60 -LONG ISLAND. 



toire. Cosy lounges invite the weary ; there are pipes and 

 glasses for those who wish them ; and in the centre of the 

 room a huge square stove emits a radiant glow. In the cool 

 of April evenings, when the negro boy has crammed it full 

 of wood, and the smoke from reeking pipes ascends in clouds, 

 this room resounds with song and story, and many a stirring 

 experience of camp and field. No striplings gather here. 

 Some who stretch their legs around that stove are battle- 

 scarred. Others have grown gray since they learned the 

 rudiments of the "gentle art." Might I with propriety 

 mention names I could introduce a royal party. To-morrow 

 they will whip the ponds, and wade the connecting streams; 

 and when their brief campaign is ended, you will see them 

 wending cityward with hampers filled with trout nicely 

 packed in ice and moss. 



Of private ponds the most famous and richly stocked are 

 Maitland's Pond, near Islip, and the Massapiqua Pond at 

 Oyster Bay. Nearly all the ponds throughout the island lie 

 along the main highways, in , many cases separated from the 

 road only by a fragile fence, but jealously guarded by tres- 

 pass notices, dogs, and keepers; and it has not infrequently 

 happened that some neophyte uninitiated into the mysteries 

 and prerogatives of Long Island fishing, has innocently 

 climbed the fence, and tossed his fly into the forbidden wa- 

 ters whereby and in consequence hang tales of "withered 

 hopes," not to be repeated except on chilly evenings in the 

 ruddy glow of a blazing wood-fire, and then sotto voce. 



In those earlier days of undeveloped locomotion, when the 

 Long Island Kailroad was. the grand highway between New 

 York and Boston, the only means of access to either side was 

 by occasional cart-paths that traversed the intervening plains. 

 Over these barren wastes hearse-like vehicles made quotidian 

 trips from the railroad stations. From Farmingdale to Eiver- 

 head, throughout an area forty miles.by six in extent, scarcely 

 a house or cultivated patch was seen. The only growth was 

 scrub oak and stunted pine, through which devastating fires 



