And though the sermon ends in orthodox fashion, with an assurance
that, in spite of the Shimeis by whom we are surrounded, it is in
our power to "lay the foundation of our peace (where it ought to be)
within our own hearts," yet the preacher can, in the midst of his
earlier reflections, permit himself the quaintly pessimistic outburst:
"O Shimei! would to Heaven, when thou wast slain, that all thy family
had been slain with thee, and not one of thy resemblance left! But
ye have multiplied exceedingly, and replenished the earth; and if I
prophesy rightly, ye will in the end subdue it."

[Footnote 1: Which are not many in the case of a _barometer_.]

Nowhere, however, does the man of the world reveal himself with more
strangely comical effect under the gown of the divine than in the
sermon on "The Prodigal Son." The repentant spendthrift has returned
to his father's house, and is about to confess his follies. But--

"Alas! How shall he tell his story?

"Ye who have trod this round, tell me in what words he shall give
in to his father the sad items of his extravagance and folly: the
feasts and banquets which he gave to whole cities in the East; the
costs of Asiatic rarities, and of Asiatic cooks to dress them; the
expenses of singing men and singing women; the flute, the harp, the
sackbut, and all kinds of music; the dress of the Persian Court how
magnificent! their slaves how numerous! their chariots, their homes,
their pictures, their furniture, what immense sums they had devoured!
what expectations from strangers of condition! what exactions!
How shall the youth make his father comprehend that he was cheated
at Damascus by one of the best men in the world; that he had