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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 Eiverhead, a dis- 

 tance 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 slug- 

 gishly 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 abun- 

 dant, 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 gar- 

 dens 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 



