for a few moments on the lawn outside to curb down the heart that was bounding to meet that mother, and to clear his eyes of a sudden mist of happy tears. Through the open window he caught a glimpse of her, sitting alone at her spinningwheel, as in the old time. But, alas, how changed! Bowed was the dear form once erect, and silvered the locks once so brown, and dimmed the eyes once so full of tender brightness, like dew-stained violets. But the voice, with which she was crooning softly to herself, was still sweet, and there was on her cheek the same lovely peach-bloom of twenty years ago.

At length he knocked, and the dear old, well-remembered voice called to him in the simple, oldfashioned way, "Coom ben!" (come in). The widow rose at the sight of the stranger, and courteously offered him a chair. Thanking her in an assumed voice, somewhat gruff, he sank down as though wearied, saying that he was a wayfarer, strange to the country, and asking the way to the next town. The twilight favoured him in his little ruse; he saw that she did not recognise him, even as one she had ever seen. But after giving him the information he desired she asked him if he was a Scotchman by birth.

"Yes, madam," he replied; "but I have been away in foreign parts many years. I doubt if my own mother would know me now, though she was very fond of me before I went to sea.

something o' my son, Mr. Malcolm Anderson."

"Anderson?” repeated the visitor, as though striving to remem ber. "There be many of that name in Calcutta; but is your son a rich merchant, and a man about my age and size, with something such a figure-head?"

He is

"My son is a rich merchant," replied the widow proudly, “but he is younger than you by many a long year, and, begging_your pardon, sir, far bonnier. tall and straight, wi' hands and feet like a lassie's; he has brown, curling hair, sae thick and glossy, and cheeks like the rose, and a brow like a swan, and big blue een, wi' a glint in them like the light of the evening star! Na, na, ye are no like my Malcolm, though ye are a guid enough body, I dinna doubt, and a decent woman's son."

Here the masquerading merchant, considerably taken down, made a movement as though to leave, but the hospitable dame stayed him, saying, "Ein ye hae travelled a' the way fra India, ye maun be tired and hungry. Bide a bit, and eat and drink wi'us. Margery, come down, and let us set on the supper!"

The two women soon provided quite a tempting repast, and they all three sat down to it- Mrs. Anderson reverently asking a blessing. But the merchant could not eat. He was only hungry for his mother's kisses-only thirsty for her joyful recognition; yet he could not bring himself to say to her, "I Ah, mon! it's little ye ken am your son." He asked himself, aboot mithers, gin ye think sae. half grieved, half amused, "Where I can tell ye there is na mortal are the unerring, natural instincts memory like theirs," the widow I have read about in poetry and somewhat warmly replied; then novels?" added, "And where have ye been for sae lang a time, that ye hae lost a' the Scotch fra your speech?" "In India—in Calcutta, madam."

66

“Ah, then it's likely ye

ken

His hostess, seeing he did not eat, kindly asked him if he could suggest anything he would be likely to relish. "I thank you, madam,' he answered; "it does seem to me that I should like some oatmeal

THE PRODIGAL'S ELDER BROTHER.

BY THE REV. J. HUNT COOKE.

In the exposition of the parable of the prodigal son

divine of all allegories-the character of the elder brother has seldom been treated with the justice it deserves. He is generally represented

as a selfish churl, worthy only of condemnation; yet an unprejudiced examination will reveal very much in him that demands respect, and even sympathy. Notice how he is represented; and first of all observe that there is not one word of censure in the narration; the only words uttered by the father are in praise; the younger brother had been running a career of folly, wastefulness and sin, and that, perhaps, for years; but all this time he had stayed at home, had been doing his duty, and had not at any time disobeyed his father, and had never sought to incur the expense of some scene of merriment with his companions; his course had been marked by industry, obedience, and frugality.

One day, after toiling in the field, as he neared home he heard the sounds of revelry, and learned that it was on account of the return of his rakish brother, who was being welcomed by his father with a rejoicing which had never been lavished on himself. Can it be wondered at that he was vexed, and at first refused to go in ? It must be evident that the great Teacher did not intend to hold him up to reproof, but rather to show how a righteous man would act under such circumstances. Nay, more; that on strict principles of righteousness and justice, such conduct and feeling is what the prodigal ought to have expected, and what the well-conducted brother might have displayed.

For it is the glory of the gospel that we, the prodigals who return to the Father, are not treated on a principle of bare justice. Our God is not a stern Judge, but a tender loving Father, making a way whereby past wandering may be forgiven, and restoration to His loving heart secured. We, too, have an elder Brother who has ever been with the Father, to whom the Father hath given all things, and who has never transgressed His commandment at any time.

