the Elder Son in some significant capacity | "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and ere it close; and here, accordingly, he comes up to sustain his part. At the moment of the Prodigal's return, his elder brother was in the field, whether for his father's profit or his own pleasure we are not informed. When he came home in the evening, and before he had entered the house, he heard the sound of the festival within. Surprised and displeased that a feast on so large a scale should have been instituted without his privity and participa- | tion, he assumed and maintained an attitude of haughty reserve. Instead of going in at once, and seeing all with his own eyes as a son, he went to a servant, and in the spirit of an alien inquired the reason of the mirth. Having learned the leading facts, instead of imitating his father's generosity, he abandoned himself to selfish jealousy, and went away in a pet. The father, on every side true to his character, came out and pleaded with him to enter and share the common joy. Hereupon the true character of the soi-disant model son is revealed; he peevishly casts it in his father's face, as a reproach, that he had never provided such a feast for his immaculate and superlatively dutiful child. The Elder Son, in his statement of the case, introduces an elaborately constructed double contrast between his brother's experience and his own, which is peculiarly interesting in relation to the mercy of God and the methods of the Gospel. To the jaundiced eye of this sour-tempered pharisaic youth, it seemed that his father gave much to him that deserved least, and little to him that deserved most: to the profligate son the fatted calf; to the eminently dutiful child, not even a kid. Here the hard, selfsatisfied formalist, like Pilate and Caiaphas, preaches the Christ whom he did not know. The envious contrast portrayed by the Elder Son is a dark shadow which takes its shape from the Light of life. It is a law of the Gospel that nothing is given to the man in reward for the righteousness which he brings forward as his boast; but all is given to the man who has flung away his own righteousness with loathing as filthy rags, and come, blind, and naked," to cast himself on the mercy of God. The greatest gift is bestowed on the most worthless; for "God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Rom. v. 8.) At this point the line of our Parable touches that of the lost sheep, and thenceforth runs coincident with it to the close: it points to the same features of human character, and teaches the same principles of Divine truth. In the first place, it repeats the answer already given in the two preceding parables to the question embodied in the complaint of the Pharisees, "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." The father announces with great clearness and fulness the grounds on which he rejoiced more that day over the Prodigal restored than over the Elder Son, who had never left home. It is a rule in human experience, universally understood and appreciated, that though a son never lost is as precious as one who has been lost and found, parents experience a more vivid joy in the act of receiving the exile back than in the continuous possession of a son who has been always in their sight. In the meantime, it is very sweet to learn from the lips of Jesus that this law, which may be clearly traced on earth, penetrates to heaven, and there prepares for repenting sinners, not a bare escape from wrath, but an abundant entrance into the joy of their Lord. But while the Parable thus demonstrates that even though the claim of the Pharisees were granted their objection falls to the ground, it most certainly does not grant that claim. So far from conceding that they needed no repentance, the Lord makes it evident that they kept company with the publicans in sin, and only differed in this, that they did not repent and forsake it. The Elder Brother, towards the close of the Parable, presents a life-likeness of the Pharisees: in him they might have seen their own shadow on the wall. The self-righteousness, the pride, the peevishness, the jealousy of the Elder Brother, in the close of the Parable, represent in its most distinctive features the character of the Jewish people, and their leaders, in the beginning of the Gospel. One of their leading reasons for refusing to own Jesus as the Messiah was His manifested willingness to extend the blessings of redemption to the needy of every condition and every name. When the Lord reminded them that Elijah was sent past many suffering widows in Israel to relieve a stranger at Sarepta, and that Elisha left many lepers uncured among his own countrymen when he healed the Syrian soldier, they were so exasperated by the suggestion that God's favour had already flowed out to the Gentiles, and might flow in the same direction again, that they rose up and thrust Him out of the city, and led Him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast Him down headlong" (Luke iv. 29). The same spirit burst forth when they were touched on the same tender point in the ministry of the Apostles. Paul was permitted, from the stairs of the fortress attached to the temple at Jerusalem, to address an excited multitude on the faith as it is in Jesus. Loving the Hebrew tongue, in which he spoke better than the Greek, which they had expected him to employ, they listened with interest and in silence to the story of his conversion through the appearing of the risen Jesus; but when in the progress of the narrative he found it necessary to inform them that the Lord his Saviour gave him a commission to preach the Gospel beyond the boundaries of Israel, saying, "Depart, for I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles," they gave him audience unto this word, and then lifted up their voices and said, "Away with such a fellow from the earth, for it is not fit that he should live" (Acts xxii. 21, 22). In this inveterate In this inveterate prejudice of the Pharisaic Jews against the admission of persons or communities other than themselves into the privileges of privileges of Messiah's kingdom, we see the reason