face, and turned thee to the service of His archenemy— the devil. And now — now thou art the slave of sin, whereas before thou wert free with the freedom of the children of God. Nay, thou art worse than a slave — thou art dead. For sin when completed begetteth death. Oh! how unreasonable we are! When the body of a beloved dies we wail and lament, but when the soul dies in sin we shed never a tear. Yet what so dreadful as spiritual death! Natural death is sad, murder deplorable, but suicide worst of all, and the soul that sins commits spiritual suicide. One day a man jumped from an immense height, and landed almost at my feet. Bend with me over his shattered body, and see there a faint picture of a soul in mortal sin. A bruised and hideous mass; an expression on the face to make the stoutest heart quail. However comely that body may have been once it has lost all its beauty now. And his soul? Oh it was once innocent, adorned perhaps with many beautiful virtues, the cause maybe of bringing innumerable souls to God and worthy of a high place among the saints, but now there is no beauty in it — all is lost. See the passing school-children fly in terror from that body; so fly the angels from his soul. See the dogs fighting for his blood on the pavement; so the demons squabble over his poor lost spirit. Had he repented, his past merits would indeed have revived, but not now, for his sin lasts and will last forever. Behold that body, cold and stiff, the eyes staring but seeing not, the mouth gaping wide, the voiceless tongue lolling out, and the hands and
