
and I know not how long I might have remain-
ed in that rebellious state, when He, of whom it
is said, Before they call I will answer, (Isaiah
SUSAN GRAY. 61

Ixy. 24,) so ordered it, that some poor holy man
passing along the lane which is at the back of
the garden, should bethink himself of beguiling
the way by singing the praises of God. It was
an old psalm tune, which I remembered to have
heard my father sing when I was a very little
‘child, and I had never heard it again since that
time.

I listened to the sound, as it drew nearer,
and eagerly strove to catch every note, till the
singer had passed away; and, such was the ef-
fect on my mind, it seemed to me as if the days
of my childhood had returned again. I could
almost have fancied that I saw my father and
mother again, and the Holy Spirit of God, for
I can think no less, brought them to my remem-
brance. Many pious lessons which I had re-
ceived from these beloved parents, and which
had almost entirely passed from my mind, or
till now, at best, had been very imperfectly re-
membered; much, also, that dear Mrs. Neale
had said to me before her death, was, at this
time, brought before me, as strongly as if she
were still speaking: and my conscience began
to smite me with having profited so little by all
that these dear friends had done for me. From
these thoughts, I was led on to think of Him
who had died for me, and of all that he had
endured for my sake; and, like St. Peter, I be-
gan to weep bitterly: and I trust that these
tears were shed in a humbler spirit than those
which had just before flowed from my eyes.

I was enabled this night to give myself up to
God, and to trust him with the future events of

F
62 THE HISTORY OF

my life; humbly beseeching him not to leave
me, in any time of trial, to my own strength
for I had found, by the past day’s experience,
that I was as little able to endure temptation as
poor Charlotte, whom I had so freely censured.
After this, my mind became more easy, and
my sleep was sweet.

The next morning, I expected that my mis-
tress would have looked cool upon me; but
quite the contrary, for while I was setting the
tea-cups for breakfast, she came down, and
taking up Charlotte Owen’s new hat, which ha¢
been left the night before on a chair, and plac
ing it on my head, she held up her hands and
eyes, as if she was mightily astonished, and
cried,“ Is it possible! I could not have thought
that any head-dress could have made such a
difference! Why, Susan, you look as handsome
as the queen of May in that hat; I protest
that I should hardly have known you again.
You must, indeed you must, have such a hat
as that. I do think, if you were to buy the
silk and make it up yourself, it would not come
to more than five shillings; and you cannot
think how very handsome you would look in it.”

‘¢ Whether I look handsome or not,” I an-
swered, ‘“‘I cannot afford to buy such a hat;
for I really have not the money to spare. My
dear Mrs. Neale gave me three guineas when I
came to you; but 1 have now been with you
nearly three years, and in that time my shoes
have cost me a guinea, and, with a little linen
which I have bought, and a common stuff
gown, and a few other necessaries, I have not
SUSAN GRAY. 63

much more than half-a-guinea left, and this 1
shall want, to enable me to make a decent
appearance, if I should be so happy as to get
a good place when my time is out with you.”

“‘ What! have you so much as half-a-guinea
left?” said my mistress; ‘and yet you will not
purchase a hat, in which you would look so
very handsome. Come, now, I will tempt you,”
said she: ‘ here is a half-crown towards it; I
make it a free gift to you.” So saying, she
held out the money.

I was puzzled to think what could have
made her, all at once, so generous; for she had
never before offered me so much asa penny. I
looked at the half-crown for a minute, as she
held it towards me, and then at the hat, and, at
last, I said, «I thank you, Madam, for your
very kind offer; but if I am to spend the money
upon a hat, and to add another half-crown of
my own to it, I will beg leave not to take it.”

She looked angry, and, putting the money
immediately into her pocket, turned round upon —
her heel, and said some few words which I
could not hear.

‘“‘I am afraid,” I said, “ that you will think
me very ungrateful for not accepting your offer;
but I am sure that I am much obliged to you;
and, if you please, I will tell you my reasons
for so doing.”

“‘ Well,” said she, ‘‘and what may those
reasons be?”

‘In the first place,” I said, “I was taught
by my dear Mrs. Neale, that it becomes not a
Christian woman to be fond of vain ornaments.
64 THE HISTORY OF

1 could shew you many places in the Bible,
where we are exhorted not to love the world,
nor the things that are in the world. It be-
comes every one of us to dress decently, and
with the utmost cleanliness; but surely, what-
ever the rich may think it right to do, it be-
comes not a poor servant to spend her little
pittance on needless finery.”

“Certainly not,” said my mistress; ‘1 would
not have you spend all you have on a hat.
But if you were a little better dressed, Susan,
perhaps some young tradesman or farmer might
be taken with you, (for you are a good-looking
girl,) and might choose you for his wife. And
do you think, child, that if you could get a
good husband, by spending a few extraordinary
shillings, that the money would be thrown
away?” And then the wicked woman laughed ;
for indeed I must call her a wicked woman.

“If God sees fit,” I answered, “that I should
marry, in his due time he will provide me with
a worthy husband. But this is, at present, no
concern of mine; I trust in God, and leave him
to do what he pleases with me.”

“You always have a mighty deal to say for
yourself, Susan,” said my mistress: ‘ but come
now, think better of it; here, I offer you the
half-crown again. Have you a mind to take it
towards buying the hat?”

“If you will give it to me towards a pair of
shoes, or a coloured apron, I will thank you,”
I said; and held out my hand to receive it.

‘© No, no,” said my mistress, ‘ that will not
do; you shall have it, if you please, for the bat,
SUSAN GRAY. G5

but for nothing else: for I want to see you with
something smarter on your head than that old-
fashioned straw hat.”

* Ah! why,” said I, ‘ should you tempt
me to these vanities? If, for God’s sake, you
do not forbear trying to draw me aside, yet,
for your own, you should rejoice that I am not
fond of the fine things of this world, rather
than endeavour to fill my mind with the love
of them.

‘Now, suppose, my dear mistress,” added I,
coming nearer to her, and smiling, to shew that
all I said was in the greatest good humour, “I
were all at once to become vain, and to prefer
fine clothes, and to be admired by men, rather
than to be loved by God; immediately, for the
sake of getting these things which were become
so dear to me, I should pilfer you in a thou-
sand little ways; nothing that you have in the
house would be safe; but I should be changing
your bread for a ribbon, your cheese for a bit
of lace, a candle for a fine pin, a piece of soap
for a pair of buckles, and so on; and then, as
it would be no use to shew my fine clothes to
the owls and the bats, the horses and the cows,
whenever you were safe out of the way, instead
of doing your work well, { should hurry it over
in a slovenly manner, and fly off to town, to
shew myself at the fairs and markets. So I
will not, if you please, buy the hat; lest,
when I have got one fine thing, I should wish
for another to wear with it, and so never be
content.”

My mistress made no answer, for at that mo-

F 3
66 THE HISTORY OF

ment Charlotte Owen made her appearance:
and they sat down together to breakfast.

After breakfast, they both left the cottage,
my mistress having given me a task to do, and
told me she should not return till night.

I was alone all that day, and busy at work,
till, just as it was getting dusk, and the moon
began to shew her face above the tops of the
hills, I took a walk in the garden, to enjoy the
fresh air. It was a most pleasant evening, and
the violets and other flowers of spring filled the
breezes with their most sweet smell. A night-
ingale was sitting among the branches of the
trees at the top of the hill, and her voice sound-
ed very melodiously in the cottage-garden.

As I walked up and down, I thought of the
mapy snares and dangers to which those young
persons are exposed, who have not the happi-
ness to have good parents. I had not one friend
in the world; I was daily tempted to evil by
those who surrounded me; those whose duty it
was to guard and protect me, seemed to take a
pleasure in exposing me to danger. I feared
most, also, from my own corrupt nature; for
although I tried to fight against them, yet evil
thoughts were rising, continually, in my mind:
sometimes I felt weary of living, shut up in the
cottage, without having any one to speak to,
except bad persons, who constantly made a
mockery of me; and sometimes I could scarce-
ly help fretting and repining, and thinking
that I was dealt hardly by.

I prayed to God to forgive me if ever I had
murmured, or forgot to trust in his mercy. I
SUSAN GRAY. 67

prayed him to enable me to resist the evil
suggestions of my corrupt heart, and, above all
things, never to leave me nor forsake me; for I
felt that, though utterly helpless in myself, in
him I was strong.

“Ah! what does it signify,” I said, as I look-
ed up to the skies, all bright and sparkling with
thousands and thousands of stars, “‘ whether I
am happy or miserable, for the few short years
which 1 am to spend in this world? Iam now
voung, it is true; but when I am thrice my
present age, I shall be an old woman, and must
soon expect to lay me down in the grave.

“OQ, my dear father and mother! and my
beloved Mrs. Neale! you are now happy in
heaven, in the presence of your God and Sa-
viour; you are no longer poor weak human
creatures, but immortal and glorious spirits; all
tears are wiped from your eyes; you have rest-
ed from labour and sorrow for ever.”

While these thoughts were passing in my
mind, I sat me down before the cottage-door,
and sung a hymn, which had been taught me
by Mrs. Neale.

I had scarcely done singing, when I saw a
gentleman open the garden-gate, and come to-
wards me.

It was nearly dusk, but when he came near
to me, I knew him to be the Captain. With-
out waiting to think what I ought to do, I
started up from my seat, and, running into the
house, was going to pull the door after me, and
to fasten it; but the gentleman was too quick
for me: before I could draw the bolt, he push-
68 THE HISTORY OF

ed open the door and walked in. It was almost
dark in the house; there was no other light ex-
cept from a few embers which glowed upon
the hearth.

‘* My dear Susan,” said the Captain, coming
up to me, “ why did you run away? why are
you so frightened?”

‘Pray, Sir, pardon me,” I said, making a
low courtesy.

“Is your mistress at home? I wished to
see her,” said the Captain.

“No, Sir,” I said, “she is not. But if you
please she shall call upon you to-morrow morn-
ing at any hour you may fix.”

““No,” he answered; ‘ what I have to say
to her is of little consequence.”

Then he added, looking very hard in my
face, ‘‘ You have a very sweet voice, Susan.
Do you always, when alone, sing hymns? Do
you never sing any other than holy songs?”

“No, Sir,” I answered, “I know no other.”

**By whom were you brought up? Where
do your parents live?” he enquired.

1 told him, that I had no father nor mother.

He asked me many questions about the way
in which I had been brought up; and when I
had answered them, “Sir,” I said, “ will you
pardon a poor servant, but, as it is very late,
might I ask you, if you have any message
which I could deliver to my mistress?”

‘What, my little Susan,” he said, “ you
wish me to leave you; you, perhaps, think that
your mistress would be displeased, if she found
me here,”
SUSAN GRAY. 69

“Why, perhaps, Sir,” I answered, looking
down upon the ground, for I was afraid of look-
ing so fine a gentleman in the face, “ she might
not be pleased, if she should happen to return
while you were in the cottage.”

‘Does she often go out, Susan?” asked he.

* Yes, Sir, very often,” I answered.

‘Will you, then, let me come and see you
some day, when you are sure that she will not
return?” said he.

I believe I looked very angry; for I felt very
angry, and I said, “Sir, you mistake me very
greatly, if you suppose that I refuse to do what
is wrong lest I should offend my mistress: no,
indeed, 1 do not fear her displeasure only, but
I fear the anger of God.”

The captain was silent for some minutes; at
last, he said, ‘Susan, I beg your pardon; I
was deceived in you; I believed you to be very
different to what I find you.”

He then said some very fine and flattering
things in compliment to my virtue and my
modesty; saying, how much virtue made young
women appear amiable.

I am sorry to say that I listened to these
things with so much pleasure, that I forgot, for
some time, to ask him again to deliver his mes-
sage: at last, when I reminded him that it was
late, and that it did not become me, in my
humble state, to enter into discourse with a
gentleman: ‘My pretty Susan,” he said, “al-
though you are in the low state of a servant, yet
there are many ladies who might be proud to
be like you; nor is there any lady whom I have
70 THE HISTORY OF

seen in all my travels, that I should prefer to
you fora wife. Had I not a very severe father,
who would refuse to give me one shilling, if I
were to marry without his leave, I would marry
you, Susan, to-morrow, and think myself the
happiest man in the world.”

“O! Sir,” I said, “how can you talk so to
a poor servant; surely, it does not become you
to degrade yourself, to deceive such an ignorant
girl as myself.”

**T am not deceiving you,” he said; and was,
perhaps, going on to say many more fine things,
when I, recollecting myself, said, “Sir, I have
listened to you too long; you must go this
moment. It is neither fit for you ay a gentle-
man, nor for me as a servant, to talk any more
on these subjects. I pray you, Sir, go, and
do not think of returning again to this place,
for my conscience tells me, that 1 have already
done very wrong in entering into discourse
with you.”

Seeing that I was so positive, he took his
leave; but before he had passed through the
wicket, he turned back again, and begged my
pardon, if he had said or done any thing which
could offend me. ‘You take me for a bad
man, Susan, I fear,” he said, “ but I am not
one; and, in future, you may trust that I will
always behave to you, as I ought to behave to
so virtuous and discreet a young woman.”

