peculiarly revolting employment for his daily food. Nor even by these humiliating services can he satisfy the cravings of hunger; fain would he have fed upon "the husks that the swine did eat," but "no man gave unto him.' This is the season for reflection: in this his hour of suffering, the follies of the past rush upon his recollection; the kindness of that father, whom he had hastily left, the wisdom of that counsel he had despised, the comforts, the endearments of that home he had deserted,-all are opposed to the desolation, the necessities, the unfeeling hearts that surround him. This was indeed a trial of affliction, well calculated to "bring him to himself," to bid him contrast his former fulness of supply with the scantiness of the present, to bid him bow beneath the chastening rod, and acknowledge himself humbled and repentant.

"How many hired servants of my father," was now his involuntary exclamation, “have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!" Gladly would he exchange his present forlorn condition for the meanest among those who composed his father's household. When it recurs to his recollection how abundantly all their wants were satisfied, how blest he would now consider himself were he permitted to feed upon the superfluities of their daily supply; the height from which he had fallen makes his present depression more insupportable; the comforts he once enjoyed, and which, but for his own folly he might have continued to enjoy, shed a darker horror over his existing privations. Under the pressure of present distress, and with the certainty of its becoming daily more severe, he comes to the

only wise resolution which could afford the prospect of relief. "I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Fathe have sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants." The consummation which the father had anticipated is thus happily brought about; the distress to which the body of his child has been made subject, has effected the wished-for change upon his mind. He arises, and "comes to his father." And what is the conduct of this justly offended parent? Does he visit the ill conduct, the ingratitude of his wayward son with punishment proportionate to his multiplied offences? On the contrary, his affectionate heart is enraptured at that son's return. "When he was yet a great way off," he "saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck and kissed him." In proportion to his fears for his prodigal, is his gratitude for his safety; the sanguine expectations he had entertained of his child's conversion are realized in the lowly confession he now makes of the extent of his error, of his unworthiness to stand before the presence of one whom he had so ungratefully deserted, in opposition to whose precepts he had so grievously erred. "Bring forth the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet; bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat and be merry; for this my son was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found." By one immediate act of unhesitating forgiveness, all his former errors are cancelled and forgotten. His return from vice to virtue is welcomed by the happy father as a resurrection

from death to life; he calls upon his whole household to unite with him in demonstrations of rejoicing; to exercise their utmost efforts of hospitality to welcome the wanderer home.

Are there among my hearers, parents, whose feeling hearts have been deeply wounded by the ingratitude of a disobedient child? They will readily sympathise with the delighted father, rejoicing over his returning prodigal; they will remember how deep was the anguish of their hearts, whenever their child's rebellion was uppermost in their thoughts; when they deemed him lost to every rational hope of present and future happiness, "wasting his substance with riotous living," and perhaps denied the common necessaries of existence. But they will also remember, if so happy a consummation has been also theirs, with what devout thanksgiving they listened to his prayer of penitence, with what unusual rejoicing they hailed him again a member of their domestic circle-again a partaker of their domestic joys.

Are there any repentant prodigals around me, who, in an unguarded moment, have renounced a parent's protection, and fled from the innocent joys of home, to riot in a strange country, and instead of treasuring their patrimony against the day of necessity, have idly and wickedly squandered it on lawless indulgences and among intemperate companions? Let them, if such there be, bear witness to what a conflict of opposing passions they were exposed, whenever reflection brought them to themselves,"-how greatly their guilty pleasures were alloyed by the frequently recur

ring thought upon their unnatural and ungrateful conduct: and when driven by extreme necessity to ask forgiveness of the parent they had dishonoured, with what mingled sensations of conscious unworthiness and humbling anticipation they preferred their prayer! with what lively emotions of gratitude and joy they received the unqualified pardon, and beheld the preparations for rejoicing.

To those who have perchance been spared these scenes of trial, let it be a timely and a valuable caution. Let the history of the prodigal inculcate upon every father's breast the duty of so nurturing his family and regulating his household, that his children may own no satisfaction so pure and sufficient as those he enjoys in the heart of his home. Let it guard the youth just entering on the paths of manhood against the dangers he will encounter, the privations to which he must submit, when seeking, with untimely eagerness, to break from a parent's just authority, and escape his healing and affectionate reproof. Let him hence learn the indisputable truth, that his happiness is never so safe, as when in the custody of those who are by nature interested in his well-doing; that the value of their protecting guidance is never duly estimated, till a sad and chastening experience has convinced him of his own imcompetency.

Hitherto we have commented only upon the letter of the parable; let us now look to the spirit of it,-let us contemplate the parent as our Heavenly Father; and, in the portrait of the prodigal, acknowledge a striking resemblance to the majority of his creatures. For awhile, we walk

satisfied in the paths of peace and innocence, happy under the restraints of religion and virtue, and scarcely knowing or indulging a wish beyond our home. But with the pleasures of youth come also its temptations; desires, hitherto unfelt, occupy our meditations, meet us in our path, follow us to our retirement, and compose our waking dreams. We are ardently anxious for the new enjoyment, but the Gospel forbids it-pronouncing it not perhaps guilty in itself, but imperceptibly leading on to guilt. We yield to the first temptation; and, not having yet, we will suppose, transgressed a positive command, the compliance is not accompanied with any serious misgiving of the heart. But having once given way, the work of the enemy is become comparatively easy; the prohibitions of the Gospel seem now unnecessarily severe; the control over the thought is pronounced arbitrary; and, with a full and undoubting reliance on our own powers of resistance, we advance one step more towards the snare of temptation. Now the progress becomes rapid-we demand the "portion" of our liberty, to which we think we are entitled; we no longer brook the control of parental authority, of Gospel precepts, of positive commands, but rushing at once upon pursuits, unrestrained by reason or religion, we "waste our substance," enfeeble our powers, both of body and mind, ruin our reputation, and not till every forbidden pleasure has been exhausted, do we perceive the folly and vanity of our What now remains for us, but bitter and unavailing remorse? Can we have recourse, for consolation, to that volume which we know holds out threatenings of pu

course.