one. At last, he effected his purpose by paying a visit to a neighbouring gaol. On the damp floor of his dungeon, lay a wretched culprit, named Randal, heavily ironed. Wasted was his body, worn was his cheek, and anguish unutterable was seen in his hollow eye; but this was not all: vice was visible in his face, guilt was branded, as with a hot iron, on his brow, and horrid imprecations burst from his blaspheming tongue. The painter executed his task to the life, and bore away the successful effort of his pencil. The portraits of young Rupert and old Randal were hung, side by side, in his study; the one representing Innocence, the other Guilt. But who was young Rupert who kneeled in prayer by the side of his mother in meek devotion? And who was old Randal, who lay manacled on the dungeon floor, cursing and blaspheming? Alas! the two were one! Young Rupert and Led by bad com That old Randal were the same. panions into the paths of sin, no wonder that young Rupert found bitterness and sorrow. brow which in childhood was bright with peace and joy, in years became darkened by guilt and shame; and that heart which once was the abode of happiness, afterwards became the habitation of anguish. Fathers, tell the tale to your children! Mothers, whisper it in the ears of your lisping THE PORTRAITS. 89 little ones, that they may know betimes the exceeding sinfulness of sin, and the exceeding deceitfulness of the human heart. Well may youth and age walk humbly before God, putting up the prayer, "Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings," Psa. xvii. 8. THE GERANIUM TREE. "For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease." Job xiv. 7. Let an old man go back to the days that have long passed by. My grandmother had an old favourite geranium tree, which was cut down nearly to the roots, and had looked very sickly a long time. One Sunday morning, as she sat at her window, her eye fell anxiously upon the geranium tree, which we had not noticed for a day or two. "Ah," exclaimed she, it is dead!" "Dead!" said I. "Yes," she replied, mournfully: "I thought it would die; to-morrow it must be turned out of the pot." The next morning, I heard my grandmother calling to me in a sprightly voice: she was bustling about in her little garden; and I judged that something must have pleased her. As soon as I appeared: "Do you see," said she, and she held up the forlorn-looking geranium tree, "do THE GERANIUM TREE. 91 you see? I was just going to throw it away, but look here, and here, and there again!" I stooped down, and looked very particularly, for I had no spectacles on like my grandmother: at last I discovered, here and there, on either side of the old withered stump, a little sprout of tender green. A tiny budding forth, hardly bigger, to be sure, than the head of a pin, but quite enough to dispel the fears of my grandmother, and to assure us both, beyond a doubt, that the tree was alive. Look up, my soul! There is just such hope for thee. How often do I find thee sickly, barren, cold, and lifeless! full of sin and wretchedness! Thou affrightest me, and fillest me with deep distress; yea, I am ready to say unto thee, "Thou art dead; why cumberest thou the ground?" But, blessed be God! another hour dispels these fears. Another hour, and I discover certain signs of life. A budding forth of love to God, hardly discernible, a tender shoot of affection for all the disciples of Jesus, a love of God's holy word, and ever a yearning to love it more. Come, these are signs of life; for where didst thou get these tender buddings? Yes, my soul, thou art alive, and thy life is everlasting! Fear not, thou shalt yet bud, and blossom, and bear; thy Saviour |