nt name was
adopted about forty years ago, probably in a patriotic mood, and also in
the belief that the name it then bore was too unqualified and likely to
give rise to unwarrantable prejudices. That there was some truth, if
there was neither beauty nor imagination, in the name, is, however,
evident from the marsh-lands lying between the village and Dyer's Neck
or Poquott, which divides the harbor from that of Setauket on the west.
One of the old landmarks of the village, dating from about the first
quarter of the last century, is the house built by the Roe family when
the settlement was first made. It now forms part of the Townsend house,
and is still occupied by collateral descendants of its builder.
Accessions to the little colony came slowly. Even the fine harbor could
not compensate for the disadvantages of Drowned Meadow for building
purposes, and the hillsides are steep and rocky. But about 1797, when it
is said there were only half a dozen houses in the village, shipbuilding
was begun, and its subsequent rise was comparatively rapid.

Securely though it seems to repose among its wood-crowned hills, it has
had at least one exciting episode in its history. During the war of 1812
its shipping suffered considerably at the hands of King George's
cruisers, and one night the enemy entered the harbor and captured seven
sloops that were lying there at anchor. Otherwise, life at Port
Jefferson appears to have been as it is now, unexciting and peaceful.
Its attractions are in part those of association, but chiefly those of
Nature--its sandy shore, its still woods and its placid bay. It is a
place to fly to when the only conception of immediate happiness is to be
still, to float idly upon water that has no waves to detract from the
perfection of a dream of absolute rest, or to seek shelter and eloquent
quiet in deep and shady woods. There are several winding paths that lead
up the hilly promontory of Oakwood, and there are clearings upon the
high ground swept over by breezes from the Sound where one can look upon
rural scenes as perfect in their way as imagination can picture.

[Illustration: LAKE RONKONKOMA.]

To the west of the village, pathways lead through the woods and past
many ruined and ruinous cabins. The latter are chiefly occupied by
negroes, who enjoy the sweets of liberty in these sequestered nooks. It
is questionable if emancipation in any way bettered their condition. The
Dutch introduced slaves into Long