He had scarcely gone out into the meadows,
when my mistress came in.

‘Did you meet any body in the path-way ?”
said J to her.
x

SUSAN GRAY, 71

** No,” said she; ‘who has been with you?
has Charlotte been here this evening?”

1 immediately told her who had paid me a
visit; and repeated all that the gentleman had
said. Scarcely had I done speaking, when she,
clapping me on the back, cried out, “I wish
you joy, my Susan; play your cards weil, and
you are sure of being the Captain’s lady.”

“Indeed,” said J, ‘‘I have no such vain
thoughts. I am not fit to be a gentleman's
wife, I know very well; aid Iam resolved that

~ . | will see him no more: with your leave, Ma-

dam, I will never go to his lodgings more.”

‘*Not see him more!” said my mistress,
“why, you little fool, should you dislike to be
agentlewoman? Had you rather slave all your
life, and be a poor servant, than live at your
ease, and be honoured and respected?”

‘‘Why should I think,” said I, ‘that the
Captain would marry me? Did he not tell me,
but now, that it was not in his power?”

**O! but if you would try to please him,”
said my naughty mistress, “he would, perhaps,
become so fond of you, that he would marry
you in spite of his cross old father.”

‘‘ And can you advise me to tempt a son
to disobey his father?” said I, lifting up my
eyes and hands. ‘‘ No, no,” I said, “1 will
neither tempt him to evil, nor shall he tempt
me; I will never, if I can help it, see him
more.”

My mistress said no more on that subject
that night, but the next evening, she ordered

3
me to take some more of the linen which was
72 THE HISTORY OF

just washed and finished, to the Captain’s lodg-
ings, and to ask for the money.

When I heard this command, I stvod for
some moments silent; at last, I said, “ Pray
pardon me, my good mistress, but I must, for
once, refuse to obey you.”

‘At your peril,” said she; “go this moment, or
(and she said a very bad word) I turn you out of
doors: go, and bring the money back with you.”

‘“‘ To-morrow,” I answered, endeavouring to
speak gently, “you will go to town early, and,
as the Captain is not in a very great hurry for
the linen, it would then be time enough for you
to take it, and ask for the money.”

She called me some very bad names, and,
raising her hand, said, ‘‘ Am I to fetch and
carry at your command? Go you shall, or to
bridewell you shall be sent.”

I trembled so that I was obliged to sit
down, for I was unable to stand; but I made
no answer,

“ Are you obstinate? do you refuse to obey
me still?” asked she, stooping down, and put-
ting her face, flaming almost with rage, close
to mine; “ will you go, girl?”

I still was silent.

«You shall go; by heaven you shall go,”
said she, dragging me up by the arm, and
offering me the basket.

I refused to take the basket in my hand.
She struck me on the cheek, at the same time
using a most shocking oath.

I raised my hands and eyes to heaven, and
said, “God have mercy on me.”
SUSAN GRAY. 73

‘sWhat means that mockery of religion ?”
said she: ‘if your Bible does not teach you
to be obedient to your mistress, you had best
not look into it.”

“My Bible,” I said, “ first teaches me to
serve my heavenly Master, and then my earthly
one.”

“© One would think,” said she, becoming a
little more gentle, ‘“« that I had asked you to do
some very wicked thing: who would suppose
that all this grimace is because I ask you to
carry a basket a couple of miles?”

“<I would carry it fifty miles,” said 1, “ an-
other way to please you; but, indeed, if I go
to the Captain’s house, and ask to see him, I
may expect any treatment that he pleases to
offer me.”

‘* But,” said she, ‘I want the money early
to-morrow, before I go to town. Farmer Jones
will, perhaps, call for my rent, and I want
about nine or ten shillings to make up the sum.
You have about as much as that left, I think ;
if you will lend it to me for a few days, I will
excuse your going to the Captain’s, and will
pardon, for once, your ill conduct.”

I immediately gladly fetched the money, not
doubting but that I should be paid again, as I
had more than once before lent her a few
shillings, which I had received duly again; and
she had every where the character of being an
honest woman in point of money matters.

But although I had lent my mistress all the
litle money that I had left, yet she did not
even that day treat me kindly; and, from that

G
GA THE HISTORY OF

time, for several days, she was so harsh an
severe with me, that my life was quite a burden
to me. I never received one kind word from
her; and it really seemed, from her way of using
me, that she wished me to run away from her.

The only comfortable time which | passed,
was when she was from home: then, indeed,
did I truly enjoy the peace and quiet of the
house; then I could think of holy things; and,
although I was quite alone, and had not one
fellow-creature to speak to, yet my heavenly
Father supported me. But, lest the Captain
should come again to the cottage, I never walk-
ed out before the door, nor sat at the window;
but I generally took my work into my own
little room, where no one could see me through
the window: for, having no friend, and uo one
to take care of me, it behoved me, I thought,
to be. more nice and careful in my behaviour,
than if I had had a kind father and mother, or
watchful mistress.

Once or twice, while I was sitting at my
work in my little room, which was in the back
of the house, | thought that I heard the step of
some one in the garden; and once, indeed, 1]
was sure that I heard a rap at the kitchen-
window ; but I thought it best to keep close,
and mind my work, and to let no one in but
my mistress,

One evening, I believe it was about a fort-
mght after the time that I had the dispute about
carrying the Captain's linen to his lodgings, my
mistress, who had been at work in town all day, -
sent a little girl to me, about six in the evening,
SUSAN GRAY. 15

to tell me that she should be at home about
nine, and that she should bring with her a
friend, who was to sup and sleep with her that
night; and she sent me her orders to make the
house very neat, and to get the best of what
there was for supper.

Accordingly, as soon as the child had left
me, I set every thing in order; and, having
made myself neat, 1 sat down, about nine
o'clock, beside a bright fire which I had made;
and, while I waited for my mistress and her
friend, I took the opportunity of reading a few
chapters in my dear Mrs. Neale’s Bible.

It was very near ten, and my mistress was
not come; but I was so engaged with my Bible,
that I did not think how the time went.

The part of the Holy Scriptures which I was
reading, was the account of the cruel way in
which the wicked Jews treated the Lord of
glory: how they mocked him and buffetted him;
how they reviled and persecuted him; pierced
his innocent hands with the nails, leaving him
to die a slow and very painful death upon the
cross. When I had finished this sad story, I
shut up the holy book, and sat thinking upon
the great love of God for us poor creatures,
who, when we had enslaved ourselves to the
devil, by our sins, sent his only Son to redeem
us, by his precious blood, from everlasting
misery and torment; and how very humbly did
the glorious Lord Jesus Christ take upon him-
self the shape and form of a poor mortal! how
many hardships and trials did he endure! as
the holy prophet and apostle have said of him,
76 THE HISTORY OF

He hath no form nor comeliness, and when we
shall see him, there is no beauty that we should
desire him. He is despised and rejected of
men; aman of sorrows, and acquainted with
grief: and we hid as it were our faces from
him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
(Isaiah lili. 2, 3.) He made himself of no re-
putation, and took upon him the form of a ser-
vant, and was made in the likeness of men: and
being found in fashion as a man, he humbled
himself, and became obedient. (Phil. ii. 7, 8.)
All this he did for us. Yet, for his blessed
sake, seldom do we give up any pleasure, or
deny ourselves the smallest enjoyment. Al-
though he humbled himself to the cross for
us, yet we, who are but dust, exalt ourselves,
striving who shall be first, and who shall be
greatest.

Then I could not but think how great the
mercy of God was, in bearing so long with us
sinful and obstinate beings; and I prayed that
{ might not be numbered among the wicked,
but that God would send his Holy Spirit to
strengthen me, and to enable me to resist temp-
tation; that, in the last day, I might be found
fit to inherit eternal happiness, through the
mercy of my blessed Saviour.

Just as I had finished this prayer, I heard a
knock at the door: I immediately hastened to
open it, thinking, foolishly enough, that it could
be no other than my mistress. But how sur-
prised I was, when, instead of Mrs. Bennet, in
came the Captain. Yet, I did not feel so much
frightened as might be supposed, for the Lord
SUSAN GRAY. 77

God had heard my prayer, and, at that mo.
ment, gave me greater courage and greater
power to resist temptation, than 1 should have
had, had I trusted in my own strength.

As the Captain walked up to me, I stepped
back, and said, “ Sir, if your business is with
my mistress, she is not at home.”

«My business is not with her, Susan,” he
said, “ but with you;” and then he said some
very fine things in my praise.

But I looked very gravely indeed at him, and
answered, ‘You can have nothing to say to
me, Sir, and I must beg you to go away, and
leave me this moment.”

“You are very cruel, Susan,” said he; ‘you
treat me as if yon hated me.” And then he
went on to tell me how much he loved me, and
many other false things.

“Sir,” said I, “if you loved me, as you say
you do, or, indeed, if you had that regard for
me, which every one ought to have for a fellow-
creature, you would not give me the pain and
trouble which your visits cause me. I am a
poor girl, without a friend; next to the favour
of God, my good name is most dear and most
valuable to me. If you were to be seen here
at this late hour, or, indeed, at any hour, my
character would be gone, and 1 should then
lose all that 1 depend upon for an honest
livelihood.”

“ Must I never see you, Susan?” said he:
“if I thought that I was to be parted from you
for ever, I should never be happy again.”

‘* As to that, Sir,” said I, “I do not pretend

G3
78 TUE HISTORY OF

to say it is not true; for a gentleman would
surely be above saying what he knew to be
false at the time: but the question is not what
we think will make us happy, but what God
Almighty would approve. Be assured, Sir,
that, whatever you may now suppose, the only
way to be happy is to be good. For God is
the source of all happiness; from him comes
all pleasure: and we must know, that he will
not bestow them on people who do not think
it worth their while to obtain his favour.”

He looked at me very hard when I spoke;
but did not attempt to move.

“I beg and pray you, Sir,” gaid I, “to go
away. What will become of me, if my mis-
tress should find you here?”

** Your mistress will not come yet, I am
sure,” he answered: ‘and I have much to say
to you. Indeed, Susan, you must hear me,
or I will leave the country, and never more
visit it.”

“It would be better for us both, if you
would,” I said.

He answered, that I was very cruel and
hard-hearted.

But I will not repeat all the things he said:
foolish discourse cannot be too soon forgotten.
It was a very long while before 1 could per-
suade him to depart; nor would he go till I
was so much frightened, that I began to shed
tears, and till he had heard me, more than
once, pray to God, in a very solemn manner,
to protect me.

He then said to me, “ Susan. [ will leave |
SUSAN GRAY. 79

you; but, whatever you may say, I never can
_be happy again. In a few days, [ will go out
of the country, and return to it no more. Jam
not so bad a man as you think me to be: I love
you dearly, Susan, not because you are hand-
some, but because you are innocent and mo-
dest, and love your God. I would marry you—
but I fear my father; although you are so
charming, yet he would never forgive me for
taking a wife from so low a condition.”

He spoke all this in so earnest a manner,
that I almost believed he did not mean to de-
ceive me. But I still persisted that he should
go away. He begged very hard that I would
see him once more before he left Ludlow, but
I said, I could not allow it. ‘So great a gen-
tleman as you are, ought to have nothing to
say to one in my condition.”

“© Will you sometimes think of me, Susan,”
said he, as he went towards the door, ‘* when
1 am far away in the wars and in distant
lands?”

‘* Sir,” I replied, “I ought not to think of
you, but sometimes I will pray to God to bless

ou.”

ee O! Susan,” said he, “ how greatly was I
deceived in you! I did not expect to find so
virtuous a young woman in your situation. I
have known so many of light character.” Then
returning again from the door, he said, ‘1 can-
not leave you yet, unless you will promise to
see me once again.”

I then, being more and more frightened,
threw myself on my knees before him, and
80 THE HISTORY OF

prayed him, for the sake of God, to depart.
He seemed to be touched by my grief: he beg-
ged my pardon for having caused me so much
trouble, and, at length, left the house.

As soon as he was gone, I locked the door
and bolted it, and then, throwing myself on my
knees, with my face on a chair, I thanked God
for having delivered me from this evil, and en-
abled me to endure this temptation; for I felt
that it was not in my own strength that I had
sustained it. ”

At last, being come to myself, I wiped away
my tears, and stirred the fire, thinking that my
mistress would be coming every minute; but
when I Inoked at the clock, and found that it
was nearly twelve, I thought that something
unexpected must have happened, to keep her
in town all night. I would not, however, go to
bed; indeed, all alone as I was, I should have
been afraid. I, therefore, sat down in my mis-
tress’s arm-chair, and, throwing my apron over
my head, I tried to sleep. But, at first, I
trembled so, that I could take no rest: I could
not help thinking of the Captain; and, although
he had been very wicked in coming to the cot-
tage, yet I thought that he had done better
than some persons would have done, in leaving
it at my desire.

