"Do you remember, my dear children," said Mrs. B., "where we left off yesterday?"

Mary. Yes, Mamma, quite well. You had just shewn us, that the prodigal son was really sorry for his fault, and that he came back to his father with real repentance. But, Mamma, Henry and I have been talking about it since yesterday, and we want to

ask you how it was that his father knew that he was really sorry; for, quite at first, before he had said anything, he ran up and kissed him, and forgave him all.

Mrs. B. Your question, my dear Mary, shews that you have thought about what we have been reading, and tried to understand the moral of it; I will try to explain this part of it to your satisfaction. You will always remember that the father in the parable is the type of (that is, the figure by which to represent) our Father which is in heaven. Recollecting this, we may explain the verse to which you refer in two ways. We know that "there is nothing hid" from our Father; that "there is not a thought in our hearts, but He knoweth it altogether;" and we may be assured, that He, at least, can well judge of the sincerity and nature of the repentance with which we come again to His house; and there is no improbability in supposing, that by earthly means the father in the parable had become acquainted with the situation of his wandering son; that, unknown to him, he had received accounts

of his conduct; had watched over his errors, and their consequences, and had suffered him to feel those consequences, with a view of recalling him to better thoughts. But though this interpretation is far from impossible, I think I prefer considering him as an earthly father, not to have been acquainted with the whole of his son's conduct, nor with the strong feeling of his repentance. But this, remember, can never be the case with Him, to whom, in the language of our beautiful prayer, "all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid." Mary. Well, Mamma, then was it not very,

very . . . . . was it not too . . . . . indulgent, to forgive him as he did at once?

Mrs. B. His reception of him was kind and indulgent certainly; but I do not remember the word forgiveness.

Mary. No, Mamma, not the word, but― Mrs. B. Let us read the expressions. "His father saw him, and had compassion on him, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him." He saw his son, whom he had last seen in health and abundance, and in

comparative innocence too, returning almost naked, sickly with hunger and weariness, and all his evils brought on him by his own sins. He saw his countenance sad and dejected, and his steps feeble; and he saw that in this state of misery and disgrace, it was still his wish to seek comfort in his father's house. He knew that there, at least, whatever might have been his motive for returning, he would be safe from fresh temptation, and from fresh misery in consequence. Is it wonderful, do you think, my children, that in such a case, all the affection of a father should return, that he should "have compassion" upon any one, much more his own son, in so melancholy a situation, and that, finding it was his own son, he should "run, and fall on his neck, and kiss him," rejoicing that, however guilty, however wretched, he was in his own house again?

Mary. No, Mamma, I do not think that at all extraordinary. But does it not mean, then, that he quite forgave him?

Mrs. B. Remember, my dear Mary, in examining and applying the Scriptures, to be

accurate in considering the very expressions: for nothing is so likely to lead to mistakes in ideas, as mistakes in words, more especially in the Sacred Writings. If, by your word "forgiveness," which you see is not in the Bible, you mean that his father felt no angry, no resentful feelings, as soon as he saw his offending son again at home; if you mean that his affection overcame him, and made him shed tears, from joy and compassion mixed, you are right in your ideas; but this by no means implies such forgiveness as should prevent him from afterwards employing restraint; and even, if necessary, punishment for past offences. No doubt, if the father had seen that his son returned, not sensible of his guilt; but only because he found, as Henry thought yesterday, that he had brought himself into a state of misery, from which he could relieve himself by returning to the comforts of his father's house; his father might have felt "compassion for him," might even have "fallen on his neck, and kissed him;" but assuredly, he would afterwards have made him feel that