CAIN AND ABEL.

THE two youths made choice of different employments. Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground. From the beginning of man's history pastoral and agricultural pursuits divided his attention for, perhaps, many years. But why, it may be asked, were sheep kept and tended before animal food was allowed to be eaten? For two reasons, probably,-to be offered in sacrifice, and to furnish clothing for the body. (Gen. iii. 21.) Abel, then, followed this occupation. His father had a little flock of that species of sheep, as some suppose, now known as the Syrian, which has pendent ears, and a tail composed entirely of fat; and Abel tended them, and led them to the tender grass, or to the margin of the quiet stream. The employment was, doubtless, congenial with his spirit. Sheep are the most gentle and docile of animals, and we can readily suppose that the pious Abel took much pleasure in watching over his flock; and as he thought of the chief purpose for which they were reared, his heart would often beat with mingled feelings of sorrow on account of sin, and of hope that it would be pardoned through the tender mercy of the Lord.

Cain, on the other hand, was a tiller of the ground. The fruits of the earth were required for food, and this was man's employment even in the garden of Paradise. There vegetation was most luxuriant, but a skilful hand was requisite to direct it; and hence we are told that God placed Adam in the garden "to dress and to keep it." (Gen. ii. 15.) Cain, then, as the elder son, followed the original occupation of his father; for, though Paradise was lost, there was soil that needed to be tilled, and that would yield to industry abundant stores.

An occupation of some kind every one should have. It is necessary, it is honourable. The lesson of industry is taught us even in the history of these two youths; and from the very first it seems as if God had said, "He that will not work, neither shall he eat." Would you be happy, independent, free ? Learn to labour, and cultivate a love of work,

"True industry doth kindle honour's fire," but indolence is the mother of wretchedness and want.

Sad, yet very beautiful, must have been the aspect of this family; sad, because conscious of the fall, and debarred from entering the sacred enclosure where grew the tree of life; beautiful, because, though fallen, not cast off, and, therefore, still employed in peaceful occupations, and gladdened with the beams of hope. Family relationships were the first by which men were bound together, and they are still the closest and most sacred which exist on earth. Have you a happy home, not yet disturbed by anger or by strife? Be thankful, and see that you never violate its peace by the display of any unholy tempers or desires.

But see it is, we may suppose, the evening hour. The sun, which has travelled, like a giant in his strength, through the vast circuit of the heavens, and has poured his cheering rays upon the dwelling of the first family of mankind, is now bending toward the west, and filling the horizon with a sea of gold. And, lo! each member of the family, in this instance apart, hastens to present his evening offering to the great Spirit who created and who sustains him. Shall He-their Parent-be forgotten? What are all their blessings without Him? or whence, but from His hands, do all those blessings come? Altars, then, are reared, and gifts presented thereupon. But mark the nature of those gifts.

Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering to the Lord.

Abel brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof.

The two altars are, perhaps, not far apart, and probably the offerings are presented at the same hour. How solemn is the scene! All nature is still, and there the brothers stand, each by his altar, waiting for the sign of Heaven's acceptance of his sacrifice.

The fire falls upon the sacrifice of Abel,-for this was probably the sign granted,-it does not fall on the sacrifice of Cain; and whilst the mind of Abel is calm and peaceful, Cain is angry, and his countenance falls.

And why was the one offering accepted, and not the ether? Was it because of the difference of their nature, or because they were brought in a different spirit? The answer to this question may be partly inferred from the words in which Cain was so solemnly addressed: "Why art thou wroth ? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou dbest well, shalt thou not be accepted? And if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.” (Gen. iv. 6, 7.) There is no respect of persons with God. He loves one member of a family as much as He loves another. He loved Cain as much as He loved Abel. Had Cain, then, done what was right, he too would have received the sign of God's acceptance; but he did evil, and sin lay at his door. The latter clause of the above passage has been variously interpreted; but it is generally supposed to be connected with the former one. "If thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door, and to its desire to lead thee astray thou shalt be subject; but if thou resistest it, thou shalt conquer, and shalt rule over it."