I recollected that he had said he was soon
going to the wars, and felt sorry to think, that
he should be in danger of being killed: then I
thought, that, if I were a rich lady, and he
loved me, { would marry him, and try to make
him good; which was a foolish theught, and
SUSAN GRAY. 81

proves, that, had my God left me to myself, I
should have been undone.

It was past two o’clock when I fell asleep,
and I slept till six o’clock, waking only now
and then, as if something had frightened me.

The striking of the clock then waked me;
the fire was almost out, and there was no light
but what came through the crevices of the door
and window-shutter. At first, I could hardly
tell where I was, or why, instead of my bed, 1
was sleeping in a chair; but, when I recollect-
ed what had happened the past night, and how
the Lord God had delivered me from a very
great evil, I fell down upon my knees and
thanked him for his goodness.

I then opened the window-shutters and the
door. It wasa fine bright morning: the grass
in the field, and the flowers in the garden, were
all wet and shining with dew; the little birds
were singing in the woods, and the cock was
strutting about before the door, crowing most
cheerfully. But, although every thing looked
so gay and bright about me, I felt so sad that
I could not help crying. I never thought my-
self so desolate and friendless before; and this
shocking idea came into my head, that my
mistress had staid out on purpose the night
before, to give the Captain time and opportu-
nity to come to the cottage. Could I but be
sure of this, I thought to myself, be the conse-
quence what it might, 1 would leave ber, and
endure any hardship, rather than live with so
bad a woman.

I had just got some sticks to make up the
82 THE HISTORY OF

fire, and had put the kettle on for my mistress’s
breakfast, when I saw her coming up the path-
way through the meadows.

You may be sure that I did not go to meet
her, or seem as if I was glad to see her.

**Good morning, Susan,” said she, as she
came into the house.

I was busied in taking the tea-cups and sau-
cers from the shelf, and wiping them, I did
not turn towards her when she spoke, and
scarcely, I believe, made her any answer: for,
as you may suppose, suspecting what | did of
her, it was hard for me to be commonly civil
to her.

She placed a bundle of linen, which she had
brought with her, upon the dresser, and said,
in a very brisk tone, ‘ Well, Susan, how are
you disposed for work this morning? These
things must be done to-day.”

I still scarcely made any answer, for I could
hardly speak. The tears came into my eyes,
and ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away
with my apron, not wishing my mistress to see
them. But, however, she had observed them,
and thinking, perhaps, wicked woman as she
was, by my tears and silence, that I had, at
Jast, fallen into the snares which she had laid
for me, she came up close to me, with an
exulting and malicious smile upon her face,
such, methinks, as the wicked angel might
have had, when he had tempted our first mo-
ther to disobey the commands of God; and,
laying her hand upon my arm, bending for-
ward, at the same time, to look in my face, .
SUSAN GRAY. 83

“Why, how now, Susan?” said she, “ wast
frightened, child, at being left alone last night?
Could you not rest well by yourself?” And
then she laughed aloud.

I turned to her with a look which made her
start, and, shaking her hand from my-arm,
‘© Wicked, abandoned woman,” I said, ‘‘ can
you think that I do not see through your arts?
God will one day avenge my cause; that great
God who has hitherto protected me, an help-
less orphan, from all danger, will not long suf-
fer such crimes as those, of which you have
been guilty, to remain unpunished.”

She was silent.

“©O Lord God! I thank thee,” I said, rais-
ing up my hands to heaven, ‘for having, at
length, opened my eyes, and shewn me the
dangers of my situation: henceforward, O my
Father, 1 will trust only in thee, and confide
no longer in wicked people, who can plan my
destruction, and would rejoice in my downfal.”

‘‘ And pray, Susan,” said my mistress, ‘‘ who
are these wicked people, of whom you speak?”

“Those,” I said, ** who could leave me last
night.”

She affected to be surprised, and said, “ Bless
me! is all this uproar about my being kept
out last night? Why, Susan, must I send to
ask you leave, if, by chance, I am kept from
-home a night?”

’ By what means did the Captain know,”
said I, “that you were from home?”
- “The Captain!” said she; “ what of him?”

“Do you not know,” said I, “ that he came
84 THE HISTORY OF

here late last night? And I am well persuad-
ed, knew that you were not at home.”

‘Heaven is my witness,” said the wicked
wonan, * that this is the first I have heard of
his being here.”

Then she affected to be mightily angry with
him: she called him many harsh names, and
said, that, although she had not been brought
up so precisely and stiffly as I had, yet, that
she was as much above doing a bad action as
I could be; and pretended to be greatly offend-
ed at my suspecting her. And, at last, she said
so much, and brought so many arguments to
prove that she knew nothing of the Captain’s
coming, that I began to think I had suspected
her falsely, and begged her pardon for having
said any thing about it.

* Susan,” said she, ‘I forgive you, in consi-
deration of your being, upon the whole, a very
honest and good girl. But, indeed, you have
used me very ill, in thinking I could commit a.
crime for which I should deserve to lose my
life.”

During the rest of the day, my mistress was
kinder to me than she had been for some time.
In the evening, while we were at work, Char-
lotte came in.

I had not seen her since she had taken such
offence against what I said about receiving the
Captain’s money. As soon as she came in at
the door, fixing her eyes upon me, ‘So, so, a
fine lady, in truth, are you, Susan,” said she,
“taking upon you to preach and argue with |
your neighbours, blaming one for this, and con-
SUSAN GRAY. 85

demning another for that, looking so demure
and so precise, and I know not what! But
now all is come out; we all now know you very
well, You may as well lay aside your dis-
guises, and look like what you are.”

My mistress looked surprised ; and I was
so astonished that I could scarcely speak. At
last, however, hearing her go on at that rate, I
said, “ Indeed, Charlotte, I do not under-
stand you: what have I done?”

“‘ What have you done!” said she, in a taunt-
ing way; ‘ how innocent you look! And so
you pretend not to know what you have done!
But this I will tell you, Miss, your character
is abroad, it is the town’s talk: some whom
you have deceived with your fine grimaces and
preachments, wonder at you; but others say,
that they never thought the better of you for
them.”

My mistress began to laugh, and, tapping
Charlotte on the shoulder, said, “* Why, what
now, my girl? Methinks you seem somewhat
warm,”

“Warm!” repeated she, turning to Mrs.
Bennet; “I warm! What should make me
so? If Susan chooses to behave like a fool, it
is no business of mine; only I think that those
who can do as she has done, have no right to
be lecturing other people.”

On hearing this, I smiled, for I could not
guess what she was talking of.

“You may laugh, if you please, Miss,’ said
she; ‘but, when you come to be out of place,
you will find it no laughing matter.” Then she

H
86 THE HISTORY OF

called me by some very bad name, and said,
that no decent person would take in such a
wretch as 1 had proved myself to be.

I began to be frightened, and said, “ Pray,
pray, Charlotte, tell me what I have done.”

**Done!” said she, “ have you not received
the Captain here, in this very house, many an
evening? Do you think people have no ears to
hear what is said, or eyes to see what is done?
Why, the Widow Bell, who lives at the end of
the lane, has seen him, many an evening, come
over the stile into the meadows; ay, and has
watched him to this very house, and seen him
tap at the window. And, last night, Susan,
where was he? Ah!” satd she, tauntingly,
‘“now I have you——What have you now to say,
Miss Susan? Have you no Scripture text to
quote? There, now cry, and sigh, and look
pitiable, you little hypocrite, now that all your
sly ways are out.”

Indeed, I could not help crying; for I was
thunderstruck when I heard all these things,
and thought how very difficult it might, per-
haps, be to clear up my character.

«What have you now to say?” cried Char-
lotte.

I looked at Mrs. Bennet, and said, “ You
can clear my character; you know that I am
innocent: speak for me, my dear mistress.”

“T speak for you!” said the wicked woman,
who, it seems, was bent upon ruining me, soul
and body; ‘I am sure, child, I don’t know
what to say. Charlotte, I dare say it is not
true: Susan is a goed girl. Iam sure J never
SUSAN GRAY. 87

saw any thing wrong in her when I was at
home; then, you know, I am out a good deal,
and I cannot, to be sure, every body must know,
say what she might do when I am out late at
night; nay, all night, as I was last night.”

I got up from my chair, Heaven forgive me,
quite in a fit of anger, and said to my mistress,
““O! you wicked woman, is this the way in
which you defend the character of a poor
friendless orphan? O my heavenly Father!”
I cried, throwing myself on my knees, ‘ pro-
tect me, I beseech thee, protect me, for thou
art my only friend.”

Charlotte looked at me as I knelt; and when
I arose, she burst into a loud fit of laughter,
and used some very rude and brutal language.
My mistress seemed half afraid of joining with
her; nay, she even begged her to spare me.
But although her words condemned her, yet her
eyes looked as if she rejoiced in seeing me
thus disgracefully treated.

I had been long used to ill language; but,
indeed, I now felt my heart very, very sad. J
placed myself in a chair, at some distance from
the cruel Charlotte, and, throwing my apron
over my face, sobbed most bitterly.

“You may well cry,” said she, ‘ you may
well grieve and take it to heart, for you have
lost every friend.” Then she told me what all
her neighbours in Ludlow, what all Mrs. Neale’s
and my aunt's old acquaintance had said of
me; for, alas! it was but too true, that the
Captain had very often come to the cottage,
when I did not know of it; and that, as might
88 THE HISTORY )F

be well supposed, his many visits, particularly
his having come to me the last night, when my
mistress was known to be in town, had made
even my best friends think very ill of me.

This the cruel girl took care to point out to
me; and then, thinking to make my grief still
deeper, she said, ‘“ Do not think, Susan, that
the Captain, for whom you have lost your good
name, has any love for you—-No, no, truly,
don’t trust to that. ’Tis likely enough that he
should be steady to a poor ’prentice girl, when
he never, for a week together, is true to the
finest lady in the land. Let me tell you, Susan,
that there are many of your betters, even in
Ludlow, that he has deceived.”

“I am sorry for that, Charlotte,” said I,
plucking up a little courage: ‘but he has
never deceived me.”

I was sorry I said this afterwards; for it
made her ten times more violent. She called
me a thousand ill names; and I found, from
what she said in her passion, that her anger
against me was from this cause; that, since the
naughty gentleman had become acquainted
with me, he had taken Jess notice of her than
he had done before.

When I found that this was the case, I wip-
ed away my tears, and, getting up and coming
towards her, “‘ My dear Charlotte,” said I, “if
we have either of us ever talked of the Captain,
or been led by him to do any thing wrong,
which, however, I hope is not the case, let us
repent and be sorry for our faults, and let us
think of him no more, but turn our hearts to
SUSAN GRAY. &9

some better thing. Do not let us add to our
faults by reproaching each other, and blazing
each other's follies abroad in the world.”

“0 you little artful hussey,” said she,
‘© what, would you have it thought that [ama
partner in your faults? 1 think of the Cap-
tain! I hate the Captain. I would rather
marry a blind beggar out of the street than
such a gentleman. But, thank Heaven, he is
going out of the country; he has given warning
to leave his lodgings. He is going abroad to
the wars, and may the first shot that is fired
bring death to him!”

While she spoke these wicked words, my
mistress looked towards me with so keen a
look, that I could have thought she was search-
ing into my very heart. But I must not enter
into too many particulars, (added Susan Gray.)
The hours of my life draw fast to their close;
1 may have but a few days only in which to
finish my sad story.

And so, that 1 may not run too much into
length, 1 will say, in a few words, that the next
day, when I went to do some errands in Lud-
low, I found, alas! that I was not regarded in
the light I had formerly been. Some of the
young men of the town laughed and looked
after me as I passed, as if they thought lightly
of me. Mrs. Fell, the grocer’s wife, told me
plainly, that, say what I would, she could not
but believe that I had been very inconsiderate ;
and Mrs. Hand, the mantua-maker, who had
promised to get me a place, told me, that she
could not now answer for my character, al

H 3
90 THE HISTORY OF

though I might, perhaps, be belied. And, on
this occasion, (said Susan,) 1 cannot help re-
marking how very careful people should be
how they credit tales that go abroad; for many
a poor girl has, I fear, been made desperate by
worthy people denying her their notice and
countenance upon a slight suspicion.

The next day was Sunday, a day abounding
in mercies to me. I arose with a mind full of
discontented thoughts and worldly grief. The
pleasures of the world appeared in a tempting
and inviting form to me. I was then in bloom-
ing health, and imagined that I had a long life
before me. I thought that the duties required
of me were too hard for me. My mind was
darkened, and I could not look through the
veil of flesh to the happiness of a future world.
My eye could not see, nor my ear hear, neither
could my carnal heart conceive the things
which God hath prepared for them that love
him. But O! how greatly is my God to be
praised, who, in this season of difficulty and
distress, still watched over me, and preserved
me from being led away by the error of my
ways! How wonderfully, from time to time,
did he support me with strength, leading me
through perils and difficulties, on which I can-
not look back without crying out, O! how
has thy strength been made perfect in weak-
ness! (2 Cor. xii. 9.)

