252 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



Reluctantly leaving the beech-tree, about which clus- 

 ter so many pleasant memories, and of which I have 

 heard so many pleasant things told me in former years 

 by graybeards no longer with us, I wandered to a sunny 

 nook where orange-yellow touch-me-not filled the entire 

 space, to the exclusion of every other plant. A walk 

 through the little thicket was quite amusing. On every 

 side the petty musketry of their exploding seed -pods 

 filled the air. The little seeds fairly stung when they 

 struck me in the face. I remained for several minutes 

 in the midst of these j>lants, to determine how far the 

 countless bees and butterflies provoked the seed-vessels 

 to burst. They would seem to be too gentle in their 

 movements generally. One burly humblebee did indeed 

 appear to receive a broadside on his " ribs," as he turned 

 over in mid-air, buzzed a loud guffaw at the fun, and sped 

 off to more hospitable quarters. 



As the day drew to a close, I again sought my boat 

 upon the sandy beach, and met, w T hile journeying thither, 

 an employe of the United States Geological Survey. 

 He had been mapping Crosswicks Creek, and kindly 

 gave me some interesting - information. The corner- 

 stone at the blacksmith's shop is ninety-nine feet eleven 

 and one -half inches above high -water mark at Sandy 

 Hook. My neighbor's big brick house stands ninety- 

 seven feet six inches above the same level, but where 

 my house stands there is only seventy-seven feet eleva- 

 tion of which to boast. (I had always been told before 

 that it was eighty feet.) 



Perhaps I ought to feel unhappy because the black- 



