beach thickly strewed with dead Egyptians,-Moses and six hundred thousand men sang unto the LORD this song:

“With the blast of Thy nostrils the waters were gathered together;

The floods stood upright as a heap ;

The depths were congealed in the heart of the sea.

The enemy said, I will pursue;

I will overtake; I will divide the spoil.

THOU didst blow with Thy wind; the sea covered them;

They sank as lead in the mighty waters.

And Miriam and all the women answered them, and said,
Sing ye to the LORD, for He hath triumphed gloriously;
The horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea."

From the shore they were led into the wilderness of Shur, and there they journeyed three days and found no water. Shur was not a wilderness, in our sense of the word. It was not a region of wild woods and shady jungles, but a desert. Above the people was a burning sun; beneath, the hot sand; and all around, the grey, dry, bare desert. Three days in such a place without water would be a severe trial, and would yield unspeakable and wide-spread suffering.

But the trial was the more searching, because it followed so closely upon their great triumph. Whilst the hallowed joy of thankfulness was thrilling every heart, Moses led the Hebrews a three days' march into a wilderness where there was no water. From the highest raptures they suddenly sank down into the depths of physical anguish. The lips which had poured forth this Divine and ravishing song, were parched with thirst for three long days and nights; and all their hallelujahs were turned to lamentations. A greater reverse in fortune could not well be imagined. They had witnessed the utter overthrow of their oppressors; they had seen the sea roll its ruddy waters between them and the house of bondage; they had turned their feet and set their faces toward the land of promise, and already were they in imagination feasting upon its milk and honey ;-when, lo! they were led into a desert, and kept there three days under a burning sun without water.

Many since that day have been tried by a sudden and appalling reverse of fortune. David, from the pinnacle of human peace and greatness, fell deep into the mire of misery. In his adversity and sorrow there were three stages. He was banished by Absalom, then cheated by Ziba, and then cursed by Shimei. David went three days' journey into the wilderness, and found no water.-We may not be called to endure reverses so startling; yet, upon a smaller scale, we all are liable to a painful variety of circumstances. The desert still borders upon the Red Sea, and trials lie very near to triumphs. As in our Service of Song we have, bound up in one volume, hymns "for believers rejoicing" and hymns "for believers suffering," so in our earthly experience God binds together joy and sorrow. He links a bereavement with a blessing, and the thorn in the flesh with the abundant revelation. In the Old Testament there is not a precept more adapted to our mixed and changeful condition than this

Rejoice with trembling. Every day is not dark, the journey of life is not altogether through a vale of tears, the weather is not always stormy. Every cup is not bitter. There are bright days and pleasant paths; there are seasons when heaven is near, and our earthly cup seems to have been filled out of the pure river of the water of life. And then we ought to rejoice. "Praise is comely for the upright." What will they do in heaven, who on earth never knew what it is to rejoice in the Lord? Every Christian has something about which he ought to rejoice, and quite enough to make him rejoice with trembling. The future is uncertain. We cannot tell what "the craft and subtlety of the devil or man" may now be "working against us.” The furnace may be already heating in which you are to be made perfect through suffering. The cup may now be mixing which is to fill you with bitterness, and make you drunk with wormwood. It is yours to rejoice with trembling. When you stand on the shore of the Red Sea, do not forget that the wilderness of Shur is near. The hosts of Pharaoh may be drowned; but there are other instruments of discipline beside the Egyptians. You will rejoice to best purpose when you rejoice with trembling; for this will not take away from your present fruition, but it will prepare and brace you up against future sorrow.

"And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter." After three days' unutterable anguish through thirst, the Hebrews came to a fountain; but it sent forth no sweet waters. The spring was first espied, doubtless, by those in the forefront: then the welcome discovery would be telegraphed through the host, as the cry of "Water!" ran from rank to rank; and on the people rushed, and in a transport of joy they knelt down to quench their raging thirst. But they found the waters bitter; the desolation of disappointment seized upon them; and there was heard a great and exceeding bitter cry, "What shall we drink?"

