Here it is,' he continued; and, gazing down, I saw a little dripping well of water, lustrous, clear, coming evidently in continuous force from the springs or secret channels up hill, pausing for a moment at the trough, thence falling into a box or 'channel paved by man's officious care,' and in a moment out of sight and soundless, to pursue its way, 'stripped of its voice,' towards the main Town beck, that ran at the north-east border of the garden plot.

'Ha, pretty prisoner,' and the words 'dimple down' came to my mind at once as appropriate.

'Old Betty's Well gave the key-note of the 'famous brook'; and 'boxed within our garden' seemed an appropriate and exact description.
Trace of 'the sunny seat Round the stone table under the dark pine,' was there none.

Not so, however, the Ash tree, the remains of which I have spoken of.

From the bedroom of Betty Braithwaite's house the boy could have watched the moon, 'while to and fro In the dark summit of the waving tree She rocked with every impulse of the breeze.' 'In old times,' said my friend, 'the wall fence ran across the garden, just beyond this spring well, so you see it was but a small spot, was this garden close.' Yes; but the 'crowd of things About its narrow precincts all beloved,' were known the better, and loved the more on that account.