This day, my mistress going to town, I went
to the village church alone. My way lay
through the coppice, and, as [ was rather too
soon, I walked slowly on, meditating, as I went,
RUSAN GRAY. or

upon my unhappy situation; for I was, as I
before said, in a very discontented state, and I
allowed myself to wish, and that earnestly,
that I were in a situation of life to be the Cap-
tain’s wife. I thought, and thought, till I be-
gan to weep bitterly; and was almost ready to
cry out, in the agony of my mind, “ How hard
has been my lot in this life! how many hard-
ships have I been put to! what cruel trials!
how friendless, how forlorn am I!”

Such, I am ashamed to say, were the
thoughts which were passing in my mind as
I entered the village church; and, alas! my
heart was not drawn from them till I heard
the voices of the little children, who were
clothed by the ’Squire’s lady, singing a part
of the ninetieth Psalm. These verses 1 had
always loved; and, if you will give me .eave,
I will repeat them to you: and, surely, they
contained a fine lesson to me, and to all other
young people; for though I was then in as
good health as I had ever been in my life, yet,
since that time, I have never been able to
serve my God in his holy house, and never
now shall enter a church till I am carried
thither in my coffin.

“ Thou turnest man, O Lord, to dust,
Of which he first was made ;

And when thou speak’st the word, Return,
"Tis instantly obeyed.

Thou sweep’st us off, as with a flood,
We vanish hence like dreams:

At first we grow like grass, that feels
‘The sun's reviving beams,
92 THE HISTORY OP

But howsoever fresh and fair
Its morning beauty shows,

’Tis all cut down, and wither'd quite,
Before the evening close,

So teach us, Lord, the uncertain sum
Of our short days to mind,

That to true wisdom all our hearts
May ever be inclin’d.”

As I listened to these words, my heart smote
me with a sense of my wickedness and ingrati-
tude, in indulging such sinful thoughts as had
been employing my mind all the morning, and
I felt tears of shame and repentance trickle
down my cheeks: and suddeniy, with a power I
could not resist, came to my remembrance, the
many, many happy hours when, in that verv
church, and in my little room at my mistress’s,
I had enjoyed solitary, sweet communion with
my God, and tasted such pleasures as those
who are altogether of this world cannot con-
ceive; also, the tender care of God over me
from my infancy, and how, until that moment,
1 had been preserved from grievous outward
sin, was brought strongly before my mind. I
felt myself drawn towards my God with such
cords of love as f could not resist; the allure-
ments of sin and the world seemed to lose their
power, and, when we knelt down, I earnestly
prayed to be forgiven for the discontented
words I had been about to utter. I solemnly
renewed my covenant with God, beseeching
him to take me wholly and entirely under his
protection for the remainder of my life.

After this prayer, the rest of the day I felt
SUSAN GRAY. 93

such peace of mind as I cannot describe; and,
as I returned from church, through the coppice,
the sweet-smelling and beautiful flowers, the
shady trees, the mossy banks, the voice of the
cuckoo, and the hum of the bee, seemed, as it
were, so many tokens of my heavenly Father's
love, who, if he thus adorn this lower world
for sinful creatures, shall he not much more
beautify the habitations of glory?

In the evening, my mistress asked me if I
would go with her to drink tea with a friend
in town, and see some of the preparations for
the fair, which was to be the next day.

** Alas!” said I, “‘ what have I to do with
visits and fairs? I, who am now in sucha sad
disgrace among my friends?”

‘Well but,” said she, “if you stay at
home, people will say the Captain will be with
you.”

‘“‘T cannot help that,” said I; ‘1 shall shut
the door and bar the windows when you are
gone, and will remain in my own little room,
nor will I see any one who comes.”

She said a great deal, trying to persuade me
to go with her; but I was steady, and although
it made her very angry, yet I would not be
tempted to go to town, where, I thought, I
might see the Captain.

As my mistress went out of the door, “Su-
san,” said she, ‘if you do not see me by eight
o'clock, I shall not be back to-night.”

As soon as she was gone, I shut myself up
in my own little room, and, sitting at the foo
of my bed, continued. till the dusk of evening,
O4 THE HISTORY OF

reading my Bible. At last, it getting dark, I
shut my book, and thought over what I had
been reading, of the great happiness which
God has promised to those who, for his sake,
give up the pleasures of the world. I remem-
bered stories which my dear Mrs. Neale had
told me of holy men and women, who, for the
sake of their God, and for the love which they
bore the Saviour who died for them, gave up
their lives, some being burnt to death by fire,
and others being killed by the sword, others
submitting to be starved, or to perish in deep
dungeons far from the pleasant light of the sun,
rather than deny their God or do any thing
which might make him angry.

Then I thought how good my God was to
me, in not requiring me to give up my life, or
to suffer cruel pain, for his sake, as these holy
martyrs had done. ‘All he asks of me,” said
I, ‘is to bear with patience a few unkind words
and harsh rebukes, and to keep myself apart
from those who would tempt me to sin.”

Then I thanked my God for dealing thus
kindly with me; for requiring so light a sacri-
fice from me, and for promising so exceeding
great reward to my poor endeavours.

My mistress did not come home; so about
nine o’clock I went to bed and slept most
sweetly, till, at break of day, I was awakened
by the crowing of the cock, and by the bleat=
ing of the sheep upon the hills.

Having earnestly prayed and besought God's
blessing upon me that day, I went down stairs
and began my work. About noon I saw mv
SUSAN GRAY. 95

mistress coming along the path-way from the
town; she carried a large basket under her
arm, and seemed, from her way of walking, to
be in a great hurry.

When she came to the garden-wicket, she
called me several times with a loud voice to
open the cottage-door. As soon as she was
in the house, she set down her basket in the
midst of the kitchen, and, standing for a few
minutes to rest herself, with her arms upon her
sides, ‘* Susan,” said she, ‘‘ you must see and
bestir yourself. Why, this is the most un-
lucky thing that could have happened: I was
engaged to assist my cousin at the Blue-Boar,
and have been obliged to leave every thing in
sixes and sevens; and it has hurried me so,
running down here and getting things together,
that I think I shall hardly recover my breath
to-day.”

So saying, she began to unpack her basket.
She took out of it some tea and sugar, a loaf
of fine white bread, some cold fowls and ham,
and several bottles of wine; and placing them
on the dresser, ‘Susan, you may well look
surprised,” said she, “‘ why, who do you think
is coming to pay me a visit this evening?”

“Indeed,” I answered, “I cannot tell; but
some great person, I should think, if I may
judge by all these nice things which you have
brought with you.”

‘©A great person, indeed!” said my mis-
tress; “ well, it was the last thing that I could
have thought of, or expected—that such a lady
should think of visiting such a poor body as I
96 THE HISTORY OF

am. You have heard me speak of having liv-
ed, in my younger days, with my Lady West,
the widow lady, who lives at the great house
on the other side of the town; about six miles,
it may be, from this place. Well, about an
hour ago, as I was at the Blue-Boar, who should
ride into the yard but Mr. Thomas, my Lady
West's footman. As soon as he saw me, ‘ Mrs,
Bennet,’ said he, ‘my business is to you: |
knew I should find you here.’ And then, with-
out getting off his horse, he told me that his
lady had a mind of a little air this evening, and
that she thought of coming to drink tea at my
cottage, and bringing with her, her two nieces,
«My lady will be with you by four o'clock,
provided it is very fine weather; but mind,
Dame Bennet,’ added he, in his droll way, ‘ if
there is one drop of rain, you must not look
for us.’ So Mr. Thomas rode out of the yard,
and I came home, in spite of my cousin at the
Blue-Boar, who said she should be hurried
to death, to get her business done without
me.”

Although T had reason to think that my mis-
tress had often before said the thing that was
not true to me, yet I could not suppose that all
this long story, about my Lady West, and Mr.
Thomas, the footman, was every word of it
quite false, as it proved to be. I could not
have thought that there could have breathed
on earth, so very bad a woman as | found my
mistress to be very soon afterwards. I believ-
ed that my Lady West and her nieces really
were coming to visit Mrs. Bennet; and J be-
SUSAN GRAY. 97

stirred myself very much, to get every thing in
the nicest order for them.

I rubbed the tables and chairs as bright as
a looking-glass, and dressed the mantle-piece
and the shelves with primroses, and cowslips;
and violets, and such sweet flowers as 1 could
gather in the garden, and on the sunny bank
above the house; and when I had put on the
tea-kettle to boil, and placed my mistress's best
china cups and saucers upon the little round
table, I dressed myself as neatly as I could, in
my cotton gown, with a clean cap, and my
best white apron and handkerchief.

Just as I had finished dressing myself, my
mistress came into my room, and seemed to
be in so good a humour, that I could not but
feel very much pleased with her at the time,
although I have since been shocked to think
of her wicked arts.

She praised me for looking neat; (she knew
that I loved to be called neat;) and said that I
had been an excellent housewife of my clothes.
She then took out of her pocket a new pink
ribbon, which she said her cousin had given
her as a fairing.

«But | am too old, Susan,” added she, ‘to
wear pink ribbon; and as you have been a good
girl Jately, I believe I must present it to you.”
She then made me sit down, while she tied the
ribbon round my head, and fastened it with a
very smart knot in front.

As I had had, lately, so many disagreements
with my mistress, 1 thought that I would not
refuse to wear the ribbon, although I could not

1
98 THE HISTORY OF

help fancying, when I looked at myself in the
glass, that such finery did not become a poor
servant.

It was four o’clock, and my Lady West not
being come, my mistress bade me go to the top
of the garden, from whence I could see the
road through which the coach must pass for
nearly a mile. But I could see nothing on the
road but a few asses eating thistles in the
hedges: so I sat down upon the green bank,
to wait till the coach should appear.

I remember very well what passed in my
mind while I continued to sit there alone. The
evening was then very fine, although there were
some very dark and angry clouds resting upon
the tops of the Clee Hills, which are full in view
of my mistress’s garden.

The bells of the town were ringing most
pleasantly, and the flowers filled the air with
their sweet smell.

My mistress had told me while we were at
dinner, that she had seen the Captain with his
soldiers march out of town early in the morn-
ing, that they had taken their leave of Ludlow,
never more to return; and that it was very
true, as Charlotte Owen had said, that they
were going to fight in some far distant country
beyond the sea.

I thought, with pleasure, that my great trials,
as I hoped, were at an end, that I should never
more be liable to be tempted to turn aside from
my duty by this gentleman: yet, at the same
time, I thought it was a very sad thing that he
should go to the wars, and be in danger of hav-
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
100 THE HISTORY OF

least wind to shake the leaves of the trees, and
look how the cattle are all getting close to-
gether in that large field!”

My mistress made no answer to this; but
giving me the nosegay which she had made,
“There, Susan,” said she, “‘let me see you
wear these flowers this evening; here, let me
fasten them for you in your bosom: I have a
particular mind that you should look well be-
fore my Lady West; for, if she should take a
fancy to you, I might, perhaps, persuade her
to take you into her family, as a kitchen-girl ;
and then, although you will be forced to work,
yet you will, at least, be kept from want, which,
I am sorry tu say, I fear you are in some dan-
ger of; for I do not know how it is, the gentle-
folks about here have got a strange opinion of
your character. They will have it, that you
received the Captain here at night, when I was
from home. It is a sad, a very sad thing when
any slur is thrown upon a poor girl’s character ;
it is almost next to impossible for her to clear
herself.”

I answered, that I did not feel very uneasy
on this account; that, with respect to the Cap-
tain, God had preserved me, and I did not fear
but that I should be provided for.

*« Well,” said my mistress, ‘1 hope it will be
so; but, I am sorry to say, J do not think that
you will find it so easy to get a good place,
when you go from me, as you may think; and,
I am sure, I cannot afford to keep you longer
than your time: winter will be coming on, and
things are mach dearer now than when I first
SUSAN GRAY. 101

came to housekeeping. Besides, people will
not take you without a character, and, indeed,
I cannot, io conscience, after what has hap-
pened, give you one.”

“Not give me a character!” I cried, with
astonishment; ‘ why, my dear mistress, what
have I done, to lose your good opinion? ~What-
ever other people may think, you must know,
very well, that I have never done any thing to
deserve an ill name since I came into your
service.”

“I must own,” said my mistress, “ that I
have myself never seen any ill by you; but am
I not from home half my time? and, as Mrs.
Owen, the huckster, said to me, but yesterday,
how can I answer for what you do here in this
lone country place when I am at work in
town?”

To this I made no answer, for, indeed, my
heart was too full to allow me to speak. I
leaned my head upon my arm, as I sat upon
the grass, and the tears ran down my cheeks,
My mistress having peeped over the garden-
hedge, pretending to look for the coach,
which I soon afterwards found she had not

-the least expectation of seeing, turned hastily
round and went along the green path into the
house.

After she was gone, I remained sitting alone
on the grass, till the clouds rolled from the hill
and covered the whole skies. The wind began
to whistle in the woods, large drops of rain be-
gan to fall, and several distant claps of thunder
were heard.

