quest will bear comparison with his prophetic representation of Christ's ascension and entrance into the metropolis of the universe? We see the Captain of our salvation, all glorious with wounds and crowned with victory, returning with the spoils of the field; we see Him attended by groups of angels, eager and ambitious in wing, loud and jubilant in their ascriptions of praise; we see on yonder Alpine heights, revealing itself like the break of day, the New Jerusalem; there it is in all its amplitude and grandeur, wide open are the gates of pearl, ranks of shining ones are waiting with harps attuned to welcome the Conquerer of sin and death; He enters admidst waving palms, a shower of crowns, and thrilling song, and proclaims himself "I that speak in Righteousness, mighty to save."

The Prodigal Son.

LUKE XV. 17.

A Sermon by the Rev. J. Martin.

It is well understood that the Parables of our Lord are all intended to set forth some doctrine in religion, or some point of our relation to the supernatural world. But biblical critics are not quite agreed whether their several stories are bona fide selections from the domain of actual history, and simply narrated over again for the purpose of illustrating spiritual things; or that they are creations of the Saviour's fancy, as it played upon the elements of human nature and common life, and from them constructed a picture at once true to nature or fact, and to the supernatural. We have rather a prejudice against the very idea of fiction; not, perhaps, because there is anything morally wrong and practically vicious in that style of communicating ideas, but because we find it hard to dissociate the very word, itself, from those romantic improbabilities, and generally exaggerated and grotesque situations of nature, which constitute so much of the professional novelist's stock-in-trade; and this merely artistic defect is the smallest-great as it is to the critic--that the moral test would expose, when applied to the greatest portion of modern fiction. But whether the Parables of the Great Teacher are true in nature or in fact, it will readily be acknowledged that, coming as they do from the pure and holy deeps of His truthful mind, however entertaining as pictures of real life, they are more entertaining by reason of the sublime truths which they are intended to make known and simplify to mankind. These Parables have, also, the advantage of presenting the truth and sympathy of God, in such homely dress as to render the sacred mysteries of grace intelligible to the humblest minds. Hence it is that we have a method of teaching, in the Gospel Parables, well calculated to recommend the truth to the conscience of every man in the sight of God, and to obtain for it a place in the apprehension of mankind, generally, which might not be secured by dialectics and elaborate disquisitions, after

the manner of modern homeletics. Very sweetly and easily did the fountain of truth pour of its fulness from the lips of Him who spake as never man spake. God help us to learn how to teach, and how to hear for the best. And now let us proceed with the Parable in hand.

There can be but little difficulty in finding out the intention of the Parable of the "Prodigal Son." It is well calculated, as it is, doubtless, designed to teach us the glorious fact, that though man is a strayed child, yet that he is the child of God; and that his heavenly Father is ever ready to receive each penitent and returning sinner back to his old home, and its long-forsaken enjoyments and privileges. For this lesson it is a well-pointed story, and some of its features especially run with great closeness and fineness to the doctrines of redemption, as taught elsewhere in the Scriptures. One such point we have in the text before us, and from which, as a commanding stand-point, we may survey the whole field of our story. In the first place, however, we should not let the opportunity pass away unimproved, of saying a few words about the morality of the parable, and then proceed to speak of its points of spiritual teach

ing.

I. THE PRODIGAL SON,-a picture from real life, in which we see the baseness and bad consequences flowing from prodigality; a lesson for young men.

The Family Institution, domestic society, when conducted according to the Divine intention, and by the operation of principles derived from His revealed will, is one of the happiest arrangements to secure human welfare in this world, that could possibly be devised. And when it can be exhibited in all its capability, it constitutes itself a picture, which for beauty and interest is not surpassed by anything under the sun; and which, as an instrument of real beneficent and permanent power, is not to be found in any other form of human society. In the family, authority, affection, and the faculty of instruction are presented to the younger members and domestics, by father and mother, in an aspect, and by the force of their mutual relations, well fitted to command attention. These three elements constitute a perfect power of culture, which the parent holds by prerogative, and employs by a wise discretion; while, on the other side, obedience and imitation are secured by that feeling of dependence and subjection which will ever distinguish welltrained children. This culture of social feeling and habit of submission to the behests of authority and law, acquired in family life, is the essential preparation for every voluntary association with others, and control of self in future life, or whenever the family tie is severed. But this lovely and well-contrived institution does not in every case work out its proper results in that happy perfection contemplated in the theory of domestic life; and the parable before us is an instance in point. The younger son is a giddy prodigal, and his brother is a sulky, selfish churl. Where lay the blame of disruption in the family, is, perhaps, more than we can venture to say absolutely. The case of poor old Eli suggests the

