THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 



31 



Stead, is the highest point of land in a stretch of forty- 

 miles. The well curb has been banked up on the out- 

 side somewhat, making a little rise in the ground, so 

 that there is a slight slope on all sides from the open- 

 ing. This and the fact of its having been dug on the 

 top of a ridge prevent any surface water from filter- 

 ing through immediately into the well, except in very 

 heavy rains; and it consequently has, in summer and 

 winter, autumn and spring, the same sweetness and 

 purity of taste — the very best water I have ever drunk, 

 from wells, springs, brooks, or rivers, in all the six- 

 teen States in which it has been my fortune to drink 

 water. I have never found any water even at all 

 approaching it except at a well some miles away, and 

 that must have come from the same vein; and when 

 the water is drawn from the northeast corner of the 

 old well, in a genuine "old oaken bucket," I believe 

 nothing on earth can equal it. 



This well is known to be at least one hundred years 

 old. It was here when grandfather first saw the place, 

 and the land had changed hands twice before that. 

 The walls have never been renewed — it has never been 

 necessary to rewall it — and the stones are covered with 

 rich green mosses, dripping and sparkling and beau- 

 tiful. Grandfather thought he would make a new wall 

 some time, but it is left, nevertheless, with its curiously 

 curved sides, just as It was in the eighteenth century, 

 except that we have a new well curb. It is about 

 twenty-five feet deep, and many a cup, or bucket, or 

 hat, let fall by young or careless hands, has had to 

 be dragged out of it with the grappling hooks. I love 

 to look down into its cool, black depths. A drop from 

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