forsaken the work which His hands had commenced. Though one generation had failed, another had been raised up to be witnesses of His mercy and truth, and instruments in carrying out His designs. And that they might have no doubt of His presence being with them, and of His continued purpose to confer the inheritance upon them, their passage across the river, which formed its eastern boundary and barrier, was conducted in so extraordinary a manner as to leave on their minds an ineffaceable impression that they were under the guidance of the Almighty. In reviewing the circumstances of this remarkable passage, the character of the river demands our first consideration.

It is a singular fact that, although we have been so familiar with the name of the river Jordan-and there is no other stream in Palestine deserving of the name of a river-yet, before the year 1848, there was no part of the Holy Land of which so little was known as of the valley and course of the Jordan. Several erroneous notions regarding it were consequently prevalent, which have now been corrected by the careful examination of the district carried out by the United States' expedition under Lieutenant Lynch. The river has its sources in the mountains that lie on the north of Palestine, in the region of Dan and Cæsarea Philippi. It flows first into a small lake called Merom, or the Upper Lake, where was fought the great battle between Joshua and the Canaanitish kings of the North, mentioned in ch. xi. After leaving that lake, it passes rapidly along the narrow valley, between well-shaded banks, a distance of about nine miles, till it enters the lake of Gennesaret. So strong is its

current that its course may be traced through the middle of the lake, from which it issues again at its southern extremity: thence it pursues a winding and broken course, often with headlong speed down foaming rapids, till it is lost in the Asphaltic lake or Dead Sea. The valley through which it flows is a deep hollow, most remarkably depressed below the level of the rest of Palestine, and bears many evident traces of volcanic action. It is in general about 3,000 feet lower than the hills of Judea, than the site of Bethlehem for instance, which gives it a sultry and tropical character. The distance between the point where the river issues from the Galilean lake and the Dead Sea, is not more than sixty miles in length according to latitude, but the course of the stream is so winding that it passes over 200 miles in that space, and so great is the descent that there are 1000 feet of difference between the levels of the lake and the Dead Sea. It is from this circumstance no doubt that it derives its name (Yarden) which sig nifies in Hebrew, the Descender; and: it will at once occur to the mind how much this peculiarity of the river must have enhanced the impression produced by the sudden miraculous: arrest of its current. The great break-down in the bed of the stream occurs a little way above the place of the passage, between the plain of Jericho and the junction of the Jabbok. In that space are many considerable rapids, which render the navigation very dangerous. And that was just. the part of the river where the power of God was so signally displayed; for the narrative implies that the waters stood like a heap all the way up to "the city Adam, that is beside Zare

tan" (opposite the Jabbok); that is, all along the tract where the river flows as it were down a hill. Such is the peculiar formation of the entire valley of the Jordan, so that there is hardly another river in the world that resembles it.

The external aspect of the valley also demands a brief notice. It is bounded by ranges of hills on both sides, at no great distance, while between the foot of these hills and the banks of the stream, there rise all along one or two terraces of land, bare and uncultivated; forming what is called the plain (Arabah) of the Jordan." The lowest terrace, howthe

ever, immediately bordering

stream, is thickly covered with vegeta tion. Oleanders, tamarisks, and wil lows grow there in great profusion, intermingled with shrubs, bushes, and reeds, and many wild flowers of great beauty. In the thickets which are thus formed, beasts of prey have their lairs and places of shelter, save when they are driven from them by the overflowing of the river. To this Jeremiah alludes, when he speaks in ch. xii. 5, of the swelling of Jordan;" and in xlix. 19, 1, 44, describes the destroyer as coming up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan." (The word rendered "swelling "is literally pride or majesty, and may be understood of the thickets from which the wild beast issued, rather than of the rising waters that drove him thence.) The overflow takes place in early spring, at the season of barley harvest in that quarter, in consequence of the continued effect of the winter rains in the upper districts and the melting of the snow on the mountains. The river then rises so as not merely to overflow its banks, but extends several

feet above them, covering the whole of the wooded terrace to the bottom of the second terrace. This shows the full force and propriety of the expres sion here employed Jordan overfloweth all his banks," that is, the higher as well as the lower. The river must then be nearly three times its usual breadth, forming a great,{ turbid, tumultuous torrent.

