The Far Country
ND “A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living,” — Luke xv. 11-13.
As it rises up to our imagination, there was once a pleasant home presided over by a kind and wealthy householder. Two sons grew up in it. The oldest was sedate and prudent; so correct and proper that he seldom got into any trouble, and was always well pleased with himself. But we should not wonder though the younger was more popular. Not near so diligent, he had a fine flow of spirit, and with his sallies of fancy and his frank hearty ways, we can believe that he was his mother s favourite, and that when he turned up among the labourers in the harvest-field, his coming would be the signal for shouts and merriment.
Fancy is a famous inmate, but singing out of doors she becomes a dangerous decoy. Precious beyond rubies is the idealism which can invest with celestial dignity the earthly avocation, and which, even when the hands are engaged in downright drudgery, can fill the mind with noble thoughts, and carry you through the daily task as a son or daughter of the king; but very perilous is this same power when, instead of dignifying duty and bringing heaven into the home, she becomes the syren, and, flying out at the window, sings on the distant hill or far off at sea, luring you away from the solid land or the sober threshold.
So was it with the younger son. The father’s house grew tame. To be doing the same things over and over again, day after day, was very tiresome. He would like more liberty; he would like to see the world. Tush! why talk of danger? That is the way old people always do; but he is out of leading-strings. He is no longer a baby. He is come of age, and can take care of himself: and what is more, he is his own master, and entitled to do as he pleases. And so with the song of the charmer hardening his heart against every delicate or duteous consideration, practically avowing that home has lost its attractions, and that he does not mean to waste any more years “serving his father,” he goes up and demands his inheritance. “Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me.” Nor does it appear that the father refused. Man is a free agent. If Gabriel will not continue in heaven as a son, he shall not be detained as a slave; and when Gabriel’s younger brother, Adam, wearied of obedience, wished to set up for himself, “the portion of goods which fell to him” he was allowed to take with him — those bodily organs, those senses, those intellectual and moral endowments, which in Eden were an inexhaustible fortune, but which in the ‘’ far country” go but a little way.
A few days intervened. For converting into gold and gems his goods and chattels, so as to make them portable, some little delay was needful; nor does the bird always take wing the Instant the cage is opened. As he was getting his own way, he would take his own time; and as he was free to set off when he pleased, he did not need to be anxious or hurried.
At last it arrived, the much-wished-for morning. No mention is made of any tender leave-taking; for when a man becomes a lover of pleasure his affections get utterly blunted. The tears of a mother are troublesome. He would rather that people would not make so much ado, but show a little more sense. And so, without a word of thanks to his father, without any keepsake to his old companions, he hied away on the eventful journey.
Do you not see him? Healthy and handsome, and flushed with hope, he trips along gaily. With pearls and rubies in his purse, and such a load of coin in his girdle, who could be richer? And as up its south-eastern portal he presses into the sunland, life swims before him a vision of glory, a romance of ever- varying ecstasy. Tasks are over; care is left behind; the swallow in its lofty sweep is not more free; the butterfly, tipsy with nectar and dozing on the acacia blooms, is not more happy. O life, life! What a sensation is the fresh feel of existence! It Is dull work to walk. He must jump for joy. He must run up the steep places. He must shout to the jerboas and the conies, and send them helter-skelter to their holes. In merry mischief he must chase the wild hog and her squealing litter till they reach their refuge in the reeds or the jungle; and in mad freaks and frolicsome escapades he flings away
“The prodigal excess i
Of too familiar happiness.”
