"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.