mendicant. The "dogs" are agile, and are successful competitors with him; and the tortures of Tantalus are endured by him, though in the form of hunger instead of thirst. The "licking" of the "dogs" is oppositely interpreted by expositors of the highest authority, some regarding it as an alleviation, and others as an aggravation, of his sufferings. These animals bear an evil character in the language of Scripture, but we do not think that this fact decides the question; as an unclean creature, the raven, was for once, at least, sanctified by its employment by God in the service of Elijah; and as the dog alleviates his own sufferings by the aid of his tongue, we are inclined to think that its use on the wounds of Lazarus would have a similar effect. It is difficult to think that they were the stray dogs," that in their voracity prowled about in search of anything they could consume, and were not restrained from making a kind of assault upon the helpless body of Lazarus. They were either "the dogs" of the establishment, which, though they would unceremoniously take precedence of Lazarus in the appropriation of the "crumbs," by frequent intercourse became familiar with him. Their instinct would induce the action mentioned, and the Saviour introduced it probably to give a severer comment upon the unsympathetic hearts of Lazarus' fellowmen. This half-friendly act is so slight in itself as not to diminish the force of the representation of the sufferer's extreme destitution. He still remains isolated and alone in the depth of adversity; and this action of the "dogs," while assuaging, perhaps, the irritation of his wounds, would make the utter indifference to his miseries on the part of men more poignantly afflictive to his soul. The terms employed by the Saviour scarcely admit of our speaking of "the sym. pathy of the animals; " but we have no hesitation in saying, "such a sympathy, if unaccompanied by any other, would be an aggravation of his sorrow."

The contrast is complete. The extremes of earthly enjoyment and sorrow are here presented with such fulness of outline, such delicate touches of light and shade, as shows the perfection of a master. The portrait of the selfish, godless worldling stands distinctly before us. Here is a man to whom self and this life are everything. It is not said that he acquired his wealth by means like those to which it is probable Zacchaeus had recourse; and yet the end of Zacchæus was the opposite of his. Not the slightest intimation is given that he was guilty of any open and flagrant sin. Yet the pleasures of life were the object for which he lived; the idea of responsibility to God was never allowed to trouble him for a moment. He was a son of Abraham; and the final inheritance of Abraham must be his, as a matter of right. The picture on the other side is equally complete in its moral and religious aspect. As many other sufferers, Lazarus

"might have raved and blasphemed in his heart." He might have shrieked his bitter complaints into the ears of men; he might have been consumed with envy. But there is not an indication of such a feeling in his outward expression, or in the condition of his heart. There is a positive intimation to the contrary. His very "desiring" assures us that he bore his sad lot in patient silence. He does not rebel against the dark dispensation that has doomed him to this dismal state. He is being prepared by the "much tribulation" of hunger, nakedness, and suffering, for the feast, and the robes, and the joys of heaven; while his counterpart is being fitted by the "purple and fine linen," the sumptuous fare, and the free enjoyment of this life, for the destitution and the " torment" of " hell;" though it is not improbable that in the self-abasement of the one, "Abraham's bosom was not counted on so assuredly as it was, in his blinded pride," by the other.

We have now to look at another picture, the reversed conditions of the subjects of our parable. The contrast is as marked now as before. We here find Lazarus in a state of the highest happiness and honour; while the man of earthly honour and joy is sunk in the deepest degradation and misery. "It came to pass,"-indicating not an immediate event, yet one not long delayed,-" that the beggar died." His trial is finished, and deliverance is granted to him: how great a mercy! Lazarus appears at the porch of the palace for the last time, his pitiable condition necessitating him to the end to appropriate his share of the "crumbs." The fiery rays of the mid-day sun so exhaust and consume him, that he lies in utter prostration. No cup of cold water is placed to his fevered lips. No human voice speaks words of peace and hope into the dying man's ears. He languishes out the day; but as the chilly coldness of the dewy night creeps upon him, the "beggar" at last yields up his patient spirit to the charge of watching angels. What became of his body? The absence of intimation designedly preserves the distinction between the cases; and also silently says to us,-the question is one of no real importance. He has no brother on earth to give him decent burial; but still his body is in the best of keeping. Certainly it was not taken away by the angels with his soul, as some have very unnecessarily supposed. The true Lazarus was carried into Abraham's bosom." Closeness of fellowship and similarity of condition are clearly expressed by these terms, as more fully appears, when we remember that, in the same terms, it is said, the eternal Son Himself, before time began, was "in the bosom of the Father." As the body of Lazarus did not accompany his soul, so neither did his soul remain with the body. It passed immediately to the fellowship of Abraham, and to the peace of Paradise. How vast