13

y
102 THE HISTORY OF

I then got up, and, lifting up my eyes and
hands to heaven, uttered a short prayer to God
for mercy and protection; which having fi-
nished, I ran down the hill, and, in a moment,
was at the door of the house. The door was
shut. I thought, as I pulled up the latch, that
I heard some voices within: but O! think what
was my surprise, when, on opening the door,
I saw the Captain talking with my mistress—
the Captain, who I then thought was far away
from Ludlow, and whom I never, never more
expected to see. Surely, at that moment, |
foresaw the ills that were about to befal me;
for my heart seemed, as it were, to sink within
me, and J dropped upon a chair, which stood
just beside the threshold, without having power
to speak, nay, scarcely to move.

The Captain no sooner saw me, than, break-
ing off his discourse with my mistress, for they
seemed to have been very busily engaged in
conversation, he came up to me, and, I think,
offering to take my hand, said, ““O! how hap-
py am I, my pretty Susan, in seeing you once
again. But why do you turn away your face?
are you sorry that I am returned? are you
angry that I cannot live without you?”

The tears ran down my cheeks; I made no
answer.

“What, will you not speak to me? will you
not look at me?” said the wicked gentleman:
‘and yet, after having rode many miles out of
the town, I returned to see you, my dear Susan;
for, indeed, indeed, (and he called his God to
witness the shocking words,) if you will not
SUSAN GRAY. 103

take pity on me, I will run this sword into my
heart.”

I would have spoken, but my sobs stifled my
voice. My mistress came up close to my chair,
and, bending her head down to me, said,
“<Come, come, my dear Susan, speak to the
Captain; he is a good gentleman, he loves you
most dearly, and, I assure you, he means no
harm.”

The Captain repeated her last words, using
many shocking oaths, to prove that they were
true. Yet still I did not speak. Then the
Captain threw himself down upon his knees,
hefore me, and prayed me to have pity on him.
Those were the words he used.

‘‘ Have pity on you!” repeated I, “ wiping
away my tears, and checking my sobs; “you
ask for pity, yet will not bestow it on others.
O! rise, for mercy’s sake, rise; and do not
humble yourself by kneeling to a poor servant.
O! that you would grant me the pity you seem
so humbly to ask. When you first knew me, I
had but few friends indeed; but now, O! my
God! I have not one on earth. I had then a
fair and spotless reputation—in what light am
I now thought of!”

So great was my anguish and grief of heart
when I spoke these words, that, had not my
mistress, who stood by me, caught me sudden-
ly in her arms, I should have dropped from
my chair.

The Captain, seeing me look very pale, was.
perhaps, frightened; for immediately he rove
from his knees, and, to give me air, opened the
104 THE HISTURY OF

door of the house, which my mistress had shut,
to keep out the rain, which now beat in very
fast.

My mistress gave me a cup of water, and I
very soon began to revive, and to recover from
the fright into which seeing the Captain so
unexpectedly, when I believed him to be far
away, had thrown me. The Captain seeing me
better, was going, perhaps, to make some ex-
cuse for having caused me so much pain, when
my mistress said, “Come, come, Sir, I will beg
for the girl, that you will say no more to her on
the subject at present. Will your honour con-
descend to take a dish of tea with us? Susan
will be proud to wait on you; and, very
luckily, I happen to have in the house such
fare as I have no need to be ashamed of offer
ing to a gentleman.”

So saying, she placed a chair for the Cap-
tain, and began to busy herself in making tea.

The Captain sat down on the chair which
she had offered him: but never did I see any
one look so sad as he did; he leaned his head
upon his arm, and, for a long time, seemed not
to raise his eyes from the ground.

I should have wondered to have beheld his
sadness, and thought it strange to have seen so
great and gay a gentleman thus cast down, had
I not remembered what my dear Mrs. Neale
had often told me, that, whatever thoughtless
and inconsiderate people might think, God
never, even in this world, suffers the bad to be
happy; those who love not God may sing, and
dance, and make merry, but in the midst of
SUSAN GRAY 108

their laughter is the heart sad. But to return
to my story.

My mistress, as I said before, busied herself
very much to get tea ready, and, when she had
filled a tea-cup, she called me to her, for I had
not as yet moved from my chair; and, bidding
me wipe away my tears, which still, in spite
of all I could do, continued to run down my
cheeks, she placed a waiter i: my hand, and or-
dered me to carry the tea to the Captain, giv-
ing mea look at the same time, as a signal to
cheer up, and not look so downcast.

I trembled so, that I thought I should have
dropped the waiter; and when I offered the tea
to the Captain, which I did, making a courtesy
at the same time, the tears again came into my
eyes, and ran down my cheeks.

He lifted his eyes from the ground, and look-
ed up to me with such a look of bitter grief as
I never saw before. I offered him the tea: he
‘yok the waiter from me, and, placing it on the
iable, suddenly seized hold of both my hands,
and said, “* Susan, my dear Susan, I love you,
and I think that you love me; why should not
we live together? I will marry you, 1 am re-
solved I will, in spite of my father, in spite of
all the world.” .

Then he swore, and called his Maker to wit-
ness to the truth of all he said.

GO! most honoured Sir, (said Susan Gray,)
what will you think of me when J tell you that
{ did not try to get away from the Captain, but
that J listened to him for a long while. I for-
got, at that moment, to apply to God for help;
106 THE HISTORY OF

but he had not forgotten me, as I shall shew
you presently, Sir. Faithful was He who call-
ed me, and held me up, that I should not fall.

I hearkened to the Captain while he told me
how greatly he loved me, and prayed me to
go with him to London, where he said that I
should become his wife. I should follow him,
he told me, into far distant countries, and when
he was wounded in battle, I should nurse him
and comfort him; in return for which he pro-
mised to love me, and never to leave me.

O! I tremble when I think how very near I
was falling into the snares that were laid for
me. O! my God, my God, how can I shew
my love and gratitude to thee, for having saved
me from the suggestions of my own evil heart!

While the Captain continued to talk to me,
the wind became louder and higher; the air be-
came very dark with the hard rain and hail;
the thunder, too, was heard more near, and
the lightning flashed through the windows of
the cottage.

The Captain took no notice of the storm ;
but I began to be much frightened, and these
terrors of my Almighty Father brought me to
a conviction of my sin and danger: as it were
all at once I awaked as from a dream; I recol-
lected how wrong it was in me to listen to the
flattering and deceitful words of the Captain.
I thought of the God who made me, and the
Saviour who died for me, and, struggling very
hard, I tried to get my hands free. But when
the gentleman would not let me go, I fell down
on my knees before him, and prayed him, for
SUSAN GRAY. 107

the sake of God, to think no more of me; but
to leave me to gain my livelihood in an inno-
cent and honest way, and to serve my Maker
in that humble state in which he had been
pleased to place me.

He looked at me, I thought, with pity, and I
pleaded so hard with him, that he would, I
verily believe, have left me, and have thought
no more of his wicked purposes, had not my
mistress said to him, in a reproaching and
taunting way, ‘ What, will you now give her up
when we have gone so far? I see that her heart
relents, and she will, Iam sure, go with you.”

But why do I repeat all this wicked conver-
sation? Surely, I have said too much about it
already. It is enough to say, that the Captain,
now being encouraged by my wicked mistress,
began to use new arts to persuade me to go
with him to London.

O! how many shocking oaths he used! how
many deceitful promises he made! and I doubt
not but that I should at length have been
deceived by them, had not God Almighty
mercifully put into my head a plan by which |
escaped from guilt, and was brought, by his
tender care, to this happy and peaceful dwell-
ing, where I hope to close my eyes in the bless-
ed society of those who love my God and my
Saviour.

I said to the Captain and to my mistress, ‘1
fear that God will one day require an account
of your conduct towards me. You seem both
resolved on my ruin, and J, alas! have no pro-
tector but my heavenly Father. But,” added
108 THE HISTORY OF

I, “before you proceed in your wicked pur-
poses, I pray you reflect a little: remember
that you caunot recal an evil action; inno-
cence, when once lost, can never, never be re-
stored.”

I do not remember what was my mistress’s
answer: but the Captain repeated many of the
wicked vows and promises he had made before,
and swore that he would never leave the cot-
tage until I would go with him.

To this I made no reply, but remained silent,
thinking of the plan which I had in my head.
In the meanwhile, my mistress, coming up close
to me, and laying her hand upon my shoulder,
painted to me, in very strong colours, what
would be my situation, if I refused to go with
the Captain: how that my reputation was now,
alas! quite gone; that, when I left her service,
no one would take me in; that I was not strong
enough for lard labour without doors; and
that I should be condemned to idleness, shame,
and beggary.

The Captain then descrived to me the happy
life I should lead with him: the ease in which
1 should live; the rich ornaments with which I
should be decked; the fine countries I should
see; and the respect and honour which would
be paid me.

looked at my mistress, and then at the Cap-
tain. “Alas!” I thought, ‘it is very true, that
if I refuse to go with the Captain, I shall be
exposed to shame, and want, and hard treat-
ment.” But I remembered the promise of our
blessed Saviour, There is no man that hath left
SUSAN GRAy. 109

house, or parents, or brethren, or wife, or chil-
dren, for the kingdom of God’s sake, who shall
not receive manifold more in this present time,
and in the world to come life everlasting. (Luke
xviii, 29, 30.) And I said to them, while I
wiped away my tears, “I beseech you, suffer
me to gu, for a few moments only, to my owa
room, that I may, when alone, think of ali that
you have said to me, and consider well what I
ought to do: for indeed,” I said, “I am per-
plexed and bewildered, and very greatly dis-
tressed.”

They were both, at first, unwilling to let me
go: nay, my mistress absolutely told me, that
I should not go out of her sight, till 1 went
with the Captaia. Upon which, I almost gave
myself up as lost, and was in such an agony of
grief, that the Captain said, he could not deny
me this little favour.

He no sooner let my hands go, than I darted
from him like an arrow from a bow, and, run-
ning up stairs, shut the door of my own little
room after me. Now the window of my room
was so small, that I should have thought it im-
possible at any other time to have got through
it; but I was new resolved, be the consequence
what it would, to make the trial, particularly
after what my mistress had said.

As soon as I was alone, I spread a handker-
chief upon the bed; and, having placed on it
my Bible and Prayer-book, and what little
linen I could hastily get together, I tied up the
corners of the handkerchief, and threw it from
the window into the garden. The dim light,

K
110 THE HISTORY OF

for night now came on very fast, hardly allow-
ed me to see what I did.

Then, without waiting to put on hat or
cloak, without regarding the rain or the wind,
or the lightning which flashed in my face, I
climbed, by means of my box, into the window,
and, with some difficulty, got out upon the
thatch. Now the roof of the house sloped
down to the hill-side, so it was not far for me
to jump into the garden; and then I was active
and strong, although I am now so poor and
feeble a creature. So truly does the holy pro-
phet say, All flesh is grass, and all the goodli-
ness thereof is as the flower of the field. (Isaiah
xi. 6.)

I instantly took up my bundle, and ran, as it
were, for my life, till I reached the hedge just
under the wood at the top of the garden.
There I stopped, being out of breath, and look-
ed back, to see if any one followed me; but I
saw no one: I could scarcely even see the cot-
tage itself, on account of the very heavy rain
which was then falling.

Now, being a little recovered, I tried to
climb the hedge, but the ground being very
slippery, by reason of the rain, I fell back seve-
ral times; and when I had, at last, got over, I
found that there was a deep ditch on the other
side, running down with water. I found some
difficulty in crossing this, and then, without
waiting to seek for a path, I struck into the
thickest of the wood: for, just at that moment,
I fancied that I heard a voice.

As I went on through the wood, I was tors
SUSAN GRAY. . 11)

by briars and brambies; and, what was worse,
after much pain and ditliculty, I found, when I
had made my way through the trees, that I
was still very near to the cottage.

Having passed through the wood, I came out
upon a large high fallow field, in the middle of
which I remembered that there was a barn,
where J thought that I might take shelter; for
the rain beat so upon me, that I found it diffi-
cult to go on. It was now become quite dark
too, the lightning only now and then giving me
& momentary view of my path.

As I came nearer the barn, I heard voices,
and soon saw a light through the crevices of
the door. I went silently up to the door, and,
looking in, I saw a party of gipsies, who, I had
heard, infested those parts, gathered together
round a few embers.

I knew that these were no companions for
me; J, therefore, with a sad heart, turned from
the barn, and, at length, with difficulty, found
my way into a long green lane, out of which I
knew, very well, that there was a turning which
led to Ludlow. I thought that if I could reach
the town, without being discovered, 1 might
find some secure lodging for the night; and I
felt no doubt but that God Almighty would
provide for my future safety. For these words
of St. Peter came into my mind, If ye suffer
for righteousness’ sake, happy are ye: and be
not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled.
(1 Pet. iii. 14.)

But the lane being shaded by tall trees, and
the night becoming darker and darker, the rain
112 ‘HE HISTORY OF

having by no means ceased, I missed the turn-
ing which led to the town, or rather, my God,
who had hitherto been my guide, led me on
towards that place of rest which he had pro-
vided for me.

