THE LANDING. 231 



thirsty. No one is so insensible to nature's beauties as 

 to find nothing attractive in it. It is a point where life 

 gathers in greatest profusion, and so the naturalist, be 

 his specialty what it may, is sure to find something to 

 bid him pause. 



In the little basin where the eager waters rush upward 

 to the light, and in the little brook beyond,.not twenty 

 rods in length, I have gathered many plants, beautiful 

 shells, silvery fish, swift salamanders, and once chased a 

 cunning shrew that at last out-witted me. 



One feature of this spring, unlikely to escape the no- 

 tice of a naturalist, is the quantity of pure white sand 

 that is carried to the creek by the water. Dip but a 

 tumblerful of the water, and in a moment many fine 

 grains will settle in the bottom of the glass. That this, 

 in the course of a day, is a considerable amount, is most 

 readily shown by examining the sand-bar in the creek. 

 Were it not that every tide bears quantities of this sand, 

 so fine is it, both up and down the stream, the ever-grow- 

 ing bar would choke the channel of the creek and dam 

 up the very waters that have carried it from unknown 

 subterranean depths. As it is, the ever-present bar is 

 constantly built up and unbuilded, as the tides roll by. 



Think, for one moment, of the age of this spring. Its 

 crystal waters have been flowing without a check since 

 the close of the glacial epoch, which some too enthusias- 

 tic modernists date back but ten thousand years. Think 

 then of the enormous bulk of sand which has been washed 

 from beneath our upland fields and carried meadow- 

 ward. What a cavern is beneath our feet if this sand 

 once occupied space by itself ; what a certain lowering 