why the Lord gave His Parable the turn which it takes in the extraordinary conduct of the Elder Brother. Counting that the kingdom belonged exclusively to themselves, the Jewish hierarchs violently resented every suggestion that pointed to the reception of strangers. It was to them that this series of Parables was addressed; and to them, in immediate relation to their stupid and impudent cry, "He receiveth sinners!" But we have not exhausted this portion of the lesson when we have pointed out that those whom the Elder Brother represents fret proudly and peevishly against the admission of their neighbours into the kingdom; by that very fact they unconsciously but surely demonstrate that themselves have not entered yet. The spirit that in regard to self is satisfied-before God unhumbled, and towards men unloving-has no part with Christ; this is the proud whom God knoweth afar off, not the meek whom He delights to honour. Ah! woe to the man who serves God as that son served his father, with a mercenary mind and an unbroken heart: who thinks his obedience praiseworthy, and would be surprised if it should go without a reward. The Elder Son was lost as well as the Younger; but as far as the Parable reveals his history, he was not, like him, found again. He, like his brother, went astray; but, unlike him, refused to come back. The Father was grieved as much by the sullen, dry, hard, cold, dead formality of his Elder Son, as by the prodigal wastefulness of the Younger, without getting the sorrow balanced by a subsequent joy. Whited sepulchre! what will thy residence in the house, and thy constant and punctilious profession, avail thee, while thou art planting daggers in thy Father's heart, and nursing vile hypocrisy in thy own? It is the empty open vessel that gets itself filled when it is plunged into a well of living water; the vessel that is full and shut, although it is overflowed by rivers of privileges, does not receive or retain a drop. Before God and under the Gospel, the turning-point of each man's destiny is not the number or the aggravation of his sins, but the discovery of his own guilt, and the consequent cry out of the depths for mercy. That which really in the last resort hinders a man's salvation, and secures his doom, is not his sin, but his theirs for the asking. What although this son was prodigal;-there is a place for him in God's favour-a place for him in the man refusal to know and own that he is a sinner. All the excesses of the Prodigal will not shut him out of Heaven, for he came repenting to his Father; but all the virtues of the Eldersions of the Father's house for ever, when Brother will not let him into Heaven, for he cherished pride in his heart, and taunted his Father for overlooking his worth. The ground on which the Laodiceans were condemned was not the sinfulness of their state, but their stolid satisfaction with the state they were in. "Because thou sayest, I am rich and increased with goods, and have need of nothing; and knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked" (Rev. iii. 17). What although they were not rich;-if they had known their poverty, all the treasures of the Godhead were at their disposal: what although they were wretched;-all the blessings that were at God's right hand were he comes back repenting, confiding. But what although he never strayed-never missed a diet of worship or a deed of almsthe Elder Brother, by holding to his own. righteousness, rejects the righteousness which is of God by faith, and shuts himself out of the kingdom. Him who thought he was poor, and miserable, and wretched, and blind, and naked, the Father runs to meet with kisses of love and tears of joy; but him who thought himself rich, and increased with goods, and in need of nothing, the Father puts away with the most piercing expression of loathing which the whole Scriptures contain: "I will spue thee out of my mouth." HEROISM IN THE MINE. LD England has her heroes, Of every rank and grade, Old England renders honour To those to whom 'tis due- God bless ye, noble colliers! Ye wrought not thus in vain, you ΑΝΟΝ. THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS. HE appeal to the country at large on behalf of the sufferers from the recent terrible Colliery calamities has not met with so general and liberal a response as the emergencies of the case demand. That this is not to be attributed to lack of sympathy, we are well assured. But there appears to have been in the first instance, when the heart is most disposed to prompt to liberal deeds, a prevailing impression that a large fund was available for purposes of relief from the surplus of the subscriptions collected for the Hartley Colliery calamity; and this impression has materially affected the national response to the appeal. Our readers are doubtless now aware that the impression was an erroneous one. The Hartley Fund amounted to £83,234. After properly providing for the sufferers, there remained a balance of £20,440. This was wisely divided among the coal mining districts of the whole country, twelve in number, in each case to form the nucleus of a relief fund. £2,034 was thus set apart for the Yorkshire district, and £1,106 for that of North Stafford, Shrop shire, and Cheshire. These sums have been added to the amount which has been raised; but the total receipts at present, we believe, will scarcely exceed £30,000. It has been justly observed that if £55,000 was required for the suitable provision of the dependent relatives of the 204 men and boys who perished at Hartley, double the sum is now wanted to meet the necessities of those who have been bereaved by the sudden removal of more than 400 miners.* We regret to be obliged to state that the appeal which we inserted in this magazine last month, doubtless for the reason already * "There are 628 souls dependent upon the Relief Fund for support from the Barnsley calamity, a far greater number than was at first anticipated. To this number must be added the posthumous children who will become chargeable upon the fund for the next three-quarters of a year. These will require relief during the ensuing twelve years."