tions, and as we must view Long Island
in sections to appreciate it as a whole, a route may be chosen in which,
by using both railroad and stage, we may see even more of it, and that
to greater advantage, than the old-time traveller. It is necessary, in
the first place, that something should be seen of the northern shore. In
character and associations it differs widely from the southern. There
is, in the second place, the central section, in avoiding which much of
the rural and most placid beauty of the island would be lost. There is,
thirdly, the southern shore, varied in itself according as the point at
which it is viewed lies on the ocean or on the landlocked bays between
Hempstead and Mecoc, and extending to the rugged headland of Montauk. We
shall thus, by passing from point to point, see as in a panorama all
that need now attract our attention in viewing Seawanhaka.

[Illustration: PORT JEFFERSON, FROM CEDAR HILL.]

The place which the Indians named Cumsewogue is now mainly distinguished
by the cemetery of Cedar Hill. Passing among the graves, we reach the
summit, and a wonderful scene bursts upon our view. Looking north toward
where the village is nestling in a hollow surrounded by woods, the
waters of Port Jefferson Bay are lying without a visible ripple; the
sails of the ships passing up and down the Sound gleam in the sun; and
beyond them, like a hazy line, are the shores of Connecticut. On the
left are glimpses of farmhouses, the church-spires of Setauket, and
rolling fields alternating with woods. On the right are more woods,
bounded far away by the broken shore of the cliff-bound Sound. The
wooded peninsula in front that stretches to the north, forming the
eastern shore of Port Jefferson Bay, was named by the old Puritan
settlers--for what reason it would be hard to divine--Mount Misery. It
is now, fortunately, more generally known in the neighborhood by the
name of the Strong estate of Oakwood. Sea, shore, woods and valleys make
up a picturesque scene of peaceful beauty, and one forgets in the
presence of its living charms that the site upon which he stands is
within the limits of a city of the dead.

[Illustration: CABIN IN THE WOODS ABOVE POQUOTT.]

We descend into the village--which lies as if in a slumber that has
lasted for a century and a half--at the head of the bay. The Indians
named the place Souwassett, and the Puritans, in their usual
matter-of-fact manner, called it Drowned Meadow. Its prese