them, and they in him." But He says to them also, Despise not those who appear less good, less religious than yourselves: above all, rejoice in every amendment that you see in them; rejoice when these your "younger brothers" come back to their Father's house, sensible of their folly, and seeking again his protection. And believe when we so rejoice in the amendment of others; above all, when we contribute to it, if we can, we are doing that which God himself declares "it is meet" that we should do: that when we ourselves repent and turn again to God, we give joy to the angels that are in heaven; and when we lead a brother to God and to virtue, those blessed angels themselves rejoice with us, saying that "this our brother was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." And now may this parable, and all other portions of the holy Word of God, sink into our hearts, and there bring forth their blessed fruit in God's good season. May He be with us and guide us to his house of everlasting happiness! Text-ST. LUKE XV. THE ELDER'S DREAM. A TRUE STORY. In one of Scotland's northern towns, a family were seated round the breakfast table, waiting for "the father," and wondering why he was later than usual. At length he appeared; his step was heavy and his brow cloudy. Having asked the blessing, he sat resting his head on his hand, wrapped in melancholy thought. This unhappy-looking man was one of the elders in a neighbouring chapel; he possessed much energy and zeal, and, it was hoped, real piety; but, alas! he was governed by a bad temper, and too often forgot the words of the wise man, "He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city;" and in consequence of his unrestrained temper, the meetings for the chapel business were the constant scenes of anger and noisy strife. The venerable minister, being a true disciple of the Prince of Peace, deeply lamented his elder's unchristian spirit. On the previous day a meeting had been held, which was even more contentious than usual; for the elder had been parti cularly angry and quarrelsome. The good minister's heart sunk within him while he sat amidst this strife of tongues, and most thankful was he that evening to retire to a friend's house some miles from town; for the peace and quiet of the country is soothing to a wounded spirit. It was on the following morning that the elder came down to breakfast in so melancholy a mood. His wife, after looking anxiously at him for some minutes, said, "Are you ill, John?" "No." "Then what has happened to make you look so sad?" He slowly raised himself up, and, looking earnestly at her, said, "I have had a most extraordinary dream." The look of anxiety vanished from his wife's face as she said, with a smile, "Why, you always laugh at my dreams." "Yes, but mine was so remarkable. I dreamt I was at the bottom of a steep hill, and when I looked up, I saw the gate of heaven at the top; it was bright and glorious, and many saints and angels stood there. Just as I reached the top of the hill, who should come out to meet me but our aged minister, and he held out his hand, crying, 'Come awa, John, come awa, come awa; there's nae strife here.' And now I cannot help thinking of the grief my contentious spirit has given to the dear old man.' The husband and wife sat for some time in mournful silence, which was broken by the entrance of a servant with a letter. The elder hastily read it, whilst an expression of the deepest grief overspread his face; then, dropping it from his hand, he covered his face, as if to hide from those around him the bitter anguish of his soul. His wife took up the letter, which was from the minister's host-its contents were as follows: "My dear Sir,-We had the great pleasure yesterday of receiving our dear minister, little thinking it would be the last time we should welcome him to what he called his peaceful retreat. When we sat talking together in the evening, he spoke with much grief of the chapel meeting. 'Indeed,' he added, 'I am so tired of all this strife and turmoil, that I wish my heavenly Father would take me home.'-In the morning, as he did not come down to breakfast, I ran up and knocked at his door; but receiving no answer, I went down stairs again, thinking a longer rest than usual would do him good. After returning to his door once or twice, and hearing no sound, I went in. He was in bed, and apparently asleep. I spoke to him, but received no answer. Yet it was long, very long, ere we believed it to be the sleep of death; for a heavenly smile rested on his placid face, and his snowy locks lay unruffled on his pillow: but he slept in Jesus; for his heavenly Father had taken him home." The elder never recovered this shock. He sorrowed for his friend, but still more for his sin. He gradually sunk, and in three months was laid by the side of his aged minister. Text-JAMES i. 26, 27. ANGER. OH! anger is an evil thing, One angry moment often