When I had walked on for nearly an hour, I
became so weary, that my heart began almost
to sink within me: my clothes, being quite
drenched with wet, clung around me, and made
it very difficult for me to walk; and the light-
ning, too, which flashed often in my face, and
the thunder which rolled over my head, made
me tremble; and I had almost resolved to lay
me down on the wet ground, when I saw be-
fore mea light. It came from a cottage, which
stood close by the way-side. I made the best
of my way up to this cottage, intending there
to beg shelter; but, as 1 walked by the win-
dow, | looked up, and saw two ill-looking men
sitting before a large fire; a small table stood
by their side, covered with mugs and tobacco-
pipes, and an old woman sat in the chimney-
corner, whom I remembered often to have seen
selling matches and ballads in the streets of
Ludlow, and whom I knew very well to be a
very drunkea dishonest woman.

« Alas!” I again said, as I turned from this
house, ‘here is no place of shelter for me!”
So, weary and worn with sorrow as I was, I
continued my sad course for a mile or two fur-
ther, I should think, till, being quite spent, I
sat down on the trunk of a tree, which lay .on
the way-side. I know not how long I sat there,
but such comfort was administered to me from
SUSAN GRAY. 113

on high, in that my solitary and deserted situa-
tion, as I can never forget. 1 felt that what I
had but now done, in flying the temptations
held out to me by the Captain, had not been
done in my own strength, but in the power and
strength of God; and such a consolatory, such
a delightful sense of the immediate presence of
God shone upon my mind, that I clasped my
hands, and lifted up my eyes, in speechless
gratitude to heaven.

At that moment, the clouds rolled away from
the face of the moon, and I saw my path be-
fore me, stretching towards a hill, upon which
wasachurch. I could just see the taper spire
rising above some small trees. Being greatly
refreshed and encouraged, I arose, and walked
on.

This was no other than the church now be-
fore me: but I did not recollect my native vil-
lage again, for although it is so near to Ludlow,
yet I never had chanced to visit it since I was
taken from the workhouse by my poor aunt;
and then, being but six years old, I had but a
very faint remembrance of it.

I was glad, however, to see the church, and
I walked on towards it till I came to the en-
trance of the village. I knocked at the first
house I came to; this happening to be a lodg-
ing-house, and the good woman not being gone
to bed, although it was then after midnight,
she very kindly took me in—very kindly, in-
deed; for the figure 1 made was by no means
a very creditable one; for I had neither hat
nor cloak, my apron and handkerchief were

K 3
114 THE HISTORY OF

torn by the briars and brambles in the wood
through which I had passed; all my clothes
were still dripping with wet, and my eyes were
red and swelled with crying.

While the good woman took off my clothes,
and placed thein at the fire to dry, she looked
very hard at me.

“Alas!” said I, ‘“ well may you look at me;
and it would be natural for you to think the
worst of me. But, whatever my appearance
may be, I love my God; and, if you knew my
story, you would not blame me for what may
now seem very strange to you.” Then I began
to weep afresh.

The woman answered, that she hoped what
I said was true, for my own sake: then, seeing
that I was quite spent with grief, and with the
great fatigue which I had gone through, she
took me into a small room, where I was very
thankful to lie down on a straw bed.

Being greatly tired, I very soon fell asleep;
but I had many uneasy dreams, and awoke by
dawn of day.

I looked about me, and, for some time, could
not call to mind where I was. But when I re-
membered all that had passed the day before,
and thought of my unhappy situation, in a
strange place, without friends, without money,
(for I had lent all that I had left to my mis-
tress,) and not knowing what would become of
me, or how I should be able to earn my bread,
I felt much affected.

Then I arose from my bed, and, having
dressed myself, I took from my bundle my dear
SUSAN GRAY. lly

Mrs. Neale’s Bible, and read the account of
the sufferings and death of my blessed Saviour,
and, also, the history of the holy martyr Ste-
phen, who was stoned to death, and of other
prophets and good men who had endured very
great pains and sorrows, and had laid down
their lives for the sake of their God.

And when I had read these things, I thought
no more of my own light afflictions, that is, I
felt no more disposed to repine and murmur at
them, although, in spite of all I could do, I
could not shake off the sorrow which sat heavy
upon my heart; and what, perhaps, made me
less able to do so was, that, from being so long
out in the wet, and from having gone to bed
without having had time to dry myself suf-
ficiently, I had caught a bad cold, which made
me feel very ill, although I could scarce tell
what particular ailment I had.

When I had done reading, I went into the
kitchen, where I found the family at breakfast.
The mistress of the house, seeing me look ill,
offered me a dish of tea, which I did not refuse.
I shall remember her kindness to my dying day,
and never will in my prayers forget to ask God's
blessing for her; any other return I cannot
make her.

After breakfast, I sat down on a bench in the
chimney-corner; for, although the weather was
very warm, yet J shivered with cold, like one
in a fit of the ague.

My landlady seemed to be very sorry for
me, and asked me if I had long been ill. I
answered, as I then believed, that | had only
116 THE HISTORY OF

a slight cold, and hoped soon to be better. 1!
thanked her for her kindness, and asked her,
whether she would let me continue to lodge in
her house, if I could get any work in the parish. —

She said that she liked my way of speaking,
and my manners, better than my appearance;
that my coming to her, as I had done, through
the storm, the last night, without hat or cloak,
had, to be sure, a strange look, but that she
had seen nothing amiss in my behaviour.

“‘T hope the time will soon come,” said I,
*twhen I shall be able to clear all this up to
you. But, in the mean time, if you will suffer
me to lodge in your house, you will do me the
greatest charity.”

‘“‘T cannot,” said she, “ find in my heart to
turn you out, so long as you speak so pro-
perly.”

I then enquired if it would be possible to
get any work in the village.

She asked me, if I had been used to out-doors
work,

1 said that I had not; but that I should be
thankful to be put in any honest way of getting
my bread.

“You do not look as though you were fit for
hard labour,” she said.

I answered, “We know not what we can do
till we have tried.”

**You seem very willing to do any thing,”
she replied. “I am going this morning to
carry this woollen which I have spun to Far-
mer Flemming’s: the farmer begins his hay-
harvest to-morrow; perhaps he will have no
SUSAN GRAY. 117

objection to another hand.” Then she asked
me my name.

I said that it was Susan Gray; and told her
the names of my father and mother, and where
they had lived.

«And do you not know,” answered she,
‘that this is the very parish in which vou say
that your parents lived? J doubt not but Far-
mer Flemming knew them very well, for he is
now getting old, and has been overseer of the
poor these twenty years past.”

When [ heard this, and found that I had ta-
ken shelter, in my affliction, in my native vil-
lage, 1 felt my heart, I know not wherefore,
strangely touched, insomuch that I could not
help shedding fresh tears. I thanked my land-
lady for her kind offer of getting me employ-
ment from Farmer Flemming, and for consent-
ing that I should continue to lodge in her house,

Towards mid-day, I found myself much bet-
ter, and was able to employ myself in mending
the rents which I had got in my clothes. In
the evening, however, I was almost spent for
want of food; for I would not take any which
my good hostess offered me, she having a large
family, who entirely depended on her for bread.
I, accordingly, went into my own room to exa-
mine my bundle of linen, thinking that I might,
perhaps, exchange some part of it for a loaf of
bread at the baker's shop, which was just op-
posite; when I found, unexpectedly, wrapped
up in an old handkerchief, among other little
things, which had been bestowed on me in my
childhood, by way of rewards, for good be-
118 THE HISTORY oF

haviour, a new sixpence, which Mrs Sarah had
given me for telling the truth, when 1 had bro-
ken a fine china cup of my dear Mrs. Neale’s.

The tears of joy came into my eyes; I clasp-
ed my hands together, and cried out, in the
words of the holy David, The Lord is my Shep-
herd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie
down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside
the still waters. (Psalm xxiii. 1, 2.)

Then, having borrowed an old straw hat of
one of my hostess’s daughters, I went to the
baker's shop, and having laid out a penny on a
roll, which I ate with thankfulness to God, I
walked through the village towards the church,
with the intent to visit the grave of my dear
father and mother, who were buried, as you
may know, Sir, under the large yew tree on the
south side of the church-yard.

As I walked along the village-street, I called
to mind a thousand things which had happen-
ed in my early days. I remembered them only
as one remembers a dream, very faintly and
very obscurely. I crossed the stile at the end
of the village, and took the path up the hill
to the church, by your house, Sir.

I saw you walking in your garden, with your
book in your hand, and I knew you again, and
I remembered all the kind things you had done
by me; how you had carried me in your arms,
and talked to me of heaven, and of my God,
and our blessed Saviour. I stopped at the
garden-gate, and thought that I would be so
bold as to speak to you, and to make myself
known to you. But, before I could get cou-
SUSAN GRAY. 119

age to speak, you turned into the house with-
out looking towards me.

Then, with a sad heart, I left the gate, and
began to climb the hill. As I went along, I
gathered in my apron a few primroses, cow-
slips, and other flowers, to scatter over my
beloved father and mother’s graves, if I should
be able to find the spot where their dear re-
mains were laid in peace.

When I got within the church-yard, I was
obliged to sit down on a tomb-stone, to rest
myself; for I was become so weak, that I was
quite spent with the walk. My heart beat, and
a pain in my side, which I had never felt be-
fore, was so violent, that it almost took away
my breath.

I soon, however, became better, and I got
up and walked round the church, till, coming
to the great yew tree, I saw under it two graves,
side by side, at the foot of which was a stone,
on which I read the names of James and Mary
Gray.

T scattered the flowers which I had gathered
upon the graves; yet, although I had of late
wept so much, [ did not then shed one tear.
I stood with my eyes fixed upon the grave-
stone for a very long while; and in that time I
thought over ail the strange things which had
befailen me since the time when, a very young
child, I had followed my dear parents to their
last quiet home. But, although I did not weep,
my heart felt very, very sad, and I wished that
the hour were near at hand when I might lay
my body in the dust beside those of my dear
120 THE HISTORY OF

father and mother, and when my soul, through
the merits of my blessed Saviour, might return
to him that made it.

While I remained in the church-yard, the
sun set, and the darkness of night came on,
The bats, with their leathern wings, fluttered
about me, and the owl screamed from the
church-tower. Then calling to mind that, if I
should stay out late, my hostess might, per-
haps, have reason to think some ill of me, I
walked slowly and sadly towards the village.

When I returned to my lodgings, my land-
lady told me, that she had engaged me to go
the next day to Farmer Flemming’s, to make
hay. ‘You must be there by six o'clock,”
said she, ‘and your work will not be finished
till late; but,” added she, looking hard at me,
‘you do not seem fit for such a day’s work,
you look very ill.”

“I am not very well,” I said, “but I cannot
starve, and I must do any work which I am so
fortunate as to get.”

The good woman seemed very sorry for me:
she warmed some beer, and, putting a toast
and some spice in it, she made me drink it;
and then advised me to go to bed, that I might
be the better fit for next day’s labour.

That night, I thank my God, I enjoyed
auch sweet rest, although I had many dreams.
I remember one in particular, which I have
since often thought of with much pleasure. I
fancied that I was lying on my bed very ill in-
deed, nay, almost about to die; I was alone,
and no one to take care of me. And J thought
SUSAN GRAY. 121

that my dear father and mother came into the
room, and stood one on each side of my bed;
and my mother said, “This is our beloved
Susan; this is the child we love. She has been
washed and made white in the blood of the
Lamb.” This was a sweet dream, and was
surely sent by God as a comfort to me.

The next morning, by break of day, I pre-
pared myself for my new employment. I felt
somewhat better than I had done the night be-
fore; and the day being fine, I was tolerably
cheerful as I took my way to the farmer's.

When I came to the house, I found the yard
full of men, women, and children, with their
forks and rakes in their hands, ready to set out
for the hay-field. ‘They stared at me when I
came into the yard, but did not speak.

1 went up to Mrs. Flemming, who was stand-
ing at the kitchen-door, giving to each of the
hay-makers a large slice of bread and cheese.

I made a courtesy to her, and told her that
my name was Susan Gray.

“‘O! the young woman,” said she, in a very
loud voice, ‘* whom Nanny Jones was speaking
of. But methinks you do not look very fit for
hard work.” She then called to her husband,
who was sitting within by the kitchen-fire, to
tell him that James Gray’s daughter was come.

Hearing this, he came out, without his coat,
and with a woollen night-cap on his head, and
ordered one of the men to bring me a rake.
Then looking at me very earnestly for some
time, “‘ How comes it, young woman,” said he,
‘that you have run away from your service?

L
122 THE HISTORY OF

1 fear that you have not been so good a girl as
you should have been. My nephew, William
Ball, has told me of your tricks, before now;
but no good ever comes of girls when they get
acquainted with those fine fellows in red
coats.”

I was going to make some answer, when Mrs.
Flemming, raising her voice still louder than
she had done when she spoke to me first, bade
me not be saucy, but mind what her husband
said to me.

