The Wide, Wide World. Warner Susan

wept exceedingly while the gentleman was saying these words, clasping his hands still in both hers; but she made no answer. He waited till she had become calmer, and then went on in a low tone

      "What is the reason that you do not love the Saviour, my child?"

      "Mamma says it is because my heart is so hard."

      "That is true; but you do not know how good and how lovely he is, or you could not help loving him. Do you often think of him, and think much of him, and ask him to show you himself, that you may love him?"

      "No, Sir," said Ellen; "not often."

      "You pray to him, don't you?"

      "Yes, Sir; but not so."

      "But you ought to pray to him so. We are all blind by nature, Ellen; we are all hard-hearted; none of us can see him or love him unless he opens our eyes and touches our hearts; but he has promised to do this for those who seek him. Do you remember what the blind man said when Jesus asked him what he should do for him? he answered, 'Lord, that I may receive my sight!' That ought to be your prayer now, and mine too; and the Lord is just as ready to hear us as he was to hear the poor blind man; and you know he cured him. Will you ask him, Ellen?"

      A smile was almost struggling through Ellen's tears as she lifted her face to that of her friend, but she instantly looked down again.

      "Shall I put you in mind, Ellen, of some things about Christ that ought to make you love him with all your heart?"

      "Oh yes, Sir, if you please."

      "Then tell me first what it is that makes you love your mother so much?"

      "Oh, I can't tell you, Sir; everything, I think."

      "I suppose the great thing is that she loves you so much?"

      "Oh yes, Sir," said Ellen, strongly.

      "But how do you know that she loves you? how has she shown it?"

      Ellen looked at him, but could give no answer; it seemed to her that she must bring the whole experience of her life before him to form one.

      "I suppose," said her friend, "that, to begin with the smallest thing, she has always been watchfully careful to provide every thing that would be useful or necessary for you; she never forgot your wants, or was careless about them?"

      "No indeed, Sir."

      "And perhaps you recollect that she never minded trouble, or expense, or pain, where your good was concerned; she would sacrifice her own pleasure at any time for yours?"

      Ellen's eyes gave a quick and strong answer to this, but she said nothing.

      "And in all your griefs and pleasures you were sure of finding her ready and willing to feel with you, and for you, and to help you if she could? And in all the times you have seen her tried, no fatigue ever wore out her patience, nor any naughtiness of yours ever lessened her love; she could not be weary of waiting upon you when you were sick, nor of bearing with you when you forgot your duty more ready always to receive you than you to return. Isn't it so?"

      "Oh yes, Sir."

      "And you can recollect a great many words and looks of kindness and love many and many endeavours to teach you and lead you in the right way all showing the strongest desire for your happiness in this world, and in the next?"

      "Oh yes, Sir, "said Ellen, tearfully; and then added, "Do you know my mother, Sir?"

      "No," said he, smiling, "not at all; but my own mother has been in many things like this to me, and I judged yours might have been such to you. Have I described her right?"

      "Yes, indeed, Sir," said Ellen "exactly."

      "And in return for all this, you have given this dear mother the love and gratitude of your whole heart, haven't you?"

      "Indeed I have, Sir;" and Ellen's face said it more than her words.

      "You are very right," he said, gravely, "to love such a mother to give her all possible duty and affection; she deserves it. But, Ellen, in all these very things I have been mentioning, Jesus Christ has shown that he deserves 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 sakes he became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich.' He took your 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