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lis. Almost as far as the vision reaches, the eye rests only upon a sea of waving bushes. They are not sparse and open, as is the case usually on feeble sandy soils, but the growth is heavy, compact, and generally uniform. Occasionally, patches of trees of a larger growth appear, but there is mainly a singular uniformity of shrubs and bushes, interlaced with vines and matted by a coarse herbage.
This rude wilderness extends from Farmingdale to Riverhead, a distance of about forty-three miles, and from the base of the ridge on the north to a narrow belt of beautiful and richly cultivated country which borders the sea coast. The tract is from six to eight miles wide, from north to south. When the Long Island railroad was constructed, about twenty years ago, it penetrated an unbroken wilderness almost the entire length from Farmingdale to Riverhead, in which appeared no dwelling, no culture, and no evidences of civilization except an occasional path which traversed the island from north to south, connecting the two opposite shores. The surface of this immense plain is so nearly level, with only trifling undulations, that the eye can detect no declension. From the ridge to the ocean, there is a gradual but imperceptible descent. The small streams, which generally start four or five miles from the sea coast, in their early course crawl sluggishly through the rank herbage which springs from their ooze, but in their progress they acquire more activity, until as they approach the ocean they become bright and sparkling brooks, with a current sufficient to propel machinery. These rivulets afford the choicest trout, and the plains furnish excellent sport in deer, smaller animals and fowl. Mr. Harold remarks in his memoranda, that the prairie hen (Tetrao eupido,) was formerly abundant, especially in the bushy plains, although believed to be nearly extinct; during the last year they have again appeared. The Hempstead plains are animate with the presence of numerous birds. Large flocks of the bunting (Emberiza savanna,) are found during the whole summer. The White Snow bird (Plectophanes nivalis,) fatten upon the ripened seeds in autumn. He mentions several varieties of the plover and duck, and I saw the lark (Alauda alpestris,) early in December, soaring with joyous wing from the open plains.
Within a few years a new epoch seems to have opened upon the scene, and the footprints of progress have been impressed on these lands. The plains are now not entirely without improvement, as numerous sites have been subdued and occupied. Productive farms and highly cultivated gardens and orchards, are springing into existence and beam amid these wilds like oasis in the desert. Some of these improvements already compare favorably in culture and productiveness with the most fertile tracts on the island. Men who unite practical knowledge to wealth and science have entered on these wastes, and are exhibiting demonstrative evidence of the capabilities of this soil for high and remunerative culture.
I have, in the preceding pages, attempted to present a rapid view of the existing aspect and condition of the territory which has so long, and with so much success, been denounced as "the barrens of Long Island." The