Disappointment is harder to bear than simple loss or sorrow. During the three days they journeyed and found no water, the people were comparatively patient. When they came to a fountain, their hopes were excited; and when they tasted of the waters, and found them bitter, they endured no longer, but began to murmur. And all this is true to nature. When loss after loss overtakes us, the heart becomes inured to suffering, and calmly sets itself to brave the worst. As the sensitive-plant gathers up at the touch of the human finger, so the soul turns in upon herself at the touch of misfortune. She retreats within, as though hiding her holiest and finest feelings from rude contact with the ills of life, and so blunting the severity of suffering. But when circumstances change for the better, and life again looks bright, the heart soon begins to expand, and to throw itself open to the warm illumination of returning day. And if, when the soul is thus exposed, there should come a blight in the air, the heart will be stricken to its core, its hopes withered, and its springs of feeling poisoned. For three days the Israelites bore their sufferings bravely. Though in a burning desert, and without water, they

were still and murmured not. But, when the fountain was discovered, their hearts opened. The strain was taken off, and they were quite prepared to relax into joy and gladness. And now they gather and crowd around the fountain; they bear to their burning lips the crystal waters. To realize their bitterness is but the work of a moment. The reaction is terrible; and in another moment cries of impatience and distress ring through the host.

Job endured privation with a fortitude more than heroic; but disappointment seems to have shaken his trust and conquered his patience. His had been a goodly heritage, and in his pleasant places all the lines of happiness had met. He had a large estate, a numerous family, sound health, and a good conscience. But suddenly he was plunged into poverty, crushed by bereavement, and smitten with disease from head to foot. From the Goshen where he had dwelt, he was led three days' journey into the wilderness, and he found no water. In his sufferings there were three stages. First, his property was swept away, and his servants slain by the Chaldæan bands; then, a wind from the wilderness smote the house where the ten sons and daughters of the patriarch were assembled, and he never saw them more; and then, Job himself was smitten with sore boils. He had now been three days in the wilderness without water, and in his extremity he espied a fountain. Property is gone, children gone, health gone; and Job turns to his wife, hoping to find in her sympathy a well-spring of consolation. To his blank dismay, this fountain sends forth bitter waters. His wife says, "Curse God, and die!" This unexpected counsel seems to paralyse the patriarch.. The tone of his reply is lowered. There is wanting the patient and thankful trust which has marked his previous utterances. And then, after seven days of silence, Job opens his lips, and pours forth an exceeding bitter cry of mingled sorrow and complaint.

And is not this the climax of trial? You endure a series of privations, a course of sorrows, and are then doomed to feel the aching void of disappointment. You are pierced by that on which you lean as a last prop. You taste the rippling waters, and find them bitter. After three days' thirst, you rush on to the fountain, and learn by experience that it is rightly called Marah. Is anything so likely to unstring the heart as this?

Let us not under-rate this trial of the patience of the Israelites. It was a draft upon virtue that few would have been prepared to honour. It was a shock that not many would have sustained unhurt. It is probable that we have all at some time murmured over a lighter trial than theirs. When privation was not so extreme, and the prospect not so dark, some have uttered words of distrust, and in spirit asked, "What shall we eat?" or, "What shall we drink?" Others, under the most trifling disappointments, have grown peevish and ill-natured. The failure of some trivial enterprise, the aching of a tooth, the carelessness of a servant, the shower of rain which has spoiled a day's pleasure-these are the occasions on which we fret and

murmur. But what is this, in comparison of being three days in the desert without water?

In reading the history of the Hebrews, we are apt to say in our hearts, "If we had lived in their days, we would not have been partakers with them in their murmurings." Far be it from any man to justify the Israelites: but, judging from experience and observation, and remembering the greatness of their trials as compared with ours, may we not conclude that many of us would not have been a whit less prompt in complaining? It is quite conceivable, with regard to some of us, that where the Hebrews for their murmuring were chastised with whips, we should have been chastised with scorpions.

