the fountains of the deep, and I can weep. As to myself I could weep my life away. I am good for nothing." Attempting once to describe a glimpse of the "shining ones" with which he had been privileged, he spoke with rapture of the heavenly music he had heard. In one ordinarily so unimaginative these allusions were the more remarkable. Evidently his spirit was communing with unseen realities. He was "come to the spirits of just men made perfect."

Of the hymns of the Wesleys he was passionately fond. They had been his daily companion in life, and now they supplied abundant consolation to him in death, as well as suitable language for the expression of his thoughts and feelings. Now he would express his abasement thus:

"What am I, O Thou glorious God!

And what my father's house to Thee?"

Or again, cheered by a realized interest in Christ, he would exclaim:

"I come,-Thy servant, Lord, replies,

I come to meet Thee in the skies,

And claim my heavenly rest!"

For many years it had been customary for him to read a hymn, in addition to a chapter of the Bible, when conducting family worship. This practice was continued when we assembled, morning or evening, in his room. At times the hymn was sung instead of read, and occasionally he would himself lead off the tune in feeble and tremulous tones. At these seasons his countenance would brighten with rapturous delight, and fervent responses would escape his lips.

There was one period of my father's affliction when his triumph over the enemy was surpassingly glorious. No cloud obscured his vision of God. As he expressed it, "God was present, and that room was heaven." About this time, calling one of his sons to his side, he pointed to St. John, xiv. 30, saying, "Read that." The passage runs thus :-" Hereafter I will not talk much with you for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in Me." When the reading was finished, he thus commented upon the words "I have said all I have to say, and every thing that is necessary. Do not be surprised if I speak less. I foresee temptation before me. The prince of this world cometh,' but,"he added with emphasis," he has nothing' in me. He cannot move me." One morning he had been quietly meditating for a long time as he sat in his chair, when he broke silence by saying: "I have just experienced a most severe temptation. Satan came and told me I should shortly be in the presence of my Maker.

6

What will you answer Him? What will you say of yourself?' For a while I was confounded. I knew I could say nothing good of myself. After thinking a while I replied, But what need have I to answer anything? I have an Advocate: He will do all that. Christ is my Advocate. Go to Him. He stands between God and me.

'Acquitted I was

When He bled on the cross;

And by losing His life, He hath carried my cause.”’

And so the tempter left him.

The sting of death and the terror of the grave were now gone. "God," he exclaimed, "never made me to be put in the grave. This body may be put there, but I shall go right up to heaven. God will give me a new body,-a glorious body,-at the resurrection." Only the day before his death, addressing one of his sons, he said, "You are going to Conference. Tell the brethren the consolations of God were never clearer. Tell them I am on the Rock." And on the Rock he rested. There was no cloud, no anxiety, no fear. He slept much on the day preceding his departure; but his wakeful moments were occupied in magnifying Christ. It was evident, as the day wore on, and especially during the following night, that the restlessness of death was upon him. His sufferings were often acute; but no murmur escaped his lips. On the morning of July 22nd he was visited by his two medical attendants, who still thought that he might rally a little, although the end could not be far off. As they were leaving, one said, "Good-bye." Looking up, he repeated, "Good-bye, good-bye;" adding, "I know what that means." Scarcely had they left the house when there was a summons to the sick room. The family gathered quickly. The dying saint was resting his head upon his daughter's breast, and the dew of death was clearly upon his brow. His beloved wife whispered gently in his ear,

"Take this poor fluttering soul to rest,
And lodge it, Saviour, in Thy breast."

Gently responding, "Amen," he passed peacefully away. In accordance with an oft-repeated request, an attempt was made to sing the hymn commencing,

"Happy soul, thy days are ended,

All thy mourning days below," etc.;

but grief made it impossible to finish the first verse.

Of my father's character little further need be written. Highprincipled, of sterling worth, wise in counsel, consistent in deportment, of blameless life, always the Christian minister, an intelligent

and thoughtful preacher, a safe friend, an affectionate and faithful colleague, and ardently attached to Wesleyan-Methodism, he was most loved and most trusted where best known. And he required to be known; otherwise a somewhat cold and reserved manner would impress the observer wrongly.

One testimony I would not withhold. "I always trusted him," writes the Rev. George C. Harvard, a former colleague, "and found him the same unswerving, open, manly, faithful Christian. He had much, too, that showed him wise, experienced, and practical; and these qualities were of eminent service in the work to which he devoted his full strength of purpose throughout his course. I shall always count him among the strong men who move others, but are not soon moved themselves. He feared God more than man."

As a father, his influence over his family was more than ordinarily great. Never was the week's work thought done, unless he had written to any of his children who might happen to be at school his word was lovingly, yet strictly, obeyed by them; and no terms can describe how deeply they feel their loss. Through a long and quietly-persevering life, he was preparing for a triumphant death: when the appointed time came, his sun set in a cloudless sky.

"I WILL ARISE AND GO TO MY FATHER."

(LUKE XV. 11-24.)

