EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 255 
March 28, 1859. p. M. Paddle to the Bed¬ 
ford line. It is now high time to look for ar¬ 
rowheads, etc. I spend many hours every spring 
gathering the crop which the melting snow and 
rain have washed bare. When at length some 
island in the meadow or some sandy field else¬ 
where has been plowed, perhaps for rye, in the 
fall, I take note of it, and do not fail to repair 
thither as soon as the earth begins to be dry in 
the spring. If the spot chances never to have 
been cultivated before, I am the first to gather 
a crop from it. The farmer little thinks that 
another reaps a harvest which is the fruit of his 
toil. As much ground is turned up in a day by 
the plow as Indian implements could not have 
turned over in a month, and my eyes rest on 
the evidences of an aboriginal life which passed 
here a thousand years ago, perchance. Espec¬ 
ially if the knolls in the meadows are washed 
by a freshet where they have been plowed the 
previous fall, the soil will be taken away lower 
down and the stones left, the arrow-heads, etc., 
and soapstone pottery amid them, somewhat as 
gold is washed in a dish or tom. I landed on 
two spots this P. M. and picked up a dozen ar¬ 
rowheads. It is one of the regular pursuits of 
the spring. As sportsmen go in pursuit of 
ducks and musquash, and scholars of rare books, 
and travelers of adventures, and poets of ideas, 