The parable may well suggest to us thoughts of the wondrous love of the Son of God, as we perceive how He might, with perfect righteousness and justice, have treated us, and thus, by contrast, lead us to feel something more of the love of Christ that passeth knowledge. Admiration is higher than censure; the pharisaic spirit may be best weakened by admitting what is just in it, and then seeing how far its righteousness is transcended by the grace of a loving Christ.

First, the elder brother in the parable had nothing to do with the prodigal's return; but our return to God is our elder Brother's work.

The incarnation of our Lord was the elder brother journeying to the far country of riot and famine, visiting swineherds, filthy dens, and, by the force of pitying love, fetching the ragged prodigal out, and leading him home. One glory of His work was, that He not only came to save, but to seek, the lost.

Secondly, the elder brother in the parable was angered that the prodigal should be welcomed with festivity; our elder Brother with joy prepares a glorious welcome.

There is not only forgiveness and reconciliation with Christ, but such a profusion of blessings that the gospel has been compared to a royal marriage-feast. The ascension of Christ was the elder Brother stepping through the portal before us, and securing a welcome. Thus our Lord said, "In my Father's house are many mansions: I to prepare a place for you.".

go

Thirdly, the elder brother needed entreating by the father before he would be reconciled; our elder Brother intercedes with the Father on our behalf.

With this parable before us, we dare not admit for one moment that there is any want of readiness in the heavenly Father to welcome returning sinners. Still adhering to New Testament representation, we need, and we have, an Advocate with the Father, even Jesus Christ the Righteous. Our elder Brother, long ere we sought to return, pleaded His perfect work for the sinner's pardon. He is the true Mediator.

"He ever lives to intercede

Before His Father's face;

Give Him, my soul, thy cause to plead,
Nor dare distrust His grace."

Fourthly, the elder brother in the parable is forward in mentioning the prodigal's sins; our elder Brother blots out our iniquities and covers over our guilt.

Men are naturally apt to be severe on those sins for which they have no inclination. The man of sobriety will be unusually harsh on the drunkard; and he who does his duty diligently will have no sympathy with the wild and wasteful so-called man of pleasure. Herein is a great marvel, that He who sees most the enormity of sin, and has the least attraction to it, has the most sympathy with the sinner. The wondrous love of Christ is apparent in this, that, knowing and hating sin more than any other being, He yet was the Friend of sinners, and came to bring pardon for their iniquities.

Fifthly, the elder brother in the parable mentions his own righteousness—not as a plea in favour of his brother, but rather otherwise.

How different our elder Brother! The king's son had a royal spotless, seamless robe; the convict a filthy prison dress. The king's son visited the prisoner in the jail, and changed attire: found in such garments, he was led forth, and received the penalty of a shameful death, whilst the culprit was led to the palace, and seated on a glorious throne. This is a feeble illustration of the wondrous substitution of Christ. He who knew no sin became sin for us, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. He evermore reminds the Father, "Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment." Wherefore this plea? It is that the prodigal may be pardoned. Our Lord in His last prayer said, "I have finished the work thou gavest me to

do. Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory."

Sixthly, the elder brother in the parable murmured at the sacrifice made to welcome the prodigal's return; our elder Brother sacrificed Himself to bring us home to God.

That the Son of God should look upon suffering humanity with a pitying eye is somewhat comprehensible; but the thought is overwhelming that He should assume human nature and, though rejected and spurned, should yet offer Himself as a sacrifice of sin. He gave Himself a ransom for all. Different views of the nature of the atonement prevail amongst Christians; it receives varied illustrations in the Word of God, and probably the truth in its fulness is beyond the mental grasp of man. But this one thing is clear, that some mighty obstacle had to be removed, some great sacrifice was needed, and

"This was compassion like a God—

That when the Saviour knew

The price of pardon was His blood,
His pity ne'er withdrew."

"For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love to us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

This remarkable passage receives a beautiful illustration from the parable of the prodigal son. There is the righteous man in the person of the elder brother, his conduct certainly marked by truth and a sense of justice, whom it is difficult to blame, and certainly difficult to love. Such men seem out of their place in a world of sinners, and even give a shadow of repulsiveness to some of the nobler virtues. Then in the father there is the good man, his sense of righteousness overwhelmed with feelings of pity and love, hailing with joy the emotions of penitence, full of hope for the future, doing all he can that past sin and misery may be forgotten, and goodness and happiness brought back as soon as possible. One cannot but love him; and peradventure would even dare to die for him. But who would die for the riotous, foul, ragged, swine-feeding prodigal ? Where can love be found equal to that? Such love and sacrifice is found in Christ Jesus, our Lord.

THE TWO BIRDS' NESTS.

Two men were neighbours, and each of them had a wife and several little children, and only his labour to support them. One of these two men was troubled in mind, saying, "If I die, or if I fall ill, what will

become of my wife and my children?"

And this thought never left him. It gnawed his heart as a worm gnaws the fruit in which it is concealed.