the change; and how joyous to the long-troubled and tortured spirit of a good but afflicted man.

"The rich man also died, and was," with pomp and ceremony, "buried." The manner of his death is not described. No doubt all available earthly means were employed to prevent it. The mirth and the music of the mansion are hushed. Obsequious servants move softly around the couch on which lies their lord in mortal conflict. His wealth, which has seemingly done much for him in the past, can do nothing for him now in the hour of greatest need. O that he had even then turned his heart in penitence to the merciful God of Abraham for help! But what if the habit of self-deception has been carried so far as to preclude apprehension concerning the future; and the only occasion of sorrow is, that he must leave his wealth, his splendid mansion, his festive board, and his gay companions? If so, how much deeper the horror when the terrible realities of his case flash upon his soul! His embalmed body is carefully deposited in the decorated sepulchre. Are we to infer that as "angels " escorted Lazarus to his place above, another order of spirits ruthlessly hurried this pampered soul to the abode for which it was meet? Certain we are, as the passage was immediate in the one case, so was it in the other. He goes at once to the "torment" which he might have escaped, but in the blindness of his heart would not. Into the nethermost region of that world of spirits is he plunged. "In hell," ¿v rập ặdŋ, “he lift up his eyes:" words which tell us of the intense surprise caused by the scarcely-realized facts of his condition, pointing, at the same time, to the depth into which he is fallen. He soon becomes conscious that he is, év Baσávois, "in torments." The whole scope of the parable, we think, forbids us to suppose that he is merely "under torments" to induce right thoughts of himself, and of God, whom in his earthly life he dishonoured. The New-Testament use of this word conducts us to a more decided form of suffering than this. Any minute description of the " torments" was withheld as unneces sary. Enough for us to know that he is now impoverished, naked, and in deepest misery; that he is become an associate with "the angels that sinned," who are "delivered into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment."

In the bosom of Abraham, Lazarus possessed all he desired, and all that was necessary to constitute him truly blessed; but the nameless "rich man" is denied the slightest alleviation of his misery. His condition is a piteous one indeed, when regarded apart from its cause. Impelled by the sufferings of which he has become suddenly the subject, he lifts a cry for mercy to "Father Abraham." In his life he had been a stranger to calling upon God; and, therefore, God has even now no real place in his thoughts. He has carried his former principles and

dispositions with him, and they appear in their strength still. His confidence always had been that he was a son of Abraham; and to Abraham he now makes his appeal. He recognises him; and he has no difficulty in naming Lazarus, and implores that he may be sent on an errand of mercy to him. Does he still think that the services of Lazarus may and ought to be rendered? Or does he think that, because Lazarus was allowed to gather a few of the fragments from his table, he has some claim upon his attentions, and that he should now be ready to hasten to his relief? The strange infatuation of the soul in clinging to the slightest notion of merit would thus be made obvious. He has in turn become the " beggar; and his request seems small indeed. "Send Lazarus, that he may dip," To akpov, "the tip," the extreme point, "of his finger in water, and cool my tongue." The organ which was once so dainty and luxurious," is now suffering the torture of a raging thirst. As the internal fever of the body is shown in the burning thirst of the tongue, so here the fire of retributive judgment is represented as showing itself in "the corresponsive corporeity of the soul." But may we not say, "besides this, and corresponding to it, there is an external flame?" By the "flame" within and without, how awfully must he be "tormented!" It may be asked, "And does the soul possess powers in that world which answer to the bodily organs here?" To this question it may be replied, "The various energies and faculties, which find their outward expression in the hands and feet, and so on, are essentially in the inner corporeity; and the external bodily organs are but the patterns and expressions of that."

