it far more. Do you think, if you had never behaved like a child to your mother—if you had never made her the least return of love or regard—that she would have continued to love you as she does?"
"No, sir," said Ellen, "I do not think she would."
"Have you ever made any fit return to God for His goodness to you?"
"No, sir," said Ellen, in a low tone.
"And yet there has been no change in His kindness. Just look at it, and see what He has done and is doing for you. In the first place, it is not your mother, but He, who has given you every good and pleasant thing you have enjoyed in your whole life. You love your mother because she is so careful to provide for all your wants; but who gave her the materials to work with? She has only been, as it were, the hand by which He supplied you. And who gave you such a mother?—there are many mothers not like her;—who put into her heart the truth and love that have been blessing you ever since you were born? It is all—all God's doing, from first to last; but His child has forgotten Him in the very gifts of His mercy."
Ellen was silent, but looked very grave.
"Your mother never minded her own ease or pleasure when your good was concerned. Did Christ mind His? You know what He did to save sinners, don't you?"
"Yes, sir, I know; mamma often told me."
"'Though He was rich, yet for our sake He became poor, that we through His poverty might be rich.' He took our burden of sin upon Himself, and suffered that terrible punishment—all to save you and such as you. And now He asks His children to leave off sinning and come back to Him who has bought them with His own blood. He did this because He loved you; does He not deserve to be loved in return?"
Ellen had nothing to say; she hung down her head further and further.
"And patient and kind as your mother is, the Lord Jesus is kinder and more patient still. In all your life so far, Ellen, you have not loved or obeyed Him; and yet He loves you, and is ready to be your friend. Is He not even to-day taking away your dear mother for the very purpose that He may draw you gently to Himself and fold you in His arms, as He has promised to do with His lambs? He knows you can never be happy anywhere else."
The gentleman paused again, for he saw that the little listener's mind was full.
"Has not Christ shown that He loves you better even than your mother does? And were there ever sweeter words of kindness than these?—
"'Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.'
"'I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth His life for the sheep.'
"'I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee.'"
He waited a minute, and then added gently, "Will you come to Him, Ellen?"
Ellen lifted her tearful eyes to his; but there were tears there too, and her own sank instantly. She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed out in broken words, "Oh, if I could—but I don't know how."
"Do you wish to be His child, Ellen?"
"Oh yes, sir—if I could."
"I know, my child, that sinful heart of yours is in the way, but the Lord Jesus can change it, and will, if you will give it to Him. He is looking upon you now, Ellen, with more kindness and love than any earthly father or mother could, waiting for you to give that little heart of yours to Him, that He may make it holy and fill it with blessing. He says, you know, 'Behold I stand at the door and knock.' Do not grieve Him away, Ellen."
Ellen sobbed, but all the passion and bitterness of her tears was gone. Her heart was completely melted.
"If your mother were here, and could do for you what you want, would you doubt her love to do it? would you have any difficulty in asking her?"
"Oh no!"
"Then do not doubt His love who loves you better still. Come to Jesus. Do not fancy He is away up in heaven out of reach of hearing—He is here, close to you, and knows every wish and throb of your heart. Think you are in His presence and at His feet—even now—and say to Him in your heart, 'Lord, look upon me—I am not fit to come to Thee, but Thou hast bid me come—take me and make me Thine own—take this hard heart that I can do nothing with, and make it holy and fill it with Thy love—I give it and myself into Thy hands, O dear Saviour!'"
These words were spoken very low, that only Ellen could catch them. Her bowed head sank lower and lower till he ceased speaking. He added no more for some time; waited till she had resumed her usual attitude and appearance, and then said—
"Ellen, could you join in heart with my words?"
"I did, sir—I couldn't help it, all but the last."
"All but the last?"
"Yes, sir."
"But, Ellen, if you say the first part of my prayer with your whole heart, the Lord will enable you to say the last too—do you believe that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you not make that your constant prayer till you are heard and answered?"
"Yes, sir."
And he thought he saw that she was in earnest.
"Perhaps the answer may not come at once—it does not always; but it will come as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow morning. 'Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the Lord.' But then you must be in earnest. And if you are in earnest, is there nothing you have to do besides praying?"
Ellen looked at him without making any answer.
"When a person is in earnest, how does he show it?"
"By doing everything he possibly can to get what he wants."
"Quite right," said her friend, smiling; "and has God bidden us to do nothing besides pray for a new heart?"
"Oh yes, sir; He has told us to do a great many things."
"And will He be likely to grant that prayer, Ellen, if He sees that you do not care about displeasing Him in those 'great many things'?—will He judge that you are sincere in wishing for a new heart?"
"Oh no, sir."
"Then if you are resolved to be a Christian, you will not be contented with praying for a new heart, but you will begin at once to be a servant of God. You can do nothing well without help, but you are sure the help will come; and from this good day you will seek to know and to do the will of God, trusting in His dear Son to perfect that which concerneth you. My little child," said the gentleman, softly and kindly, "are you ready to say you will do this?"
As she hesitated, he took a little book from his pocket, and turning over the leaves said, "I am going to leave you for a little while—I have a few moments' business downstairs to attend to; and I want you to look over this hymn and think carefully of what I have been saying, will you?—and resolve what you will do."
Ellen got off his knee, where she had been sitting all this while, and silently taking the book, sat down in the chair