qu Such was the appearance it pre sented to the view of the Israelites as they came down from Shittim, the acacia-groves in the plains of Moab, to the upper terrace of the Jordan valley. There they saw, a short diss tance before them, not concealed as usual by the thickets of trees and the jungle of cane and reeds, but sweeping in full flood over them, the descending river" coming down in all its pride and strength-bearing on its surface the wreck of the trees and bushes it had swept away, and pret senting a barrier many feet in depth, and eighty or a hundred yards in breadth, quite impassable by most of their number. Some of them may have thought how strange it was that, of all other seasons, that should be selected as the proper time for their making the passage. Doubtless, on the walls of Jericho, only five miles off, many eyes were watching their movements; but though the inhabit ants of that city trembled to see the lines of the great encampment stretching along the base of the eastern hills, they would cheer themselves by saying to each other, "We are safe for a time at least; they cannot attempt to cross for many days, not till those rushing waters have shrunk again within their natural channel, and ere that time our allies may have assembled their forces, and we shall be able to dispute the

passage with them." But this great campaign of the hosts of the Lord was to be opened after another fashion.

The divine orders respecting the mode of their procedure were issued through Joshua. The movement of the ark was to be the signal for the march. The priests, God's consecrated ministers, should lead the van in their white robes and unarmed, bearing that sacred symbol of Jehovah's presence which contained the tables of the covenant. It was no mere symbol, but the sign of the actual presence of the living God. Once He had led the host in the pillar of cloud and fire; a mode of guidance suited to a wilderness journey, while the promise of the covenant remained unaccomplished. Now that the fulfilment of it was taking place before them, the cloudy shifting symbol was exchanged for that which was distinct and stationary-the pledge of God's settled residence among them in the mount of His sanctuary. But the spirit of that dispensation was shown in the distance which the people were required to keep from the sign of the divine presence. Thus the priests moved on with solemn step, bearing the ark aloft, which flashed back the light from its golden sides and the outspread wings of the cherubim, till they reached the brink of the swollen river, when no sooner had their feet touched the turbid waters than suddenly the full current, as with a convulsive shudder, rolled backwards, heaping up the descending stream for miles like a congealed torrent, while the waters beneath swept onwards, leaving a dry passage across, all the way down to the Dead Sea.

The priests went forward, and took up their station in the middle of the

channel, the waters standing up like a wall on their right hand. Below them, on their left, at the prescribed distance, the marshalled tribes of their brethren hasted and passed on, eager to tread the soil of the promised land. What must the inhabitants of Jericho have felt as they beheld the scene from their high walls with amazed amazed dismay! Resistance was manifestly vain. No wonder that "their heart melted within them, neither was there spirit in them any more. But the bosoms of the Israelites must have swelled with lofty exultation, an exultation mingled with awe. Here was the plainest proof that the Lord of the whole earth was their leader and commander, and was resolved to fulfil every word that He had spoken to them and to their fathers. Of what account were the cities walled up to heaven, and the gigantic sons of Anak, before whom their fathers had trembled ? Everything must yield and fall before the baring of that almighty arm which was stretched forth to conduct them to victory. Stern conflicts and toils, no doubt, awaited them, but they saw not very far off, serene days of triumph and peace which would reward them for all. And then, in future years, as they visited the spot and looked on the twelve stones taken from the bed of Jordan on which the feet of the priests had rested on that memorable day, how gladly and gratefully would they recall the event and rehearse it to their children, giving vent to their feelings in the language of inspired song, and saying, “What ailed thee, O thou sea, that thou fleddest? thou Jordan, that thou wast driven back? The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw

thee and were afraid. The mountains saw thee, and they trembled the overflowing of the water passed by; the deep uttered his voice and lifted up his hands on high.

Tremble, thou earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob. Through him we shall do valiantly; for he it is that shall tread down our enemies."

