A man in the town of Durham--Henry Page--for years obtained water for his house and stock by a hydraulic ram; but, getting a new idea, took advantage of a knoll, shaped like an inverted bowl, an acre or two in extent, lying across a field some forty rods from his house. He dug into the top of this knoll some fifteen feet, striking plenty of water, which was easily piped all over his premises in abundant supply. West of his home rose the Besek Mountain, in a gradual rise for three-fourths of a mile, where it stopped in precipitous ledges, on the west side, nearly 200 feet high. I have hunted up to the top of these ledges. Near the top of the mountain is quite a section of swamp, and nearby descending is a spring that runs a short distance, falling over a shelving rock, and in two or three rods more is lost in the loose stones. It is there in the dryest seasons. Similar to this is a lake on Talcott Mountain, a short distance from Wadsworth Tower, and only a few rods from the abrupt ledges that overlook the towns of Simsbury and Farmington. Hundreds of such cases are in evidence all over the country, and it is quite sure that a large majority of those interested by reading this book will think of various similar cases that have been a query in their minds, “Why they were so.” While a great number of peculiar features of this kind can be recorded, I will take time to relate a case or two farther from home. My cousin, who took the Scripture lesson of the rock and its rendings, spent his last days in Southern California, where springs are rare, and orange groves and vineyards depend greatly upon irrigating for water. He was located at Duarte, about twenty miles east of the city of Los Angeles, in one of the finest orange and lemon groves in the State. While they had provisions for irrigating, the lack of drinking water was seriously felt. Visiting at my house some twenty years ago, where he chiefly made his Eastern home, he listened to my cranky ideas as set forth in this work. At first he scoffed, but being a good reasoner, he afterward thought the idea worth trying, and promised on his return to experiment and report, as I had convinced him of several successes here. In less than a month I got word from him that “he had struck it.” The grove lay at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountain, not one-quarter of a mile away. I advised him to select some place in the side of the mountain where the tree growth was greenest, which he did, and got all the pure water needed.