-Extract from Mr. Peacock's Report. "There are 40 widows, 8 orphans, 120 fatherless children, and 13 aged parents rendered destitute from the Hanley calamity."-Staffordshire paper. "It is greatly feared that unless great efforts are made by every humane person, no adequate fund will be realized for the relief of the overwhelming distress occasioned by these terrible accidents; one of them is the greatest colliery accident ever known."-Liverpool Mail. assigned, has also failed to enlist general interest. It has not been altogether fruitless. It will be seen that a few of our readers have forwarded about £20, and we daresay other amounts are being collected. But we venture, under the circumstances detailed above, to urge our appeal a second time, if possible with greater earnestness. Let each reader do a little, and a substantial sum will be raised. The Collecting Form will be found in our January number, and we trust a very large proportion of the forms will be returned before the 15th of February. We feel that it cannot be necessary to excite or stimulate charity by dwelling upon the desolation of so many hearths and homes. The sympathizing heart of England's Queen is the heart of England too. "One touch of nature makes us all akin." As "members one of another," we cannot but long to pour the healing balm of consolation into the bosoms of the bereaved, and extend to them the ready, full, and open hand of temporal relief. "A giant shadow, And black as the tomb! In earth's dark womb! The army toiling In gloom and night, Has lost a fight! At morn they descended In health glowing red; Hundreds and hundreds Dead, dead, dead! And the orphans cry, For the Black Land, alas! THE EDITOR. R INEFFICIENT PEOPLE; OR, A NIGHT AT MUDDLETON HALL. EADER, did you ever pay a visit to a whole family of inefficient people? Did you ever stay in the house with them-partake of their hospitality, and find yourself thrown entirely upon their plans, habits, and resources, for your daily comfort and nightly repose? If not, I will endeavour to explain to you how the thing works where a whole household partakes of the same tendency to incompleteness in whatever they attempt to do. And let this fact be borne in mind-wherever the mistress of a family is inefficient, children, servants, and dependants in general take the same tone, and think and act with the same misapplication of means to ends. The family in question live in the country. Their circumstances are what is generally understood by the word easy, and there are no kinder people in the world. Anything and everything within the range of practicability they will undertake for you. The only disadvantage—and it must be granted it is a considerable one—is this, that the thing never is really done. For instance, in paying them my first-and I am disposed to consider it my last visit-it was necessary that I should be met at the station, which is four miles distant from their house, or that I should have a conveyance engaged for me beforehand. I greatly preferred the latter plan; but no, they would not hear of it. On arriving at the station, therefore, I looked about for some face with a welcome in it, anxious to recognize me. I looked for some respectable servant even, but no such agreeable object could I find. I inquired if any one was there from Muddleton-"No." And my luggage was on the point of being carried away by the train, which stopped at that station scarcely two minutes, when I screamed out for it, and had then the satisfaction of seeing it torn out by an angry guard, and tossed upon the platform, where I stood waiting, and watching the train glide on. But still there was nobody from Muddleton, and the porters and different people connected with the station, whose business was over with that momentary bustle, were all returning to their different quarters, when I managed to overtake one of them, and asked him what he thought I ought to do, or indeed could do. This man advised me to leave my trunks in the office, and walk on until I met with some conveyance. I had no alternative but to follow this advice, although I was not clad for such a walk. The roads were wet with recent rains, and heavy clouds were threatening to burst upon my head. I had a parasol, but no umbrella. And then another difficulty soon presented itself in the choice of paths-one a tolerably clean-looking walk along the fields, the other the highroad. If I took the former, I should lose all chance of meeting the carriage which I still supposed was on its way for me; if I took the latter, I was told by a labourer in the fields that I should have four miles to walk instead of three. My hopes still clinging to the carriage, I took the highroad, and there through mud and mire plunged on, with my thin shoes and light garments soon bespattered, for, I should think, the distance of at least two miles; when a carriage, which I knew to be that of the Muddleton family, appeared rapidly turning the brow of a hill, and then rattling towards me with a speed which seemed likely every moment to pitch the driver out of his seat. The case was one which often happened in this family-there had been a mistake about the trains. The man looked extremely sorry, and assured me again and again that the fault was not his. But the great thing next to be considered was my luggage. I was wet and dirty, and longing to be relieved from the fatigue and uncomfortableness of walking on such a road; besides which, a heavy shower was just coming on. The man told me that early on the following morning a cart would be going that way, which could easily bring my trunks for me. This assurance, and impatience under the inconvenience I had already endured, added to a few large drops of rain, induced me to spring into the carriage, and desire the man to drive me back to the Hall as quickly as he could. And at a fine clattering pace we went, to be sure; for they are all most willing and energetic people, and would drive their horses to death, if that could do you any good. The man had an additional reason for driving as he did, for the rain soon fell in torrents. Of course neither cloak nor wrapper of any kind had been sent in the carriage, which |