SMALL CARES AND THEIR USES.The disciplinary career of, perhaps, the greater number of us, takes us through a thick undergrowth of petty cares, trivial vexations, and annoyances that cannot be dignified with the name of troubles. In making our toilsome way through them certain developments of personal character will be the probable result, and national character will show the effect of a vast aggregation of such results. We are far too short-sighted to be able to discern the bearing which this process will have hereafter upon human destiny. We may greatly have preferred being made subject to a very different sort of trial, one better fitted to evoke the higher qualities of our manhood. Are we sure that it would have been best for us? May it not be that the special kind of probation through which we are passing is precisely that best suited to us? Possibly, the training which the special character of the times makes most desirable for us, is just that which

will teach us t that moral growth

depends far more upon the ordinary than upon the extraordinary exercise of our principles, and that "small"

and "great" are terms which have

no proper relation to the duties of life. Nor, perhaps, is that near balance of good and evil in our affairs which denies us splendid successes on the one hand, and preserves us from overwhelming calamities on the other, the less suited to us on account of its tendency to bring up distinctly: to our self-consciousness the less pleasing qualities and the meaner dispositions which might else lurk unseen in the depths of the soul.

The best-in fact, we may say the only, thoroughly reliable prophylactic against the sulks, which a multiplicity and never-ending obtrusion of things that bother you have a tendency to produce, is a motive which is equally operative on small occasions as on great ones. A man makes no account whatever of drizzle when he is in pursuit of an object dear to his affections, or when he is discharging a responsibility which presses heavily upon his conscience. Who cares for it, who notices it, when, after some considerable absence, he is nearing home, and anticipating the mutual delight which his return will awaken ? What on earth does it signify to the

man who is bent on an errand of sweet and substantial benevolence to an expectant neighbour? And so with the small cares and grievances of daily life. They make but little impression upon the spirits in the case of such as are pushing through them towards something which preoccupies their hearts. We measure the importance of external discomforts in an inverse ratio with the intensity of our love. Degrees of comparison show very little difference to those who are in the main indifferent to the things compared, and whose best powers and largest sympathies are otherwise engaged. A full heart is the true secret of a healthful and happy life a heart kept fall from day to day from the inexhaustible spring a heart beating with love in unintermitting pulsations, and thereby circulating life and vigour throughout one's whole moral being. There is nothing equal to it for excluding worry. 'Tis a bad thing to let vexations be absorbed into the system, and break out, as they inevitably will, in ill-humours. Full of the soundest practical philosophy is the apostolic admonition, "Be careful of nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

FLOWERS AND WHY THEY INTEREST. The sensitive, shrinking, exquisitely delicate little things-oh, how easily they are crushed! What seemingly trivial causes make them droop and languish! How quickly they fade! How soon and how

utterly they die! Every quality they possess is a meek protest against rough usage a mute but pathetic appeal to us to deal gently with them, for we are apt to love them "not wisely but too well," and unless we are very dainty in our modes of caring for and caressing them, their loveliness is ruined, and the spirit of their life is gone. Some, indeed, are hardy to the agencies of the seasons-snow, rain, wind, sun-but for the most part they are too frail for extremes, can bear but little suffering, and, under the pressure of a heavy grief, quietly pass away. This extraordinary tenderness and fragility, this evanescent tendency of flower life, wakes a corresponding tenderness in our souls. We never feel angry with flowers. If we pick them to pieces, it is not because they have provoked us, but because

because some mighty passion or sorrow has overmastered us, and we know not what we do. Certainly the specialty of our interest in flowers, is due, in no ordinary measure, to their extreme sensitiveness and delicacy.

They

Due mainly, not wholly, to that. We associate with floral life our most vivid notions of freshness, innocence, and purity. To us flowers are the very ideal of unselfishness. live to please, not themselves, but others. They modestly, and the greater part of them without so much" as the faintest semblance of selfconsciousness, put forth the beauty that is in them, and offer their sweet incense to the passer-by, be he a beggar" or a prince, without stint, without trace of an arrière pénsee, saying as plainly as natural language can express the sentiment, "for your sake we do it." And yet they do not pine for want of notice. They give freely, let who