How often is this the case with us! When once the heart loses its freshness in the divine life—when heavenly things begin to lose their savor—when first love declines—when Christ ceases to be a satisfying and altogether precious portion for the soul—when the Word of God and prayer lose their charm, and become heavy, dull, and mechanical, then the eye wanders back toward the world, the heart follows the eye, and the feet follow the heart. We forget, at such moments, what the world was to us when we were in it and of it. We forget what toil and slavery, what misery and degradation, we found in the service of sin and Satan, and think only of the gratification and ease, the freedom from those painful exercises, conflicts, and anxieties which attend upon the wilderness path of God’s people. All this is most sad, and should lead the soul into the most profound self-judgment. It is terrible when those who have set out to follow the Lord begin to grow weary of the way and of God’s provision. How dreadful must those words have sounded in the ear of Jehovah, “But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes.” Ah! Israel, what more didst thou need? Was not that heavenly food enough for thee? Couldst thou not live upon that which the hand of thy God had provided for thee? Do we count ourselves free to ask such questions? Do we always find _our_ heavenly Manna sufficient for us? What means the frequent inquiry raised by professing Christians as to the right or wrong of such and such worldly pursuits and pleasures? Have we not even heard from the lips of persons making the very highest profession such words as these: “How are we to fill up the day? We cannot be always thinking about Christ and heavenly things: we must have some little recreation.” Is not this somewhat akin to Israel’s language in Numbers xi? Yes, truly; and as is the language, so is the acting. We prove, alas! that Christ is not enough for the heart, by the palpable fact of our betaking ourselves to other things. How often, for example, does the Bible lie neglected for hours, while the light and worthless literature of the world is greedily devoured. What mean the well-thumbed newspaper and the almost dust-covered Bible? Do not these things tell a tale? Is not this despising the manna, and sighing after—nay, devouring—the leeks and onions?