people all over the world--the birthplace of John
Howard Payne, the author of "Home, Sweet Home." It is with a feeling
approaching reverence that we look at the old open fireplace, the
rafters and walls; and as we emerge and glance up and down the spacious
street, and drink in the placid beauty of the scene, the fountain of the
poet's inspiration is revealed. Once seen, it is a place for every man
to remember all through life, even if "he owed it not his birth." And
here the thought recurs that there must be an unusually strong tie
between the villagers in all the Hamptons and their homes. The names of
many of the old settlers are still met with throughout the entire
section from Southampton eastward, so that while Payne was giving
expression to a sentiment that is universal in language that the world
at large has adopted, his words have also a particular significance in
telling us of the atmosphere of sentiment peculiar in its warmth and
manifestation to the district in which he was reared.

[Illustration: KING SYLVESTER.]

Our path now lies eastward through the straggling little village of
Amagansett, and through the woods beyond which lie Neapeague and
Montauk, the "Hilly Land." The quiet repose of village-life is now left
behind, and through rapidly-changing scenes we set our faces toward the
grandest and most wonderful section of Long Island. For about two miles
after leaving Amagansett our route lies through thick woods of young
timber, and then we suddenly emerge at a point where the road turns
round a spur of the high land we have just passed. On the south is the
ocean, in sight of which the road thereafter runs the greater part of
the way to the point, and in front, stretching for six or seven miles
until it joins the hills of Montauk, is the marshy beach of Neapeague,
the "Water Land." As we descend, the sea is hidden by the irregular
dunes that lie along the shore, and the dreary expanse extends far
before us and off toward the north. Every step leads us to realize more
fully the dismal character of the sterile flat. The wagon-wheels
alternately grind through the sand and bump into deep puddles in the
marsh. There can be no doubt that once this whole tract was overflowed
by the sea, and still in heavy storms the waves force their way between
the sandhills and lay parts of the beach under water. Meanwhile,
however, attention is likely to be diverted from the consideration of
the inroads of the sea to the inc