Till now, he is in a new land. It seems all garden. Palms are plentiful, and orange-trees, with rich exotic scent and golden apples. And the houses are so handsome! For vastitude and for amazing antiquity, even the holy and beautiful house at Jerusalem yields to those temples. And then, this glorious river! With balm above, and reflecting the spotless blue, it seems to carry in solution all the ages which have wandered by its brink, and all the shadows which have dropped into its tide — sphinxes, pyramids, palaces. And as the lotus lifts its chalice to the light, whilst the crocodile lurks below; as from its far-off source it suddenly arrives, with bounty in its bosom and sunshine on its face, but with a dark secret in its heart, and then holds on its way, most ancient of rivers and most mysterious, — at once an emblem of human life, an epitome of human history, — we know the fascination it exerts on many a pilgrim of our modern time. Like a liquid spell, a floating poem — as you surrender to its sorcery, your inch of duration expands into epochs, and into your own life you take up the thousands of years preserved in these changeless monuments. Aching nerves soothed, chafed lungs comforted, it feels as if every furlong that you float bore you farther and farther from all that is dangerous in disease and from all that is painful in the past. And with sensations so novel, — with existence made so easy, — you not only forget your father’s house and your own people, but you forget the frailty of your frame. In self-complacent catholicity you become tolerant of strange customs and strange creeds; and it is well if, amid the pleasant witchery, you remember the deceitfulness of sin, and retain in sharp demarcation the rules and restrictions of the Decalogue.
Even had the wanderer been a man of faith and fixed principle, there are temptations in travel; and away from wonted influences and restraints, it needs special watchfulness and prayer, — it needs the special grace of God, — to keep the way of holiness. In his Egyptian journey even the faith of Abraham faltered; and although his pious errand may protect the evangelist, and his grave pursuit may be some help to the explorer or the trader, novel scenes and foreign ways are a great trial to the tourist. His errand is relaxation, amusement, unbending; and in order to bring back a clear conscience and a purer piety, as well as health and spirits, he would need to remember everywhere, ‘* Thou, God, seest me.” And after all, of the traveller s reminiscences the most delightful are Bethel and the seaside at Troas, spots consecrated by the communion of saints and fellowship in prayer — made memorable by the nearness of Heaven and ghmpses of the glory of God; or places like the road from Jerusalem to Gaza, or the riverside at Philippi, where strangers were drifted together, and a passage of Scripture was read, or a conversation ensued, which made it on either side an interview much to be remembered.
Our traveller, unfortunately, had no good errand. He merely wanted to enjoy life and see the world, and be sufficiently far from home. And we have fancied him come down into Egypt. Notwithstanding its cruel treatment of his ancestors, this country was still attractive to the Jew, and it sufficiently meets the requirements of the parable. Beautified by the Greek and enriched by the Roman, the old colossal Egypt of the Pharaohs had ceased to be formidable, and many a Hebrew found his way to such a city as Alexandria, — the merchant to make his fortune, the scholar to study in its matchless library, the spendthrift to command its luxuries and enjoy its pleasures.
In the mood of our adventurer, a city of this description was sure to be fatal. In the countryside where he grew up, if there was wickedness, it carried its own warning. The sot was notorious and was shunned; there was no field for sharpers and swindlers; if there had been detected any open sepulchre, with his evil communication corrupting the atmosphere, the nuisance would have been quickly ejected from the neighbourhood, — the scurrilous foul-mouthed scoundrel would have been cast forth from all decent company; and by stamping vice with the brand of villany, society not only vindicated God’s law, but preserved itself from many snares and sorrows.
Here, however, it is all so different. Everything is elegant, and at first it is enjoyment sufficient to view the mighty piles of masonry, — the obelisks and colonnades, the public walks and fountains; and as he visits the bazaars, brilliant with the manufactures of three continents, or goes down to the wharf where bee-laden barges and floating granaries are coming in, the bustle and the Babel noises are a stirring contrast to the stupid life at home. Presently, however, the eye is satisfied with seeing, and in quest of refreshment he steps in where food and wine are sold. Prepossessed by the size of his girdle, a stranger enters into conversation with him. The stranger is very gentlemanly, and he must be wonderfully accomplished; for he can speak Hebrew as well as Greek and the n2itvjQ patois. Nothing can be more affable; and although his entire air is distinguished — so distinguished that his fine clothes, contrasting with a country suit, bring the blush into our young friend’s face, and make him feel like a bumpkin and a boor — he condescends, when asked, to share the flask of wine, and enters with kindest interest into the affairs of the new-comer. The result is an agreeable acquaintance, who undertakes to show him something of the town, and who introduces him to a nice set of friends. They welcome to their society the simpleton with his store of silver pieces. They see that he is, according to our vulgar vocabulary, very ‘* fast “and very “green.” Fond of display, they flatter him, and feast at his expense right royally; and not disinclined to dissipation, they lead him on to all evil, even as he is able to bear it; till taverns and theatres, music halls and midnight orgies, are his familiar resort, and in the excess of riot he outruns his tamer or more cautious companions.
