16 UPLAND AND MEADOW. 



stand by in astonishment, and shudder, as the enlarged 

 portraits of these monsters are held up to our gaze, and, 

 later, start in oar slumbers, when a nightmare recalls 

 them. His ill-shaped creatures afford him endless joy ; 

 our nightmare recollections of them murder sleep. But 

 the microscopist himself is so good a fellow that we wel- 

 come him whenever he comes, although his portfolio is 

 daily filled with a new budget of horrors. 



The archaeologist must not be overlooked. His work, 

 if rightly pursued, is not easy ; but, unfortunately, it is 

 made a pastime to collect relics, and so the student finds 

 too often an unfruitful field. 



Away back in the indefinite past men who called 

 themselves Lenapo wandered all the way from the St. 

 Lawrence to the Delaware River. Why they did so 

 it is vain to conjecture, but come they did, and tarried 

 long; centuries too many to number, it would seem, 

 as judged from their handiwork in stone, which, scarce- 

 ly two centuries ago, they discarded for metal weap- 

 ons supplied by outsiders. And now these worked 

 flints are the quest of the archaeologist. He comes, 

 he gathers, he advises me to continue in his footsteps, 

 but after his departure his excellent advice is soon for- 

 gotten. Relic-hunting has its advantages, to be sure. 

 There is no danger of bite, sting, or poison ; but then 

 the excitement is uncertain, for a half-day's tramp may 

 result in no finds ; and many a mound is nothing, after 

 all, but dirt from top to bottom ; but when my friend 

 comes home with a half-hundred of chipped flints, or 

 some novelty, then I wish I had been a student of the 