“Let me tell you, young woman,” said the
farmer, “‘ that you, who are come of such ho-
nest parents, might be ashamed of having done
as you have done. Your father and mother
were as good people as any in the parish, and
if it had not been for the respect I bad for
them, you should never bave worked for me.”

So saying, he turned into the house, and my
new mistress bade me follow the other hay-
makers out of the yard.

Oh! with what a sorrowful heart did I walk
slowly after the rest, till we came into a wide
field, which is skirted on one side by that large
wood now in our view, and is bordered on the
other by the brook which runs into the river
by the mill.

My companions had heard what the farmer
and his wife had said to me, and I soon found
what they thought of me; for the old women
looked very sour at me, and the young ones
laughed and whispered, glancing slily, at the
same time, at me.

But what grieved me most was, that the
SUSAN GRAY. 123

young men spoke to me as if they thought
lightly of me. I, however, went on with my
work, keeping close with the rest of the women,
and saying very little.

Towards mid-day, I became very weary with
my work; my knees trembled, and I had a con-
stant pain in my side. However, I continued
my work till evening.

Yet, tired as I was, I was unable to sleep,
for | felt feverish, and my mouth was parched
with very great thirst.

I went to the farmer's again the next day, al-
though I was fitter far to keep my bed; and,
as 1 behaved with modesty, and returned not
evil-speaking for evil-speaking, my companions,
the hay-makers, began to think better of me.
The women, in particuiar, treated me with
more kindness: I could see, however, that the
young men still continued to think lightly of
me,

The weather being very hot, the hay was
ready to carry by Friday.

1 was worse this day than I had ever been
before, yet I strove to keep up and to do my
work.

I was making up the hay into large hay-
cocks, with two or three more young women,
at the lower end of the meadow, when the
young men came with the waggon in at the gate
which is at the top of the field. Among these
was William Ball, the farmer's nephew, the
young man of whom I have spoken before,
whom I had never seen since I ran away from
him at Mrs, Bennet’s.
124 THE HISTORY OF

It seems, that he had never forgiven me for
this slight, as he thought it; and he was
mightily pleased when he heard, at Ludlow,
where he had spent the last few days, with
other young men, who had gone there to the
fair, of the disgrace I had fallen into on ac-
count of the Captain. And it was a new plea-
sure to him to be told by his uncle, when he
came home, that I had run away from my ser-
vice, and had come to him for work.

So, as soon as he came to that part of the
field where I was, he called out to me from the
waggon, where he was loading the hay, ‘* Well,
Mrs. Susan, and how did you leave the Cap-
tain? or, to speak more properly, how did the
Captain leave you? For they tell me, in Lud-
low, that he is gone ont of the country, and
taken with him, by way of company, Charlotte
Owen, the huckster’s daughter.” Then he
laughed aloud.

I was like one thunderstruck when I heard
these words: my rake fell from my hand, and
my eyes were filled immediately with tears
when I thought of the imprudence of poor
Charlotte.

1 will not repeat all the foolish jokes of Wil-
liam Ball, when he saw my grief and distress,
Indeed, I paid but little heed to what he said.
At length, one of the old women told him that
he might be ashamed of himself for making a
jest of what did not seem to her any jesting
matter; that, with respect to me, she had seen
no harm by me since she had become acquaint-
ed with me; that she believed I was a very mo-
SUSAN GRAY. 125

dest girl; and, as to the other poor young wo-
man who had gone off with the Captain, she
did not see what there was to laugh at in a
poor creature’s running soul and body into ruin
and misery.

* But is it true,” said I, ‘ that she is gone
with the Captain?”

“ Ay, true enough,” answered Wiiliam: “so,
my good girl, wipe away your tears, and think
no more of the Captain; for, I promise you, he
thinks no more of you. Mrs. Owen herself
was the person who told me of Miss Charlotte's
freak, Never did I see a woman in such a tak-
ing: she stormed and raved; and I verily think
that she would have killed her daughter, if she
could have laid her hands upon her.”

“Well, but,” said one of the young women,
“when did all this happen?”

“* Why, you know,” answered William Ball,
‘* that the Captain and his men marched out o1
town on Monday morning, and, about the mid-
dle of the day on Monday, Charlotte was miss-
ing. But, as she often went from home without
saying any thing to her mother, Mrs. Owen
thought nothing of it till night came on, and
that dreadful storm of thunder and lightning ;
then the old lady began to be a little frighten-
ed, and she sent to all her neighbours, but
could hear nothing of her daughter. And it
was but yesterday that she was told that Miss
had marched after the Captain; although some
folks do not scruple to say that bis honour
could well have dispensed with her company.”
Then he laughed again, and almost all the

L3
126 THE HISTORY OF

young men, and some of the young women,
joined in his mirth.

But the old woman shook her head, and,
turning to another woman who stood by, she
said, “I do not quite relish all this jesting;
none but fools, as the Scriptures say, would
mock at sin.” (Prov. xiv. 9.)

‘Very true,” replied the other: “for my
part, I do not feel much disposed to laugh. I
cannot help feeling very sorry for the poor mo-
ther of that bold hussy.”

“« Why, as to that,” returned the old woman,
“one is very sorry for any one who is incon-
siderate, and lays up for himself stores of mise-
ry. But Mrs. Owen may thank herself for what
has happened. Why did she train up her child
to the love of finery and vanity? Why did she
wish to make a smart lady of her, instead of a
modest, unpresuming, decent girl? Why did
she herself practise lying and deceiving before
her; and neglect her duty to God, spending the
Sabbath in idleness, feasting, and gossiping?
As the wise man says, Train up a child in the
way he should go; and when he is old, he will
not depart from it.” (Prov. xxii. 6.)

We all then sat down upon the grass to our
dinner, and I heard no more of this discourse
at that time. But the shocking wickedness of
the Captain still dwelt very heavily on my heart.

* Alas! alas!” I thought, ‘ what will be the
end of all these crimes?”

I did not that day earn half my wages; for I
was so weak, that I was often forced to sit down
‘to rest myself. A mortal disease had already
SUSAN GRAY. 127

seized upon me, although I did not know it.
What is our life? It ts even a vapour, that
appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth
away. (James iv. 14.)

But I forget that, perhaps, to-morrow my
soul may be required of me; let me, then,
hasten to finish my story.

I felt increasing pain during that night, and
my few hours of sleep were disturbed by un-
pleasant dreams concerning what I had heard
that day in the hay-field.

The night was rainy. Mrs. Flemming had
told me, the evening before, that, as her hus-
band would have no more work for me till
Monday, she would employ me in weeding a
garden, which was at some distance from the
house, by the water-side.

She had given mea basket, and a small weed-
ing-knife; and having directed me which way
to go to the garden, bade me be there betimes
in the morning.

Now this garden was no other than that which
was formerly tenanted by my dear father: when
he died, Farmer Flemming had taken it, and the
house being a very old one, it had never been
inhabited since my beloved parents had quitted
it. It was now all fallen to ruins, and was only
used as a place for seeds and gardening-tools.

When I reached the garden, the rain had
ceased; but the ground was very damp, and a
very thick fog arose from the river, insomuch
that I could scarcely see the willows which
grow by the water-side. It went to my heart,
to see the cottage, which I so well remembered,
138 THE HISTORY OF

and so dearly loved, gone almost to ruins.
There was no glass in the windows; the roof
was open-in many places, and one of the chim-
neys had fallen in.

Many sad thoughts passed in my mind as,
kneeling on the damp ground, I weeded the
strawberry-bed, just beneath the cottage-wall,
and tied up the rose bushes and honeysuckles
in the little plot of ground from which my mo-
ther used to gather nosegays, on a Sunday
morning, to dress the chimney piece and the
kitchen-window.

About mid-day the sun began to appear
through the fog: but, although it shone upon
me, it could not warm me; for all my limbs
were cold, and trembled with a mortal sickness.

At length, I became quite spent, and was
forced to desist from my work, I then reflect-
ed, that my lahour was not worth my wages,
and it seemed to me, that I did wrong in receiv-
ing from the farmer the hire of a stout healthy
person: and although I knew not by what
means I should be supported, yet I resclved to
go to Mrs. Flemming, and to tell her, honestly,
that I was unable to earn my bread, and that I
would not receive money which was not my
due. And although I had no prospect before
me but of starving, yet I trusted in God, that
he would not forget me.

Then I called to mind the words of the pro-
phet: Although the fig-tree shall not blossom,
neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of
the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no
meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold,
SUSAN GRAY. 129

and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I
will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God
of my salvation. (Habakkuk iii. 17, 18.)

So I took up my basket and my weeding-
knife, with the intent to go back to the village.
But when I arose from my knees, I found it
difficult to stand; and I was forced to sit down
upon the stone step before the house-door, to
recover myself a little. Here I had sat many
times when I was a child, and amused myself
with shells and stones, and other such trifles
as children love, while my dear father and mo-
ther were busied in the garden. And here I
called to mind a thousand little events long
time forgotten. I remembered how my dear
mother used often to leave her work, to look
after her little Susan; how sweetly she used to
smile when she saw me coming towards her; and
how anxiously she watched me, if, by chance,
I ran, with heedless steps, by the side of the
river, I remembered the wood-strawberries,
strung like threads of beads upon a blade of
long grass, the acorn cups, and the blackber-
ries, which my father used to give me when, at
evening, he returned home from market through
the wood which is beside our garden.

*©O! my loved parents,” I said, *« how ten-
derly did you guard me from evil in my infant
days! Not less tenderly has my heavenly Fa-
‘ther watched over me since I have been de-
prived of you! He left me not comfortless. I
went in the strength of the Lord God. J will
make mention of thy righteousness, and of thine
only.” (Psalm Ixxi. 16.)
130 THE HISTORY OF

Then I lifted up my eyes and hands to God,
in gratitude for his goodness to me.

While I was still thinking of these things, «
sudden faintness came over me, and I lay, for
some time, without sense. At length, however,
I recovered: yet I had very great difficulty to
get home to my lodging, where I immediately
laid myself on my bed.

Nor did I leave my bed, till you, Sir, visited
me; and till, by your great kindness to me, my
health and strength were, for a time, in some
degree, restored to me.

 

Then Susan Gray, having finished her story,
fell upon her knees, and, in a most solemn and
affecting manner, renounced all dependence
upon any of her own works or deservings, con-
fessing herself to be a grievous sinner, even one
that could not, without divine help, cease from
sin, and solemnly affirming, that her escape
from the open acts of sin, to which she had
been tempted, had been effected by the power
of God: and she concluded by a solemn act of
praise to the blessed Trinity, her Father, her
Redeemer, and her Sanctifier.

She then arose from her knees, and, turning
to me, my wife, our daughters, and the nurse,
she thanked us for our kindness to her in a way
which made the tears flow afresh from our
eyes; for, as you may suppose, they had often
flowed abundantly before, during the time of
our hearing the sad story of this good girl.

After she had finished her history, she lived
SUSAN GRAY. 131

only three days; but never, never surely did
any one prepare for death with so much joy,
such holy hope and humble confidence in God,
as did this excellent young woman!

The night before she died, I gave her the
sacrament, my wife and two eldest daughters
being present, and partaking of the holy feast
with her.

But, before she would suffer me to begin the
sacred office, she called God to witness, that
she, from her heart, forgave all those who had,
by any means, done her any ill: she particular-
ly mentioned the names of Mrs. Bennet, Char-
lotte Owen, and the Captain; and prayed God
to give them a full sense of their wicked lives,
that so they might repent, and be partakers,
through the merits of their Saviour, of everlast-
ing happiness.

After she had taken the holy sacrament, she
fell into a sweet sleep, from which she awoke
at dawn of day. Her nurse saw, by the change
which had taken place in her during the night,
that she had not many hours to live, and imme-
diately sent for me and my wife.

When we came into the room and stood by
her bed-side, she smiled, but did not speak. I
asked her how she did, and how she had rested.
She made no answer, but held out her pale cold
hand to mine.

She soon afterwards asked for her Bible; and
when it was brought to her, and laid by her,
she seemed satisfied, and did not attempt to
open it.

She grew fainter and fainter, and was not
132 THE HISTORY OF

able to take any thing; but she often raised
her eyes to heaven, and clasped her hands to-
gether. A few moments before she died, we
heard her repeat, in a soft low voice, and very
distinctly indeed, the holy name of her Saviour.
She smiled at us, who stood weeping around
her, and, closing her eyes, died so easily and
so gently, that, for some moments after her
soul had quitted the body, we believed she was
only sleeping.

But when I found that she was really dead, I
could not help crying out, while I looked on
her sweet composed face, and remembered how
gloriously she had been enabled to resist evil,
even unto death, “O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of
death is sin.” (1 Cor. xv. 55, 56.)

Her body was, soon afterwards, removed to
the best room which the nurse's house afford-
ed, and there was laid upon a neat bed, and
covered with a fair white sheet. Her head,
which rested upon a pillow, was dressed as it
had been when she was still living, in a neat
cap with a plaited border, and bound with a
white band; and still it might be seen, by those
who looked at her, that the time was not long
passed when she was very beautiful. But what
is mortal beauty, that we should take delight
therein! All the glory of man is as the flower
of grass. (1 Peter i. 24.)

