SPRINGS 37 



Indeed, a spring is always an oasis in the desert 

 of the fields. It is a creative and generative centre. 

 It attracts all things to itself, — the grasses, the 

 mosses, the flowers, the wild plants, the great trees. 

 The walker finds it out, the camping party seek it, 

 the pioneer builds his hut or his house near it. 

 When the settler or squatter has found a good 

 spring, he has found a good place to begin life; he 

 has found the fountain-head of much that he is 

 seeking in this world. The chances are that he has 

 found a southern and eastern exposure, for it is a 

 fact that water does not readily flow north; the 

 valleys mostly open the other way; and it is quite 

 certain he has found a measure of salubrity, for 

 where water flows fever abideth not. The spring, 

 too, keeps him to the right belt, out of the low 

 valley, and off the top of the hill. 



When John Winthrop decided upon the site 

 where now stands the city of Boston, as a proper 

 place for a settlement, he was chiefly attracted by 

 a large and excellent spring of water that flowed 

 there. The infant city was born of this fountain. 



There seems a kind of perpetual springtime about 

 the place where water issues from the ground, — a 

 freshness and a greenness that are ever renewed. 

 The grass never fades, the ground is never parched 

 or frozen. There is warmth there in winter and 

 coolness in summer. The temperature is equalized. 

 In March or April the spring runs are a bright 

 emerald, while the surrounding fields are yet brown 

 and sere, and in fall they are yet green when the 



