44 PEPACTON 



wood; then one might "see his chore done by the 

 gods themselves," as Emerson says, or by the 

 nymphs, which is just as well. 



I know a homestead, situated on one of the pic- 

 turesque branch valleys of the Housatonic, that has 

 such a spring flowing by the foundation walls of 

 the house, and not a little of the strong overmaster- 

 ing local attachment that holds the owner there is 

 born of that, his native spring. He could not, if 

 he would, break from it. He says that when he 

 looks down into it he has a feeling that he is an 

 amphibious animal that has somehow got stranded. 

 A long, gentle flight of stone steps leads from the 

 back porch down to it under the branches of a lofty 

 elm. It wells up through the white sand and 

 gravel as through a sieve, and fills the broad space 

 that has been arranged for it so gently and imper- 

 ceptibly that one does not suspect its copiousness 

 until he has seen the overflow. It turns no wheel, 

 yet it lends a pliant hand to many of the aff'airs of 

 that household. It is a refrigerator in summer and 

 a frost-proof envelope in winter, and a fountain of 

 delights the year round. Trout come up from the 

 Weebutook E-iver and dwell there and become do- 

 mesticated, and take lumps of butter from your 

 hand, or rake the ends of your fingers if you tempt 

 them. It is a kind of sparkling and ever-washed 

 larder. Where are the berries? where is the but- 

 ter, the milk, the steak, the melon ? In the spring. 

 It preserves, it ventilates, it cleanses. It is a board 

 of health and general purveyor. It is equally for 



