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Who will give to the hungry heart of man, whose appetite will not, cannot, be put off with husks, whose desires are so infinite, whose yearning is so unutterable? Where shall we look to satisfy the craving of that spirit made to be filled with all the fulness of God? Who will give to him? Shall we appeal to the gaudy, painted world, with its brief pageant, its short-lived joys, its aimless tumult and hubbub? What has Fashion to give her votaries and her victims? A delirious dream, a momentary intoxication, a giddy whirl of social and animal excitement, and then the bitterness and the heartache as this unsubstantial feast of Tantalus passes from us, and leaves us as empty as ever. But the heart wants something more than a masquerade, something more than toys and gewgaws, with which for a little season grown-up children may disport themselves — something more than the sights and sounds that please the eye and ear for the moment, only to leave the real man still unpleased, as he asks impatiently, "Is this all? Is this all?" And still the dismal record remains, "And no man gave unto him." To whom shall we appeal? Can Mammon do nothing for us? Surely never was deity served with greater devotion by his devotees than day by day is lavished on him. Will he do nothing for our spiritual hunger? Ah, my brethren, the value of money is what it will fetch, and if it won't fetch us true satisfaction, or peace, or hope, or moral dignity, what the richer are we? Can the human spirit digest gold, or assimilate it to its mysterious substance? The rich fool in the parable seemed to indulge some such delusion, but he only proved his folly by doing so. So little can Mammon do for our real happiness, that we are in the habit of distinguishing the most devoted of his worshippers, the very high priests of his shrine, with the title of "misers," implying that they are of all men the most miserable. The indignant heart declines this mockery of its desire, and still the mournful sentence remains true, "And no man gave unto him." Where shall we look? Shall we fall back upon the charms of literature and art, and satiate our senses in the hope of ministering to our spirits? Here we meet with some encouragement from some of our modern teachers, who will have us believe in no heaven save a picture-gallery or a concert-room, and in no Deity save high art. And some would have us think that Nature is our true foster-mother, and that the satisfaction denied elsewhere is to be found in prying into her secrets and examining her hidden mysteries. These are noble dreamers, these hierophants of art and science; and perhaps they come the nearest of answering our demands. Yet even here we only find disappointment. The wise man was right when he said, "All things are full of weariness; man cannot utter it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing." These things please us most in early days, when first with youthful enthusiasm we begin to worship the beautiful or to investigate the curious; but there is something m man more divine than taste and more profound than curiosity, and this higher element in man neither art nor science can reach. "I don't know how it is," said a distinguished art critic, a man of the highest culture and refinement, and one who had possessed for the greater part of his life every facility for aesthetic enjoyment in his circumstances and training — "I don't know how it is, but now, in middle life, art no longer affects me as it once did. There was once a keen joy that I would be conscious of in perusing a beautiful poem, or in looking at a really good picture, which I can't get up now, however much I may try. I can't work myself by any effort of my will into anything at all like the enthusiasm that once seemed quite spontaneous. I can't say I get much enjoyment out of art now; it's more a business than a pleasure." Still even in these higher regions, visited only by the few, and where we might expect that the mighty famine would be less keenly felt, it remains true, "And no man gave unto him."

(W. M. Hay Aitken, M. A.)

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KJV: And he said, A certain man had two sons:

WEB: He said, "A certain man had two sons.