wrong, and experience may be bitter, but the heart is inconceivably grand in the endurance of repentance, and in cherishing the elements of that redemption which will adorn after years. That eagle who breaks his chain, and turnst away from the dust, with which he has so long mingled, and soars aloft to the clouds and mountains, looks down with disdain and triumph on those associations, which for awhile fettered but could not break his wing, nor make him forget his home in the heights; so that man, whose soul and body has been ensnared by life's destroying fetters, feels the noblest instincts of nature and of soul, when bursting away from his bonds, with his chains crumbled at his feet, he stands in majestic attitude, and with glowing spirit hails the bright source of his being, and feels that he is redeemed. For to subdue the evil of our nature and to return from our wanderings, is a triumph indeed, and marks the soul as conqueror, and the soul that conquers is not without some scars. In this struggle, the soul stands alone, and no other one partakes of the toil or the triumph. The prodigal has endured the toil, and secured the triumph.

The

Let us look for a moment into his father's house. household appears about the same as they always did; the furniture, pictures, the garden, all things appear unchanged, except that change produced by time, which is not observed by those who live in the midst of it. The family is cheerful, it seems to be rather contented, than glad. It has never presented that life and joy and happiness, since the son left home, but yet there is no appearance of unhappiness. The father seems subdued, feeble and worn; his countenance

has an anxious look, still, some would suppose that it was the result of age. He spends much of his time in meditation. His eye is frequently moistened, his cheek is sometimes wet. He retires often to his chamber to pray. He seldom speaks openly of his boy, but is evidently moved when others do. The mother looks like one that had triumphed over a weight of sorrow, and was awaiting with resignation the end, prepared for it under any circumstances. The sister often speaks of her brother-playmate, and weeps when she speaks his name. She frequently wonders where he is, and what he is doing, and when he will return, and whether he will ever return, and if he ever thinks of her; and a thousand other things about him she wonders, and then her heart becomes sad. She walks forth, and the birds that for years have builded their nests, seem to her to warble his name, and the flowers look inquiringly into her face; and she associates all the forms of nature around her with her brother's childhood and youth, until she almost sees him moving by her side, in the midst of their earliest scenes of joy. The brother was weary with loneliness for awhile, but time, which did not teach him to forget his brother, had subdued the strange emotions he experienced, when first his brother left him; he would dearly love to see him and embrace him, but his anxiety about him, has given place to a kind of confidence in his brother's ability and disposition to "take care of himself."

But to return to the prodigal. Since we left him, his health and strength have returned to bless him, and to encourage his determinations to retrace his steps back to

virtue and to home. He prepares himself for the journey. He is changed and hopeful. He anticipates much pleasure in looking upon his old home again, and he hopes that he will meet them all, and that they will forgive him freely, because of his full repentance. The journey is long, but his thoughts will beguile the distance, and destroy its tediousness. He is on his way. A thousand thoughts cross his mind; and a thousand recollections throng his spirit. Now he is sad as his mind reverts to the past; now he is cheerful as some remembrance of the tenderness of home crosses his spirit. A spirit-glance over all the grounds of the homestead, fills his heart with indescribable emotion, and his eyes with tears. He proceeds on his way. He nears his home. His heart swells with anxiety. "How will they meet me? Will they know me? They may be dead!" An old tree, under whose shade he once played, comes into his view. He thinks its old branches recognise him, and bow and wave him welcome. Beyond the tree, he sees through its foliage the house, the home! "How shall I approach it! Shall I enter at the old garden-gate, or shall I get around unobserved? I'll go in, humbly, but firmly; as a wandering, erring child, but still as a son."

He approaches until he is in full view of the house. The old dog comes out to examine the stranger; comes near to him; growls suspiciously, but still half recognises his old playmate. A word of recognition from the stranger is sufficient. Joy takes possession of both. The son weeps for gladness; one, at least, of the old family knows him, and welcomes his return. He approaches the garden-gate; he

lays his hand, trembling with the emotion of his heart, upon the latch, lifts it, and walks in. He stands upon the porch; so much of his dear dream is realised. The family hear a footfall, and the leapings and friendly talkings of the old watch-dog. The sister's prophetic soul cries out, "My brother!" and away she bounds; the rest follow; the door is opened; recognition is instant and mutual. Their hearts leap for gladness. He is taken into the house. His mother gazes in his face and says, with ecstasy, "It is my son." The sister smiling through her tears, says, "My brother, I knew he would return." His brother heartily welcomes. him. His aged father comes toward him with trembling step, and says, "Let us rejoice and be glad, for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

The family is again complete. Anxieties are over. Love and joy reign again without restraint. Thanksgivings are offered. The tone of prayer, before subdued, is now rather the expression of all joy in realisation, than the effort of faith, or the longings of hope. And as they all kneel as once they knelt, their tears mingle together, and heaven comes down over them with blessing and peace.

THE END.