does It works the wrong we ne'er make right It speaks the rude and cruel word The hand of Peace is frank and warm, Shame to the lips that ever seek To stir up jarring strife, When gentleness would shed so much THE FIG-TREE. THE fig-tree, as known in this country, rarely attains a great size; nor is it remarkable for the abundance of its fruit. Whether the soil be unfavourable or not to its growth and fruitfulness, the climate is certainly so; for a much greater degree of heat than an English summer affords is necessary to the perfection of this useful fruit. The most remarkable thing in the appearance of the British fig is the breadth and peculiar beauty of its leaves, which differ from those of the vine in being much larger, bolder and rounder in their edges, than the latter. The fig-tree, as seen in Palestine and the East, cannot but call forth the admiration of the traveller, flourishing as it does with the richest luxuriance in places so sterile, that little else will grow there, and yielding three crops in a year. Figs are of two kinds; the one falls as soon as ripe, the other hangs for a long season on the tree: this latter fruit is what is made up into cakes, and brought to England. The fig-tree does not bud and blossom like most other trees, but shoots out its fruit like so many buttons, with its small imperfect flowers within them. The fruit of the fig hangs like the pear; it is soft and sweet, and of a very nutritious quality. What we eat commonly in England, is the preserved fruit, and very different from that which is plucked from the tree in all its freshness and fine flavour. The fruit of the fig-tree comes before its leaves. In Eastern climes the fig-trees are planted for the grateful shade they afford, on account of their large, broad leaves, and this shelter can only be duly and gratefully estimated by the wayfaring man overcome by the scorching sunbeams. To him the fruit must be delicious, and the cool shade peculiarly refreshing. Many are the allusions to this tree in the Holy Scriptures. The Israelites sent by Moses to ascertain the fruitfulness of the promised land, brought back "pomegranates and figs." Abigail's present to king David consisted, among other things, of "two hundred cakes of figs." The parable of the fig-tree, and the curse pronounced on the tree that had no fruit thereon, you cannot but remember; and then that beautiful burst of feeling in the book of the prophet Habakkuk, expressive of the confidence of a true servant of the Lord, ought to be on every tongue and in every heart. "Although the figtree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vine; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will joy in the God of my salvation" (Hab. iii. 17, 18). Many fruits, independently of the grateful sustenance they afford, possess a medicinal power useful to mankind; the fig has a healing quality. The sycamore fig is an important part of the food of the Egyptians; and the markets of Aleppo are plentifully supplied with figs of various kinds. Whether the fig-tree be regarded either on account of the delicious fruit it produces, or the grateful shelter it affords, we cannot but estimate it highly as one among the manifold gifts of that gracious and almighty Being, whose wisdom, power and goodness are alike manifested through the works of his creation. Text-HABAKKUK iii. 17, 18. THE PSALMS. AFTER the lapse of three thousand years, the Psalms still express, better than any words except those of our Saviour, the most profound and varied emotions of the devout heart. There is no depth of remorse or penitence, and no height of trust or joy, to which they do not give utterance. And thus, both by expressing and by promoting sentiments of gratitude, trust and submission, they have become associated with the best religious life in the Christian world. The collection of Psalms consists of one hundred and fifty. The ninetieth is attributed to Moses. If he was its author, it is more than four hundred years older than any other in the collection. The occasion is supposed to have been the mournful mortality of the Israelites in the wilderness. About one-third are attributed to David. They relate to his early life; to his persecutions endured at the hand of Saul; to the establishment of the national worship; his sin in the matter of Uriah, and repentance; his flight from Absalom; the retrospect of his life, and thanksgiving for God's interpositions in his favour. If one will read them remembering the time when they were written and the circumstances which surrounded David, their meaning and their great beauty will be much more apparent. Of the remaining Psalms, some are ascribed to Solomon and his times; some to the times of Jehoshaphat and Hezekiah; while others appeared at successive intervals, as late as the captivity and the times subsequent to the return from Babylon. If read in their order, they would constitute a poetical F |