THE PHCEBE. 



.-r ^ ^ 



.^ 



NEAR Boston there is a little stream celebrated by 

 an American poet who loved birds. It is called 

 Beaver Brook, and the 

 scenery about it is so 

 beautiful that, partly by 

 gift and partly by pur- 

 chase, a large tract of 

 land has been set apart 

 for a Park, or Reserva- 

 tion as it is called, so 

 that its beauty can be 

 preserved and people be 

 free to visit it whenever 

 they wish. 



At the head of the 

 brook are two ponds, and between the two is a little 

 bridge under which the water all the year rushes 

 foaming and splashing. When the poet Lowell used 

 to visit the brook, there was a mill at this spot, and 

 the foaming water used to turn a big mill wheel and 

 help the dusty miller grind the grain which his neigh- 

 bors brought. 



^) 





Fig. 



Phcebe. 