We have previously pointed out the connection between the several parables of the trilogy given by St. Luke in this chapter. Advancing in harmony with the relative value of the objects spoken of, we have one in the hundred, one in ten, and one in two. There is here, also, an indication of the degrees of wilful sinfulness which characterize mankind. The lost sheep well represents the ignorant and thoughtless sinner, who, though his heart wanders from God, has only a very partial apprehension of his relation to Him. The lost piece of money, bearing the image of the rightful Sovereign, reminds us of the original condition of man, and of his intelligent surrender of that condition. In the prodigal son, we see the deeper guilt of those who have a consciousness of God's fatherly relation to them, yet recklessly throw away their sacred privileges. These parables are precious anticipations of the Pauline view of "the Gospel of the grace of God." No where in His teachings does Jesus more beautifully and attractively present the deep interest of God in man.

The parable before us is usually regarded as the most exquisitely gracious and tender of the many that Jesus delivered. All were spoken out of His Divine-human wisdom; but their variety admits of different degrees of beauty and excellence, so far as human appreciation is concerned. The principle of this one lies on the surface. It was no doubt at once seen and felt by those to whom it was originally addressed, in the discomfiture of the one class, and in the encouragement of the other. The haughty Pharisees were made to feel that their mind was the very opposite of God's mind, while the despised" sinners" were given to know that they were unspeakably precious to Him. So its pathetic power ever impresses the hearts of men. "We all must find ourselves reproduced in this parable in some sense, either as we have become, or as we have been, or as we are hoping and endeavouring to be." It is simple, and yet profound; a touching chapter of human life, and yet full of the mysteries of the kingdom of God; perfectly natural in its representations, and yet rich in meaning, down to its minutest features. Every word of it strikes a chord in our innermost nature. How many have looked upon it, until their souls were subdued in conscious guiltiness and penitence; how many stricken hearts has it inspired with hope; how many has it guided to the embrace and love of the great Father!

The circumstances under which the parable was spoken, do not admit of our regarding it as designed to represent the Jewish and the Gentile worlds respectively. It is true, the terms employed allow of such an application; in the younger son may be supposed to be represented the Gentile apostasy, and in his return the admission of the Gentiles into the privileges of the Divine covenant of mercy; while the elder son may be taken to represent the narrow-minded and exclusive Jews, in their monopoly of grace and proud rejection of "the sinners of the Gentiles." But this was evidently not the primary object of the Saviour. His aim was to teach the one love of God to all sinners, whether openly or secretly such. We are invited to see "how the manifestly apostate sinner, coming in penitence, is received again; how the secretly apostate sinner, even while he is wilfully revolting against his father and his brother, is borne with in mercy, is graciously entreated, and even still sought." Love appears in all its Divine affluence, surpassing the ideas of men, and yet Divinely wise in its manifestation. The owners of the sheep and of the money, and the father of the son, are conscious that their loss has violated the completeness and order which they are anxious to maintain; and especially in the father's house is the loss felt. So God, in His wisdom and love, is ever desiring to restore the completeness of the order He has instituted. "The Divine regard for the symmetry

and beauty of the eternal temple causes the Divine love to exert itself about this or that stone in the structure." The value of the lost one in itself forms also a potent consideration in the efforts made for his recovery.

In our exposition of this parable we shall aim to bring out its principal features, under which will follow the interpretation of its numerous and interesting particulars.

We are presented at the outset with a clear intimation of the Fatherhood of God. "A certain man had two sons: a condescending mode of stating the relation of God to mankind. In the exclusive Pharisaic mind there was a disposition to disinherit the "sinners." In their conception, whatever the father's house contained was theirs, and theirs alone. The Saviour seems to allow them a certain pre-eminence, perhaps with the intention of making their churlishness appear the more odious when it is exposed. To the general observer, these "sons" would appear to be very different in character. The one seems to be home-loving, industrious, and dutiful; the other is wayward, impetuous, and disobedient. Merit seems to be all on the one side, and demerit on the other: a corresponding attention and disregard on the part of the father might be expected. But they are both the sons of that father; and no special love is reserved for the "elder." How impressively does this intimate God's "undistinguishing regard" for every member of His family. He is the "Father of the spirits of all flesh." Men vary much in their outward deportment towards Him. But His is a Father's heart; and there lives in it an allcomprising compassion which finds its incessant expression in the ten thousand forms in which it seeks to bless all, and to win their filial love. Such, we deem, was the judgment of St. Paul when, discussing the relation of God to men with the philosophers of Athens, he quotes with approval the saying of one of their own poets, "We are also His offspring." He maintains, that as God is the Father of all mankind, they ought ever to feel themselves superior to the worship of bodily forms, which are produced "by art and man's device."

It is true that the rights of children are declared to belong only to those who are such by faith in their true and atoning "elder Brother." By sin all men have sacrificed the privileges of sonship. The Saviour makes the younger brother freely acknowledge this: "I am not worthy to be called thy son:" if he hopes to be restored to that position, he confesses it can only be by an act of the Father's compassion. The disaffection and self-absorption of the elder brother show that he is in no better position. He, too, has lost the love, and therefore the rights, of a son; and must, no less than the other, owe his restoration to his place in the family to