trusted in God, 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.

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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 own family. As soon as her dear father and mother were dead, she was carried to the parish poor-house; after she had remained 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, and taking heed unto the flock over which the Holy Ghost had made me an overseer.

When, at the end of twelve years, by the favour of Heaven I was restored to health, and could ride about the country and visit

my children (for so I call my parishioners) I went several times to Ludlow to inquire 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 daugter of the worthy James and Mary Gray; but I trusted that Heaven, who "visits 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 so as I hoped it proved to be. God did 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. I 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 the point of death.

And who, said 1, is this young woman?

I know but little of her, answered she: she came to my house fourteen days ago; soon after that great storm of thunder and Aightning 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. I happened to be up, finishing some work, or I could not have let her in.

And pray, asked my wife, who had stepped 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.

I 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.

Truly, madam, said the woman, I would not wish to harbour any bad person in my house; but I really think that this poor friendless 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 Flemming, who as she told me knew her father and mother ;) and then she paid me every night her twopence 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 possible! And she looked at me.

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

When I was arrived at the lodging-house, I was conducted into a small yet clean room; where on a straw mattress, and covered only with a thin blanket, lay a young woman, apparently in a kind of doze. She was very pale, and seemed to be almost at the gates of death; but there was nothing disgusting or frightful in her, as there is in bad people when they are sick or about to

die. She was perfectly clean and neat, and her face was composed as the face of a little child; for it seemed that she had no wicked passions to disturb or agitate her. Whilst I looked at her, as I stood by her bedside; 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 pretty lively Susan, 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, whilst yet in the flower and prime of life?" But the days of man are as grass; "" as a flower of the field so he flourishethr "for the wind passeth over it, and it is 66 gone." Psalm ciii. 15, 16. So saith the royal David.

Whilst these thoughts passed in my mind, she opened her eyes and tried to raise her self in her bed: aud, smiling, said in a faint voice, I most humbly thank you, sir, for visiting a poor orphan; although I was quite an infant when I 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 came into my eyes; and she not under