probability of a little fault in the parent. Put this we may very safely affirm, that when a young man begins to feel a disgust for home-life; when he hankers after scenes and pleasures prohibited by his parents, he will do right just to sit down and meditate an hour upon his own condition of mind. If he will take this course, it is not improbable that he may find out that he is just on the threshold of a career which shall prove how wrong it is, by the consequences which it will entail upon him at last. If there is a young man here to-night who has been meditating such a step, let him just think that the more mature experience, knowledge of the world, and, by consequence, greater practical wisdom of his parents, is surely entitled to some respect. And may he not assure himself that they have an affection for him, and a solicitude for his welfare, such as no other being in the world is ever likely to surpass or even to equal. Would a little self-distrust, therefore, not be quite becoming? And might he not with very much propriety, and credit to himself, just come to the conclusion that all those grumblings and kickings against the regulations and general discipline imposed upon him, are actually suggested and required by his own wayward, and perverse disposition? Let such an one just consider that his parents have discovered in him some very unpleasant symptoms, and that, in fact, he is a prodigal in the bud.

It may be presumed, that this young man had for some time meditated the step recorded of him in the beginning of the parable. We all know that such things are not usually conceived and carried out in a day. And no doubt he had chafed and fretted himself many a long day, until a sullen, wrathful discontent with the authority and discipline administered under the parental roof, determined him to its repudiation. Young people are proverbially rash, and are generally disposed, inconsiderately enough, to construe a wise and necessary control into an ill-tempered and unreasonable severity. And if there is any colour for such a pretence, they will not be slow to hold on by it against all persuasion. But in the case of this young rake, there was not only impatience under and dislike of his father's rule, but he seems to have been as insensible to the proper feelings which he owed to him, as he was blind to his own best interests. It would have been well for him to have remembered, that there are ways which seem right unto men, but the end of them is death. However, having resolved upon forsaking home, and upon the strength of some false pretence no doubt; perhaps, presuming upon the good-nature of his poor old father, or possibly in an insolent manner, asserting a claim under legal protection, he demands the portion of goods that by right, usage, or promise, fell to his share. He obtained his wish, and without losing much time, we may be sure, he turned his property into ready money, and without one rueful look, probably, without one regretful thought, but with a jaunty air, and a wicked, wanton frivolity, the hardened pest turns his back upon all the tender charities of home, and its sober, quiet manners, and sets his face toward the far country. Now there is nothing very vicious in merely leaving home; under some circum

