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When the weather was dry Miss Henrietta dipped its pellucid water and sprinkled the thirsty arbor vines,

“But O! for the touch of a vanished hand

And the sound of a voice that is still.”

Around the spring grew mint in exuberance, that was as much cared for as the foxhounds. Mayhap in that arbor Tench Francis tinkled the sides of his glass in mixing sugar and grass with spirits, sipped and read letters from his gay and brilliant nephew, ^[2]Sir Phillip Francis, the supposed author of the letters of Junius, then one of England’s Counsel for India; maybe told all about his duel with Warren Hastings, then Governor-General of India; for we know that his cousin, the beautiful Anne Francis, visited “Otwell” with her husband, James Tilghman, who met there his brother, Matthew, the great patriot, and his wife, who was charming Anne Lloyd. There, too, Tench Tilghman, aide-de-camp to Washington, and his wife, spent happy hours. Later his daughter married the host, and there in luxury and loving kindness lived