CHAPTER XVII.

Solomon's Wells.

'When toiling afar in the city,

Under a burning sky,

The very thought of my well would come

Like a blessing from on high

Like the voice of flowing waters,

In a desert hot and dry.

'As my spring-time melted sweetly

Into the summer days,

I would sit by the well till the evening star
Dropped her sweet looks of praise

Into the secret waters,

That trembled beneath her gaze.'

'I made me pools of water.'-Eccles. II. 6.

S we read Solomon's Song, we feel the strong

AS

fragrance wafted on the air of all manner of pleasant fruits and flowers. We do not wonder when we come upon the fountain of gardens, the

spring shut up, the fountain sealed, significant of delicious water to be kept for the king's own use; because the flowers and fruit will not grow without the water, and if there is not a spring it must be supplied artificially. This also Solomon understood. We are told that the correct reading of Eccles. ii. 6 is to 'water the rough mountain forest,' and that he had 'cascades or pools falling from ledge to ledge to water the forest trees planted by him on picturesque heights.'

We were in a garden where the vine and fig, coffee and pepper plant, palm and mango, basked under a cloudless sky and almost tropical sun. The entrance to it was lined on either side with hedges of scented geranium and fuchsia, but these could not have lived through the long drought but for the tank and the levadas. Not far off we saw a summer-house covered with the rich purple of the bougenvillia, which had rushed up in an incredibly short time to meet the sun, and in our home the frangipanni blossoms scented the whole room.

From Solomon's forests and vineyards, orchards and gardens, with their pools and springs, let us turn to the lessons he learnt, that we also may draw

water

'At those clear wells
Where sweetness dwells,

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.'

Here are some of his well-springs: of a righteous man is a well of life.'

'The mouth

Seven times

in this tenth of Proverbs has he spoken of the

tongue or mouth of the righteous.

'The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life.'

In the sweet fear of Jesus,

May I begin the day,

Fearful lest I should grieve Him,
Fearful lest I should stray.'

This has for long been a favourite subject, and it was a new delight to find we might put it among our fountains. We cannot linger on ground where we should find old friends like Isaac, Joseph, and Nehemiah drinking from this source, or stay to see Malachi chronicling the meeting of the God-fearing believers. It is drinking here that we learn that there is no fear in love, and that daily He sends His fear as a pioneer before us, to keep us from fear of evil if we accept the escort. Before He came to earth the word was written of him, 'The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him, . . . the

spirit of the fear of the Lord:' literally, 'The fear of Jehovah shall be the very breath of His life.' Let us ask from Him that over our lives Joseph's motto may stand, 'I fear God,' that, we may be able with Nehemiah to ask others, 'Ought ye not to walk in the fear of our God?'

'The law of the wise is a fountain of life, to depart from the snares of death.' 'Understanding is a well-spring of life.' 'The words of a man's mouth are as deep waters, and the well-spring of wisdom as a flowing brook.' 'Counsel in the heart of man is like deep water; but a man of understanding will draw it out.'

Our last quotation is a very terrible one, in which we read between the lines some of the king's own sad experience: 'A righteous man falling down before the wicked, is as a troubled fountain and a corrupt spring.' Such is his picture of compromise with the world in any form.

CHAPTER XVIII

Bethesda.

'The Sabbath sun stole forth with noiseless grace,
And Christ the Lord, the Sun of our dark race,
As noiseless left His own obscure abode,
Unnoticed by the sacrilegious crowd,

He by Bethesda's waters proved with power
That Christ alone the human race could cure.'

H

ERE we find our world in miniature-'a

great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting.' Since sin entered our fair earth, bringing disease, destruction, and death in its train, the whole creation has groaned and travailed together in pain until now. The fairest scenes where nature has been most lavish, almost prodigal in her gifts, are not exempt. So we thought one lovely autumn morning at Madeira. We had been roused at one o'clock as the mail steamer had come in, and we drove down in an ox