We said when principle is weak the “far country” is fatal. It was the loss of this young runaway that he had now arrived where there were few restraints on evil, fewer helps to religion: no Sabbath, no public worship, no stated reading of the Word of God. Even though there might be many of his compatriots in the place, he did not seek them out. He had no wish to fall in with them; he rather studied to keep out of their way; and so, as long as money lasted and comrades cheered, with equanimity unruffled and conscience unaroused, he kept up the revel, waxing wilder and wilder, worse and worse.
If any one is obliged to leave home — not from love of idleness, not from love of liberty, not from love of pleasure — but on such business as to our large towns brings young men every day — on virtuous errands and with honourable aspirations — willing to work their own way and lighten the load of others — do not forget that God is here. It would be true if you were the only occupant of earth: it is no less true of you as a unit in the million-peopled city: ‘’ O Lord, thou knowest my downsltting and mine uprising; thou understandest my thought afar off; thou compasseth my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.” But in order that you may be in the fear of God all the day long, you must avoid those whose frivolity dissipates thought, as well as those whose evil courses make it their interest to forget God’s presence or deny His power. Seek out for your companions the high-toned, the pure-minded, the Christian; and if occasionally sighing for “the calm retreat, the silent shade,” remember what a holy life was lived by Daniel in Babylon; remember that at Rome, In Rome’s worst days, there were found friends of Jesus, and in the palace of the worst of emperors — “saints in Caesar’s household.” Remember, too, that a thing does not become right when it ceases to be repulsive. No doubt that was a snare to the prodigal. In the far country vice was disguised as much as possible, and looked quite another thing in the garb of fashion. So if over their greasy cards you chanced to see a set of low ruffians quarrelling — the fiend in every face and blasphemy on every tongue — you might recall what your grandmother used to say about the devil’s books, and almost vow that you would never touch them. But go into the Kur-Saal at Homburg or Baden — a palace in the midst of a garden — and in glittering saloons with magnificent music, for which you ‘pay nothing, see Satan enthroned as an angel of light. They are ladies and gentlemen all: every movement soft and silken, and nothing to interrupt the well bred silence, except the ivory ball revolving, and the chink of gold and silver, as happy winners garner their harvest of napoleons or florins. Surely amidst these mountains of money there is enough for all, and if it was very wrong the people could not look so respectable. Yet, after all, it is only the tuneful Lorelei seeking to draw down into her gloomy gulf the simple voyager These tranquil countenances and soft movements are but a masque, a veil, a curtain; and behind — within — as any one can tell who has been there, are bankruptcy and suicide, fraud, peculation, forgery — deserted wives and children cast upon the world — magnificent domains brought to the hammer — and ever and anon a murder. So in our large cities there is a sort of gambling which does not look particularly repulsive; for it is not carried on in “hells,” and it pleads the sanction of some titled names; and yet its results are hanging like a millstone round the neck of many a once promising young man, and, to say nothing of those whom it has reduced to beggary or blackguardism, numbers of its victims must be sought in the Portland hulks or Dartmoor prison. They went to the race-course, or, without going there, they laid wagers on horses, and sooner or later they lost more than they could pay, and in dread of dishonour they took means to get the money at the very suggestion of which, once upon a time, they would indignantly have exclaimed, “Is thy servant a dog?” and after a few miserable make-shifts.
only adding sin to sin, there came detection, and ruin, and disgrace. Reader, you will be a wise and happy man if you resolve in the strength of God never to lay a wager, and never to play for money. If you would keep the devil at arm’s length you will never enter a billiardroom, and the betting-book is a record in which your name will never appear.
The time of a young man’s arrival in London is a time of trial; but those who have the prudence or the principle to resist the temptations of the outset are usually preserved to the end.