The response of Abraham is solemnly impressive. The slightest mitigation of his suffering is impossible. There is here no mocking of the misery of the lost, on one hand; nor sorrow over their condition, on the other. The tone is dignified, but also "full of tenderness and fatherly condescension. He is not harshly repelled; but a reason is given him why his falsely-directed prayer cannot be answered." He is instructed to review the past, and to apprehend the fact, that he had regarded the "good things" of his former life as all that was worthy of his attention. Therefore, they are emphatically denominated, rà ȧyabá σov, "thy good things." He was indifferent to every other form of good; and he is now treated upon his own principle. He is to "remember" that his having so regarded those things as his good, was a great occasion of his guilt, and, therefore, of his present "torment." "Likewise Lazarus evil things; " but not his "evil things." He had patiently accepted and endured all, as a temporal fire which was designed to be a means of purifying his soul, that he might escape the fire that is eternal. It is well said of the good and evil here spoken of, that "it is only of the seeming appearance of things that the words speak; and we reflect that external evil is, as 2 ૨

VOL. XIV.-FIFTH SERIES.

the appointment of God, essential good; while good is not in itself evil, except when we take it to ourselves as our good, the evil being the result of our method of receiving it." Lazarus had made his evil good; while the "rich man " had made his good evil: therefore, "now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." Both had been treated in the method which Divine wisdom thought was best adapted to their case, but with directly opposite results. We see no reason to think that the, vûv dé, "but now," indicates that his was only a present torment, affording a gleam of a hope that he might obtain deliverance from it. The next utterance of Abraham seems to be conclusive against this questionable suggestion.

The contrast in their cases further appears from the unalterable, eternal character of their conditions. The one is for ever safely lodged in the bosom of Abraham; the other has doomed himself to a torment as permanent. The sufferings of the unhappy man exert no corrective influence upon him; the thought of repentance and deliver. ance evidently finds no place in his mind. The time of his "visitation" has ended. Those gracious influences by which he was formerly visited are now, in retributive justice, withdrawn; and the evil principles of his nature, however intense his suffering, will never develop themselves into penitent submission and prayer, but will rather find their expression in bitter complaint, and in words which, in a deep undertone, appear to reproach the righteous dealings of God with him. The pregnant words of Abraham also impressively present the impossibility of his deliverance. Whatever may be the relative position of the saved and the lost, in that intermediate state, admitting of mutual recognition and of colloquial intercourse, there is, notwithstanding, an impassable gulf between the two. "Beside all this," in addition to the results of thy condition of character, "between us and you there is a great gulf,” xárμa péya, “fixed." It is not a mere handbreadth that separates Gehenna from Paradise, as a delusive Jewish notion taught. The heathen idea was more correct than the Jewish. A bridgeless abyss yawns between the two, render ing passage from one to the other an eternal impossibility. In the order of God the diaßñvai and the diaπeрow, the passage in either direction, is forbidden. None of the oi dovres, none by merely "willing," if we can suppose that word to be employed with the intention of intimating that such a thing could be, can overcome the barrier which the supreme and righteous Arbiter has fixed between the two classes of characters. These potent words of the Saviour teach us, and we think were designed to teach us, that the respective conditions of Lazarus and Dives are fixed, irrevocable, eternal. The contrast is perfect in both worlds.

"Half proudly" in his hopelessness, the doomed man yields him self to his lot. The “us” and “you" of Abraham have directed his