Thus understood, the words teach us a valuable lesson. If we do well, whatever may be our age or our position in society, our prayers and offerings will meet with God's acceptance; but if we do otherwise, whatever we may offer,-however costly our sacrifice, however valuable our gift.-sin is at hand, involving us in guilt, and urging us to further acts of transgression.

But additional light will be thrown upon this question, if we consider what is said on the narrative before us in the Scriptures of the New Testament. "By faith," observes the Apostle Paul, “Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh." (Heb. xi. 4.) There was, then, something superior in the very nature of Abel's sacritice. It was a greater, a better, a more excellent sacrifice than Cain's; and it was so as the result of the principle of faith. Abel believed or trusted in something which Cain did not; and this it was which led him to offer a better sacrifice.

What was the object of his faith, and in what did the superiority of his sacrifice consist? There can be but one answer to these inquiries. The object of Abel's faith was, doubtless, the Deliverer promised to his parents just after their fall; a promise to which they had probably directed his mind, teaching him, moreover, as God had taught them, that "without the shedding of blood, there is no remission."

The sacrifice of Abel consisted, therefore, of the firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof; and when he stood by his altar, he acknowledged himself a sinner, and sought to propitiate the Divine displeasure, and to secure the favour and acceptance of the Most High. His sacrifice spoke, and said, "God be merciful to me, the guilty one."

But Cain brought no such sacrifice, but only an offering of the fruit of the ground. He had perhaps learnt that such offerings were presented by his parents before their fall; and, insensible of his need of atonement, he had no desire to trust in the promise of a Deliverer, and brought, therefore, only a thank-offering to the Lord.

The doctrine of atonement, of atonement by blood, then, appears in this very early period of the history of mankind. Sacrifices were instituted by God Himself. Had not Abel possessed Divine authority for taking away the life of the firstlings of his flock, he would not have done it; but he had been taught that in this way only could man, as a sinner, approach the throne of the offended God.

And the same great truth sounds from the altars of the Patriarchal dispensation; from the rites and ceremonies of the Levitical economy; and, with still greater emphasis, from the cross of Christ, the one, the only altar of the Christian church.

"The Son of God

Only-begotten and well-beloved, between
Men and His Father's justice interposed;
Put human nature on, His wrath sustain'd,
And in their name suffer'd, obey'd, and died;
Making His soul an offering for sin,
Just for unjust, and innocence for guilt."

And was the remonstrance addressed to Cain effectual? Alas! no. Had he repented and offered up his sacrifice, he too would have been accepted, and the two brothers might have walked in the light of the Divine favour hand in hand. True, he was "a tiller of the ground;" but he could easily have obtained a lamb for a sacrifice; for the flocks which Abel tended were, no doubt, the common property of the family. But there was no relenting in the heart of Cain. "He was of that wicked one." Satan had obtained the mastery over him, and led him captive at his will.

And now, with envy lurking in his heart, he talks with his brother Abel, and says, "Let us go out into the field.”* Several days had probably elapsed since the two brothers had stood together by their altars; and Abel, suspecting no evil, accompanied Cain as he had been wont. Alas! it was a fatal day for these. At a distance from the paternal dwelling, and where the murderer imagined that no eye would see him, he "rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him."

With what sad emotions do we read this story! What a scene is here presented to our view! There stands the enraged fratricide, with the fatal weapon in his hand; and there, at his feet, lies the victim of his anger, weltering in his blood. It is the first death that has occurred in the family of man; and it is the death of a martyr,—a death by violence, a death occasioned by a brother's wrath. Surely the heavens would gather blackness at that moment, and the sun retire behind the densest clouds. And now the murderer hastens from the spot, stung by remorse, but hardened by his crime, leaving the corpse of his gentle brother to call for vengeance on his head.

The sacred narrative is very brief, and of the finding of the body of Abel by his parents utters not a word. We may, however, picture to ourselves the scene; for that they would soon miss their son, and go in search of him, we cannot doubt. And, O, how terrible is the sight which

• The reading of several ancient versions.