nament and tributes paid in wampum, no name equals
that we have chosen--Seawanhaka or Seawanhackee, the "Island of Shells."

No general description will give an adequate idea of its changing beauty
and wellnigh infinite variety. Its scenery assumes a thousand different
aspects between odoriferous Greenpoint and the solitary grandeur of
Montauk. If one could only recall the old stagecoach, and, instead of
whirling in a few hours from New York to Sag Harbor, creep slowly along
the southern shore, and complete the journey of one hundred and ten
miles in two days and a half, as they did fifty years ago, a description
of the route would be both easy and interesting. Then the old stage
lumbered out of Brooklyn about nine o'clock in the morning, a halt was
made at Hempstead for dinner, and at Babylon the passengers slept.
Starting early, they arrived in due time at Patchogue, where they
breakfasted late, and thereby saved their dinner, and at Quogue, about
twenty-four miles farther, they supped and slept. Again making an early
start without breakfast, they jogged along to Southampton, where the
morning meal was taken, and thus fortified they returned to their seats,
and, passing through the beautiful country lying around Water Mill and
Bridgehampton, rattled into Sag Harbor--a far different place from the
Sag Harbor of to-day--and there dined. Fortunately, the rest of the
route remains to us, and we can still "stage it" down the old and
beautiful road to Easthampton. A leisurely journey of this description,
at an average rate of a fraction less than two miles an hour, and with
abundant opportunity of getting out for a brisk walk as the horses
dragged their cumbrous load over an occasional sandhill, gave the
traveller a chance of seeing the country he passed through. Long Island
lay before him like a book, every line of which he could read at
leisure. He could wander along the shore of the bay at Babylon, and
mayhap meditate upon the beauty of Nature while looking at the moonlight
sleeping on the water: he could at Quogue seek his way across the
meadows and gaze upon the troubled face of the ocean. We can do so
still, but these pleasures are no longer to be counted among the
fascinating interludes of continuous travel. They are not the
accompaniments of a long journey that gave it a flavor of romance, and
made a trip to Sag Harbor and return the employment of an eventful and
delightful week.

To adapt ourselves to modern condi