About this time the history of Susan began
to be much talked of in and about Ludlow, it
now being generally known, that she had run
away from her mistress. Some took her part,
SUSAN GRAY. 133

and said that she had been very ill used; and
others spoke up for Mrs. Bennet. Many of my
neighbours came to me to know the truth of
this strange story; and, indeed, some persons
called upon me, on that account, whom I had
never seen before.

Among these, were my Lady West and her
nieces. They were very anxious to know, if all
they had heard was true; for, by some means, it
had come to their knowledge, that Mrs. Bennet
had used their names to deceive the poor girl.

When I told these ladies the true history of
Susan, and how nobly she had resisted tempta-
tion, they all shed tears; and my Lady West
said, that she had been strangely deceived in
Mrs, Bennet, and had been a very kind friend
to her, because she thought her to be a very
good woman: ‘But henceforward,” added she,
‘«T will do no more for her.”

Then these ladies would go to nurse Browne's,
to see the remains of poor Susan; and, as they
walked through my garden, the young ladies
gathered roses, and other sweet flowers, to lay
upon her,

When they came into the room where the
corpse lay, they all shed tears afresh. They
looked for a long time on her sweet, composed
face; for she had died so easily, and in so hea-
venly a state of mind, that there was nothing -
ghastly or frightful in her appearance; she ra-
ther looked as if she was still sleeping.

“Sweet young creature,” said my Lady West,
as she looked at her, “ would to heaven that I
had known her sad situation with that wicked

M
134 THE HISTORY OF

woman! I would have taken her into my family,
and she never should have known the evils
which have brought her to this untimely end.”

‘Surely, surely,” said one of the young
ladies, ‘if the Captain could see Susan, as we
now do, deprived of life by his means, he would
turn from his wicked course of life to the service
of his God.”

Then they scattered the lowers which they
had gathered upon the bed, and took their
leave; but before the coach drove away from
the door of the cottage, my Lady West asked
me, when I proposed that Susan Gray should
be buried. “For,” said she, “I and my nieces
intend to be present at her funeral, that we may
do ali the honour in our power to this most
virtuous young woman.”

The Sunday following the day of Susan’s
death was the day of her funeral.

According to the custom of the parish, she
was buried at the time of evening service. I
will describe the manner of her funeral, for the
satisfaction of those good persons who take de-
light in these solemn scenes.

It was early in August, and the weather was
very fine. When all the congregation was as-
sembled in the church, (and I never remember
to have seen in it so large or so genteel a con-
gregation, for there were many ladies and gen-
tlemen from Ludlow, besides my Lady West
and her nieces, and the Squire of the next pa-
rish, with his family,) 1 entered the church in
my gown and cassock, followed by six young
women, dressed in white, bearing the coffin.
SUSAN GRAY. 135

My three daughters, and three daughters of a
farmer in my parish, followed as mourners,
dressed, also, in white, with hoods of fine white
linen. As I walked up the aisle, I repeated
these words from the burial service :—

“1 am the resurrection and the life, saith the
Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were
dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and
believeth in me shall never die. (John xi. 25, 26.)

“I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that
he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth:
and though, after my skin, worms destroy this
body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I
shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold,
and not another. (Job xix. 2527.)

We brought nothing into this world, and
it is certain we can carry nothing out.—The
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord.” (1 Tim. vi. 7;
Job i. 21.)

The coffin was placed upon a bier in the
middle of the church, and all the young women
stood round it while I read the evening prayers.
After the prayers, the ninetieth psalm was sung
by the whole congregation; which being finish-
ed, I preached a sermon upon the text which
follows:—Blessed is the man that endureth
temptation: for when he is tried, he shall re-
ceive the crown of life. (James i. 12.)

Having delivered my text, I proceeded to
point out, though in general terms, not being in
a place where I could enter into particulars with
propriety, how our beloved sister departed this
life; had endured various trials and temptations,
136 THE HISTORY OF

and had come off victorious, insomuch that,
though she was a poor and friendless orphan,
and had filled one of the humblest situations in
life, yet, such was the sentiment inspired by
the report of her conduct, that it had induced
many, who were lovers of virtue, in the neigh-
bourhood, to assemble, with the purport of
paying the last honours to her remains.

I then proceeded, to this effect.—‘* My be-
loved brethren, I now call upon you to enquire,
by what strength was this our sister enabled to
overcome the world? Wherein did she differ
from the multitude of young persons who have
fallen under temptation? Did she not partake
of the same nature with other sinners? Are we
not told by him who cannot lie, that, as in
water face answereth to face, so doth the heart
of one man resemble another? Are we not all
naturally corrupt? or had she any peculiar out-
ward advantages by which she was guarded
from sin? No; on the contrary, she was par-
ticularly exposed to the attacks of evil, and the
very persons who should have protected her
became her tempters.

“It may be said, that she had enjoyed the
advantage of pious instruction for some years.
This is true; and by these instructions, through
the divine blessing, she was saved.

«1 next enquire, how she was preserved by
the instructions given her? and wherefore what
is called religious instruction so often fails of
producing the same blessed effect on those to
whom it is given? The principal reason is this,
that the lessous taught to young persons are,
SUSAN GRAY. 13?

generally speaking, merely moral, and the ter-
rors of the law are set before them, rather than
the privileges of the gospel.”

I then went on to point out, that, if we read
the history of the Israelites and Jews from the
time of the delivery of the law by Moses till the
completion thereof, we shall find, that the ter-
rors of temporal calamity had little power to
influence the conduct of those who were under
the law; but when the sweet influences of the
Holy Spirit were shed abroad, men became
new creatures, as is related in Acts ii. 44—47:
And all that believed were together, and had all
things common; and sold their possessions and
goods, and parted them to all men, as every man
had need. And they, continuing daily with
one accord in the temple, and breaking bread
from house to house, did eat their meat with
gladness and singleness of heart, praising God,
and having favour with all the people. Here
we find the love of God, and charity towards
man, produced by the Holy Spirit of God; so
that this divine influence was able to pro-
duce, in one moment, what the law was found
utterly unequal to during the period of many
ages.

P The venerable instructress of our departed
sister had early shewn to her the evil of her
own nature; and, to give her a lively sense of
the love of Christ, she had taught her, that she
could be saved only by the blood of Christ,
shed for her upon the cross, and that her heart
could be made clean only by the Holy Spirit of
God.

M 3
138 THE HISTORY OF

These instructions, through the grace of God,
had sunk deep into her heart. She had early
learned to seek assistance where it may always
be found; thus, when the day of severe trial
came, she was not at a loss. Surely, might
she say, In the Lord have I righteousness and
strength. (Isaiah xlv. 24.) And, surely, in
time of affliction and temptation, even He came
forward to her assistance, according to the
words of the royal Psalmist: He that dwelleth
in the secret place of the Most High, shall
abide under the shadow of the Almighty. Be-
cause he hath set his love upon me, therefore
will I deliver him: Twill set him on high, be-
cause he hath known my name. He shall call
upon me, and [will answer him: I will be with
him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour
him. (Psalm xci. 1, 14, 15.)

Having more fully and largely explained how
temptations, of every kind, ought to be met and
overcome by the like precious faith in the
strength and power of God through Christ, I
proceeded to make the application to the audi-
ence. ‘ You are not all tried,” said I, ‘as
this our beloved daughter has been; yet, you
must be all sensible, that you are surrounded
by many and very great dangers. The young
are daily and hourly tempted to forsake their
duties for their pleasures, and the aged are
tempted to the love of money and to worldly
anxiety. Some of you are tempted by prospe-
rity to love the world too well, and others in
adversity to murmur against your Maker: but,
iny children, pray, without ceasing, to your
SUSAN GRAY. lsy

God, for his divine help; for, as the holy apos-
tle says, God is faithful, who will not suffer
you to be tempted above that you are able; but
will, with the temptation, also make a way to
escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” (1 Cor.
x. 13.)

Then I finished my sermon, by speaking of
the joy prepared for those who shall endure
unto the end, through all the trials of this life;
the promises of God made to his saints; the
robes of light, the crowns of glory, and the
dwellings of eternal happiness, which, througk
the merits of our Saviour, are prepared for
those who have loved their God in this present
world. And I concluded with a solemn pray-
er, that all the congregation then present
might, with our beloved sister, now no more,
be thought worthy, through the merits of our
Saviour, to meet in the presence of God,
where there is fulness of joy and pleasures for
evermore,

After the sermon, I finished the burial ser-
vice, and all the congregation followed the
coffin to the grave.

Every one present shed tears when the
earth was cast upon the body: but, surely,
they were tears of joy; for I have heard many
persons, who were then present, since say,
that they would gladly have taken the place of
Susan Gray, and have laid themselves down
with her in the dust, could they thus have
been admitted to that place, where, we trust,
her soul now is.

Susan Gray was buried by the side of her
140 THE HISTORY OF

dear parents; and my Lady West was so good
as to cause a monument of white stone to be
placed over her grave. These words are en-
graven on the stone :

‘To the memory of Susan GRay, who de-
parted this life in the nineteenth year of her
age, on the 29th day of July, in the year of
our Lord, 1741.

‘“‘ Looking for that blessed hope, and the
glorious appearing of the great God and our
Saviour Jesus Christ. Titus ii. 13.”

Twenty years are now passed since the
death of Susan Gray, yet still she is spoken of
with pleasure and honest pride in our little vil-
lage. Every stranger who visits us is taken
to see her grave, and her story is told by
every mother before she sends her daughter
from her native cottage, to earn her bread in
the wide wicked world.

Mrs. Bennet has been dead nearly ten years:
she died in the workhouse in Ludlow, where
she spent the last five years of her life in a
most miserable way. For after the story of
Susan Gray was known, all her friends for-
sook her, and her customers fell off one by
one; till, at length, the old woman, having
spent the few guineas which the Captain had
given her for her wicked services, was obliged
to give up her cottage, to sell her furniture,
and to go into the poor-house, where, from
confinement and hard living, she soon fell into
a bad state of health, and, having lingered in
sad pain for a few years, died, without one
friend to weep over her. Thus she received
SUSAN GRAY. 141

the recompense of her wicked deeds even in
this world, and terrible, is it to be feared, will
be her lot in the world to come. Behold, the
day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and
all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly,
shall be stubble: and the day that cometh shall
burn them up, saith the Lord of hosts, that it
shall leave them neither root nor branch.
(Mal. iv. 1.)

It was not till after Susan Gray had been
dead seven years, that I heard of the sad end
of Charlotte Owen. She went, as has been
before said, after the Captain, when he left
Ludlow. It was true, indeed, that he did not
wish for her company: however, he took her
with him to London, and she lived with him
about a month; at the end of which time the
Captain’s wife came from Ireland: for this
wicked man, in spite of all the vows and pro-
mises he had made to Susan Gray, had been
married about twelve months to a very rich
lady in Ireland.

The Captain then left Charlotte Owen, and
went abroad to the West Indies, where I heard,
some time afterwards, that he died, I fear,
without repentance.

What became of Charlotte Owen after that
time, for some years, I could not hear; but I
afterwards found, that she had led a very wick-
ed life; for, at the end of seven years, a friend
of mine, who is a clergyman in London, com-
ing to see me in the country, told me, that, a
few months past, he had visited a poor wretch
who was dying in a garret» in a narrow alley
142 THE HISTORY OF

in London; that she said her name was Char-
lotte Owen, that Ludlow was her native place,
and that she had brought herself to this sad
state by her extravagance and wickedness.

My friend talked to her of repentance, and
of her Saviour and her God; but she would
not hearken to him, She said she could not
bear to hear the name of her God, or of the
Lord Jesus Christ, whom she had despised:
she said she could not endure the thoughts of
death, and made use of the most profane and
shocking words when the doctor told her that
he could not save her.

In this dreadful state she lay for some days:
and although the pain of her body was very
great, yet it was nothing to the grief and an-
guish of her mind.

As soon as she was dead, her body was
thrown into a coffin, by the mistress of the
house in which she lodged, and she was buried
immediately ; for she had no friend to watch
by her, or to close her eyes, or to see that the
last offices were performed decently for her.

And now I must finish my story, by be-
seeching you, my good young women, to take
warning by the sad end of this wicked girl,
and to shun the ways of sin, which lead to
eternal misery.

Remember Susan Gray, and let her example
be ever in your mind; and let it not be your
wish to be rich and great, to seek for distinc-
tion and pleasure in this world, but to do
your duty in that humble state in which God
has placed you. And, however lowly and
SUSAN GRAY. 143

poor that siate may be, yet fear not that you
will fail of your reward: God is no respecter
of persons, but he will reward every man ac-
cording to his deeds.

God spared not the angels that sinned, but
cast them down to hell, and delivered them
into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto
judgment. The Lord knoweth how to deliver
the godly out of temptations, and to reserve
the unjust unto the day of judgment to be pu-
nished, (2 Pet. ii. 4, 9.)

FINI.

Richard Clay, Printer, Bread Street Hill, London,