what will become of it when
you die? O my mother! I am so uneasy about your soul--"

"Oh, dear! I shall lose my child--she will die--and what shall I do when
you are gone, my Jenny?" She sobbed aloud.

"Mother, think about your soul. Have you not neglected that?"

"Yes, I have been a wicked creature, and hated all that was good. What
can I do?"

"Mother, you must pray to God to pardon you for Christ's sake. You must
pray."

"Jenny, my child, I cannot pray: I never did pray in all my life. I am
too wicked to pray."

"Mother, I have been wanting to speak to you a long time; but I was
afraid to do it. You did not like me to say anything about religion, and
I did not know how to begin. But indeed, mother, I must speak now, or it
may be too late. I wish Mr. --- was here, for he could talk to you
better than I can. But perhaps you will think of what I say, poor as it
is, when I am dead. I am but a young child, and not fit to speak about
such things to anybody. But, mother, you belong to me, and I cannot bear
to think of your perishing for ever. My Lord and Saviour has shown me my
own sin and corruptions: he loved me, and gave himself for me: he died,
and he rose again: I want to praise him for it for ever and ever. I hope
I shall see him in heaven; but I want to see you there too, mother. Do,
pray do, leave off swearing, and other bad ways: go to church, and hear
our minister speak about Jesus Christ, and what he has done for wicked
sinners. He wishes well to souls. He taught me the way, and he will
teach you, mother. Why did you always go out of the house when he was
coming? Do not be angry with me, mother; I only speak for your good. I
was once as careless as you are about the things of God. But I have seen
my error. I was in the broad road leading to destruction, like many
other children in the parish; and the Lord saw me, and had mercy upon
me."

"Yes, my child, you were always a good girl, and minded your book."

"No, mother, no; not always. I cared nothing about goodness, nor my
Bible, till the minister came and sent for us, as you know, on Saturday
afternoons. Don't you remember, mother, that at first you did not like
me to go, and said you would have no such _godly_, _pious_ doings about
_your_ house; and that I had better play about the streets and fields,
than be laughed at and be made game of for pretending to be so good? Ah,
mother, you did not know what I went for, and what Go