stances, it becomes an imperative duty. But no circumstance, connected with the prodigal's conduct, suggests anything which the most charitable judgment can construe in his favour. Were we to find in any subsequent portion of the story a jot which could supply matter of hope, that his object in removing to a distant land, was that he might clear himself from bad associates, and wear off, by the lapse of time, and a change of scenes and circumstances, the vicious habits which he had formed at home in the earlier and giddy years of his life; had he been moved by a noble resolution, no longer to be a loafing dependent upon the family exchequer, but that in some far-off land of business, he would invest his capital in honest and honourable enterprise, find scope for the exercise of a manly energy, cut his way to reputation and competence, and then die, leaving the mark upon the world of a man;-had this been the case, we should have forgiven him the wild oats of his youth. The world will always let bygones be bygones, if it sees an earnest effort to do better. But, unfortunately, just as good habits grow into a second nature, and diminish the chance of bad ones doing any harm, so is it with bad habits: they gain upon us, while the disposition to check them grows less and less vigorous, until, indeed, no such disposition any longer exhibits itself. This is, indeed, one of the most fearful consequences of vice. This seems to have been the case with the poor proffigate before us. We may be pretty certain, that the gross tastes which he resolved to indulge would have a freer play in the region where he was unknown; and, where, consequently, he would feel no check arising from family, or other considerations. This was no doubt his design in taking himself so far away. He had determined to have a full swing: and, as the sequel shows, he got vastly more of it than he had anticipated. It would be a gross injustice, of course, to our young and dashing friend to suppose for a moment, that a character so free and fast as his own, would not be duly appreciated by sundry dwellers in the country of his adoption. No doubt the kind of companions that were to his taste, would be quick enough to discover the distinguished merit of one who had cast off all fear, and had attained so early in life to a degree of aban donment, which, usually, only rewards a riper experience in profligacy. We should, therefore, have been quite prepared for the information, had the parable proceeded to state that a few other prodigals were quite in readiness to give him an unremitting assistance in expending his cash. This is quite the case according to the etiquette which prevails in modern circles of dissipation. The hard-up, used up sensualist, out at elbows, but cunning as the devil, professes the most obsequious attendance upon every fresh victim, and will extend to him all the benefits derivable from his own very ripe and exten sive acquaintance with vice and sensualism, and in the latest, most fashionable mode; just in the same way, precisely, as we may suppose a very hungry and acute spider might hold himself the very obedient servant of any very fat, juicy, and well-to-do fly, unfortunate enough to venture upon the treacherous web. Here the story begins to thicken. Like a ship without a rudder amongst broken water in

the vicinity of dangerous rocks, so is this young man. Destitute of sound principles, and pure tastes, he labours on and on among these harpies, until his keel grazes the rocks below. He sailed a long voyage in quest of happiness with money in his hand, thinking to purchase this pearl with cash. Not content with the quiet, sober joys of home and fire-side life, he pushes boldly off into the quick, delirious eddies of a "Fast career. It would be a curious piece of information to know what were exactly the haunts and habits of a spendthrift in those old-fashioned times. Solomon has said many trenchant things concerning a prodigal's life; and we may judge ourselves what are the staple vices of every age, from the historic record in every time and place. But the story of the Prodigal Son is soon told; for as the longest lane has a turning, so the longest purse has its last groat.-"The fool and his money are soon parted." But wasting his substance in riotous living is not all. Extravagance and dissipation, involve not only money foolishly spent, but they carry with them a waste of health, of time, and of reputation. They shiver every timber of the ship. Every part and parcel of the man is blasted, running rigging and standing rigging; from_the_ground tackle to the main truck, as a sailor would say. "For he that breaketh down a hedge, a serpent shall bite him." And never was anything more true than this aphorism, in the case of this giddy, young "prodigal." Depend upon it, young men, you cannot do wrong with impunity. The penalty may hang fire, until you get far up into years, but it will reach you in the long run. A word to the wise is enough. And now this young gentleman has got to the end of his fortune, and into the middle of a famine, so he begins to be " "in want." This is a sorry finish for him, after all his rollicking fun. A famine! But, surely, those very good companions of his will come to his aid in the hour of distress. Of course, they will press around him in a gentlemanly and generously disposed rivalry, as to which of them shall have the unspeakable credit of helping him first and most. "Cheer up, dear, dear friend! what can we have the pleasure of doing for you?" This is the sort of thing the poor fellow is entitled to expect. But his expectations are doomed,-not for the first time, to be cut off. This mighty famine scatters the vicious confederacy of profligates, and many a shabby job they must stoop to, under the delusion that it is quite necessary, though very difficult, to live. But what shall our broken-down hero do? and what is he good for? With a constitution in no great trim for hard work; with a reputation by no means in good odour, and in all that peculiar "seediness," characteristic of a degenerate gentleman, what so good, -what so suitable a thing for him as the keeping of pigs. And is this what fine-bred, and fast-living men come to at last? Is this the lofty and brilliant destiny which they cut out for themselves in the work of life? Look at this well-educated and high-spirited prodigal now. Look at the noble sphere the devil has hustled him into, hoping he may commit suicide, no doubt. He is not even a clean, tidy, respectable shepherd, but a dirty, vulgar, heathen drudge among swine. What a picture! What degradation! But, after

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