The disappointment at Marah must have been a keen trial to the Israelites. This is clear; yet it is no less so that their first duty in these circumstances was not peevishness, but prayer. Their lips were parched, and they might not have been able to repeat their litany; yet they found breath for murmuring, and that breath would have been better spent in seeking help from God than in complaining against Moses. Theirs was a bad policy. Their bitter remonstrance did not sweeten the waters of Marah, or at all abate their thirst. They lost their temper, and got nothing in return.

That must be a strange perverseness which leads us, when overtaken by trouble and disappointment, rather to murmur than to pray. It is very likely that on some occasions we have spent as much time and breath in rehearsing our disasters, as, if spent in prayer, would have gone far to remove them. We are so ready to complain, in the time of trouble, that an angel might reasonably infer that repining was a sovereign specific for all the ills that flesh is heir to. But did complaining ever render us any good service? Has it ever sweetened the bitter waters of suffering? Did it ever yet cool a fevered brow? Did it ever multiply the handful of meal and the cruse of oil? Did it ever keep off a shower of rain, or bring down a ray of sunshine?

"And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink? And he cried unto the Lord." Moses was as thirsty as any of them; but he did not therefore join them in fruitless complaining; and, when they most unreasonably murmured against him, he did not retort in angry words. Moses did at once what the people ought to have done" he cried unto the Lord." In this there was the supreme of prudence. It was looking to the right quarter for help. His cry was heard; and "the Lord showed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet." To the Israelites this brought relief and joy. They were weary and thirsty, disheartened and impatient, tantalized by the sight of waters they could not drink; and Moses was directed to a tree whose leaves were for the healing of the waters.

In trouble and perplexity it is equally our duty and interest to cry unto the Lord. We ought first to look, not about us, but above us. In most cases, light is what we need. There is a way out of the difficulty, but we cannot see it. We find ourselves in the centre of a

bewildering maze, and we need a clue to guide us into open day. Wisdom is the thing we want, and wisdom cometh down from above. Many, beside Moses, have found light and comfort as he found it. When the prophets of Baal were in difficulties, they cried aloud, but there was no answer; their credit and their lives were at stake, but there was no one that regarded. The God of love takes delight in helping His people in a crisis. He allows them to be brought into straits, and to be kept there just long enough to be convinced that help must come from heaven. And then He shows to Abraham a ram caught in a thicket, and to Elijah a hot cake and a cruse of water, and to Elisha a mountain full of horses and chariots of fire, and to Moses a tree with healing leaves, and to each and all of us a way of escape, that we are able to bear the trial.

Close by the side of the waters of Marah, the Lord had planted a tree by which their bitterness might be reversed. It is even probable that its roots were nourished by those bitter waters for whose healing its leaves were ordained. The bitter waters and the healing leaves are both from God's hand; and He arranges that Marah shall produce its own cure.

Many a man finds Marah in his own circumstances. There is some fountain of bitterness, some well-spring of sorrow. David found it in a son; Abigail, in her husband: St. John found it in Diotrephes; and St. Paul, in Alexander the coppersmith. Everyone has "his own bitterness." But, if we have come to Marah, the tree is not far off. The danger is, lest, in eager search for other relief, we overlook this. "Tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope." These graces, by which a believer glories in tribulation also, tribulation itself worketh. Call to mind the lovely virtues and tempers which do so much to sweeten the sorrows of life: do they not grow by the side of those places which we call Marah? Are they not strengthened and nourished by the bitter waters of adversity?-Two things are certain: When troubles come upon us, there is a tree of healing not far off; and the way to find that tree is to seek for it upon our knees.

Upper Holloway.

J. B.

PRINCIPLES OF INTERPRETATION PECULIAR TO

SCRIPTURE.

THESE must be regarded (says an able contemporary *) as limiting or modifying the general doctrine,-true in the main, though not true to its full extent, that the Bible is to be expounded precisely in the same way as any human composition. There are peculiarities about the Bible that, to some extent, necessitate a limitation of that canon, and demand that the treatment it receives, when we proceed to interpret it, shall be somewhat different.

* North British Review, No. LVII., Art. iv.