On a wintry day in 1803 a lad left his native Kelso so sad at heart that, as he stood that night on the bridge at Berwick, the tear had almost frozen on his cheek. It was his eighteenth birthday when he found himself for the first time in our great labyrinth, and on one of the first evenings after his arrival a youth, who from the same vicinity had gone up to town the previous year, took him out to see the sights. The stroll ended in a sort of blind alley, and as his companion knocked at a door it was opened by some light-looking girls evidently well acquainted with their visitor. With instant revulsion the new-comer started back, for instinctively he felt that it was “the house which inclineth unto death.” In much
agitation he exclaimed, “O, where are you going?”
and he entreated his companion to come away. That companion only laughed and went in, and as our friend sought his way back to his lodging he felt very desolate. It was a cold and dreary night, and In his disheartened mood he thought that London must be a devouring monster which swallowed up whatever came into it, and changed it into the likeness of its own deformity. Here in a few months it had made a virtuous youth a profligate, and as if walking amidst snares and pitfalls and strange mysteries of iniquity, he trembled for himself. The whole thing was too painful for him, till he went into the sanctuary. But next Sabbath he inquired his way to Swallow Street. There he found the worship which he had learned to love beyond the Border, and as he listened to the earnest sermon he began to feel, “God is In this place.” The little church brightened into a Bethel, and helped to cheer the following week; and then came an Introduction to the minister, and a class in the Sunday-school, and the acquisition of one good friend after another; till at last the streets which at his first arrival were haunted by gloomy phantoms and cruel ghosts, grew populous with brethren In the Lord: till he who had himself been so graciously preserved became distinguished for his efforts in preserving and strengthening younger brethren.
It was on the fiftieth anniversary of that eventful day that our venerable friend, his heart overflowing with gratitude to God, told us this incident. By that time he was an honoured citizen, and his name well known throughout the churches. Numbers of ministers and missionaries knew him. Many widows and orphans knew him. Nearly all our religious societies and benevolent institutions knew James Nisbet.
Under God, that trying evening was the pivot on which turned the whole of his following history. If he had for a moment yielded — if through curiosity or weakness he had accompanied his guide across the sinful threshold, he might have shared the same fate, and in a few months, with ruined health and morals, been, like him, sent back to his native place a shattered dying invalid. And unfeignedly do we congratulate all to whom God and a careful up-bringing have given the same blessed and self-protecting purity. It is a pearl of great price; may it never be flawed or sullied! And you to whom life in the city is new, pray to God to ‘* turn away your eyes from beholding vanity,” and may He enable you to follow their shining track who through the same scenes passed undefiled, and who now walk with Christ in white among the worthy!
You too, kind friends, to whom God has given a pleasant habitation, extend its shelter to the young and inexperienced. There are some who make a system of this, and many who in various professions are now treading the paths of righteousness look back with gratitude to those whose timely thoughtfulness invited them to the family pew, or on the Lord’s day evening offered them the hospitalities of a Christian home. It is a labour of love which almost any head of a household can render. It were a fitting acknowledgment to Him who, when the path was slippery, upheld yourself; and few efforts are more like the Saviour Himself than the endeavour to strengthen weak principle and protect endangered virtue. It is by fostering the smoking flax that Christ has created all the lights of the world.
Returning to the prodigal: the portion of goods which fell to him must have been a handsome patrimony, and it would have been his wisdom to wait for it till the proper time. In that case, before entering on the actual possession, he would have known how to guide it. He would have learned how to make it more by trading, and he would have learned some temperance and self-control. But with indecent haste he forestalled his reversion, and what he obtained so easily he quickly fooled away. No trinket or toy could he see but his fingers itched till he owned it, and though it had only been in costly jewels and fashionable attire, a short period would have disposed of it all. But then there was the riotous living. The daily bread costs little; but dainties are dear, and are never so costly as when they are gifts from the devil. His comrades treated him, and in return he must needs treat them; and if over exquisite viands and the vintages of distant lands the time flew fast, the money flew faster: till all of a sudden the horse-leeches dropped off”, the parasites disappeared; the victim was exhausted, his ‘’ substance” was gone.