contents or inhabitants of the planets around our own; How anxious are we to hear, like the Athenians of old, what is interesting or new! Christ is the only messenger that came from the future. He tells what is in the grave, what is beyond the grave, and how bright is that home, how blessed is that companionship, of which his people are heirs. Surely, if such a messenger came with that message, it was but natural to say, "They will reverence my Son." And when we consider the perfection of his character, the purity of his walk, the holiness of all he did, the glory with which he spoke, so that his enemies said, "Never man spake like this man," we might conclude, "They will reverence my Son." Plato, the ancient and most illustrious of all the heathen philosophers, who was believed, with Socrates his master, to have stood upon the very highest pinnacle of the earth, and to have caught some of the first beams of the rising Sun of righteousness, made this remarkable statement-that if God were to send, what he wished he would send, some great representative of himself from the skies, all men would instantly fall down and do him homage. In other words, Plato expressed what Christ himself has embodied in this parable, "They will reverence my Son." Plato's wish was fulfilled; the half-prophecy, half-yearning of his heart was realized. God sent not an earthly messenger, but his only Son, and he himself said, "Surely they will reverence my Son:" and the response that was given to it was, "Away with him! Away with him! Crucify him! Crucify him!" And they crucified him between two thieves, one on either side, writing over him in mockery, "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." But perhaps it will be said, The Jews are to be excused, as they knew not the greatness, the beauty, and the preciousness of him whom they crucified. Perhaps it extenuates their crime, perhaps it palli

ates the enormity of their transgression. But if the Jews are to be excused on the ground that they did not know who Christ really was, we cannot plead that ground. We know what they did not know; points in his character that were in the shadow then, are luminous now; truths that were hieroglyphics then, are clearly and unequivocally stated now. Let me ask, Do you reverence the Son? Does his name give its colouring to your every action? Is it the music of your every feeling? Is it lisped by your babes? Is it gloried in by your strong men? Is it clasped in death as the passport to immortality and glory by your dying men? Do you reverence him by loving him? by speaking for him? by sacrificing for him? and, if needful, by suffering for him? If his name is precious to you, do you show that it is so by praying that it may be felt and seen as precious by others also? What Christianity enables you to sacrifice, is just the measure of its hold upon you. What it enables you to triumph over, is just the outward exponent of its depth, and height, and strength, and length, and breadth within you. A man is Christian just in proportion to what he can suffer, proclaim, to reverence the Son of God.

do, dare, Blessed

will that future be in which ange's and redeemed creatures will reverence with us the Son of God.

O Lord, make us to be numbered with thy saints in glory everlasting.

251

LECTURE XVI.

THE TWO GENERATIONS.

And he said also unto his disciples, There was a certain rich man, which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had wasted his goods. And he called him, and said unto him, How is it that I hear this of thee? give an account of thy stewardship; for thou mayest be no longer steward. Then the steward said within himself, what shall I do? for my lord taketh away from me the stewardship: I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed. I am resolved what to do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses. So he called every one of his lord's debtors unto him, and said unto the first, How much owest thou unto my lord? And he said, An hundred measures of oil. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and sit down quickly, and write fifty. Then said he to another, And how much owest thou? And he said, An hundred measures of wheat. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write fourscore. And the lord commended the unjust steward, because he had done wisely: for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light.-LUKE xvi. 1-8.

THE great lesson which our Lord draws from the parable I have read, is contained in the last verse, the 8th:

The children of this world are, in their generation, wiser than the children of light." This is the only practical maxim which he deduces from the narrative. We are not warranted in constructing on the narrative alien lessons, or extorting from it inferences it is not meant to teach.

I may explain, first of all, that the "lord" here spoken of was an ancient nobleman of very high rank-probably a satrap, or the governor of a very large district of country. The steward" was a very responsible officer, corresponding in some degree to a prime minister or a treasurer-a person invested with great power, and having

only to render annually to his lord his accounts of all his expenditure and receipts.

It appears that this steward was accused. The words of the parable are, "The same was accused unto him that he had wasted his goods." From the mere naked expression" accused," it might be supposed, and has been supposed by some, that he was accused falsely. But this may be settled by a reference to the use of the word in the prophet Daniel, (chap. iii. 8,) where we read that "certain Chaldeans came near, and accused the Jews." Accused them of what? Of worshipping the true God, and not worshipping the gods of the heathen-an accusation so far just, because it was sustained by the facts of the case, but yet very malignant. This steward may have been accused malignantly; he may have been accused out of spite by those who detested him, but he was not accused falsely. He was justly accused of the crime; and of that crime there is no extenuation, or apology, or vindication attempted throughout the parable.

The master, or the lord of the steward-the satrap or the governor-sends for him, and addresses him in language severe from its gentleness: "How is this that I hear this of thee?" Never is rebuke so poignant as when it is conveyed in soft and gentle accents. It is a great mistake to suppose that outrageous language is the best vehicle of censure. That rebuke pierces the deepest, which is clothed in the language of love; and the most sensitive heart always feels most the rebuke that comes from the lips of one that is loved. "How is it that I hear this of thee? -thee, whom I had intrusted with all; thee, whom I have treated as a confidential servant; thee, whom I have selected for thine honesty, raised from a lowly position, and placed, as it were, at my right hand-how is it that I hear this of thee. I am surprised, I am disappointed, I

am grieved; it is in sorrow that I find thee guilty. We must part; give an account of thy stewardship; thou canst no longer remain in the office the responsibilities of which thou hast violated; get ready, therefore, all thine accounts, and lay them before me without delay." Miserable must have been that man's feeling. Honesty has within it an inner radiance that makes the blackest clouds of affliction bright; but conscious crime, with desolation without, and no compensatory joy within, must be misery, wretchedness, remorse. Nobody knows what happiness is concentrated in doing what is right; it is God's law that the highest duty is the highest happiness, and that misery begins, and is augmented, in the ratio in which we depart from duty. The steward assumed, as we perceive, that such dishonesty was sure of detection. He said within himself, What shall I do? for my lord taketh away from me the stewardship: I cannot dig: to beg I am ashamed." His own conscience smote him; he attempted no excuse; he felt that he was detected, and that nothing could be said in his defence, and he therefore sets about making a provision for what contingencies were to come. The aphorism repeated for many hundred years is still true"Honesty is the best policy." No man ever gets rich with that which is not his own. A little, with the conscience at peace with God and man, is sweet; much, amid the fever of remorse, generates no happiness. When the steward was detected, he had no sense of the baseness of his conduct, and ingratitude to so affectionate a lord and master; but, in the exercise of intense selfishness, he sets about making the best of the circumstances, and trying, from the wreck, to get something that would float him to a quiet and peaceful haven. "What shall I do?" he says; "this at all events I must do; I will make the very best of my position that I can; I will try at least to break my