90 East and West 
countless intervening depressions and Lillipu- 
tian valleys, winding and twisting in all 
directions as the glacier fashioned them, the 
Long Island woods spread themselves, de- 
riving a pleasantly varied and even more 
sylvan aspect than is the case where woods 
lie monotonously ona flat plain. Unwittingly 
the old glacier did much for Long Island, for 
it took a relatively flat and commonplace 
shore and fashioned it upon attractive lines. 
The timber is composed of the common hard- 
woods, largely second growth, with here 
and there a primeval tree of some magnitude 
and dignity standing like a patriarch among 
the younger generation. Chief among these, 
though rare enough, are some fine old tulip 
trees, straight trunked, and distinct in leaf 
from all other trees. 
It is not far to go from the city into these 
pleasant woods at one point or another—an 
hour from Wall Street—but it is far in spirit 
indeed, as far as the East is from the West. 
You may go in March for no other reason 
than to hear the meadow. larks in the fields 
and later the redwings in the swamps, more 
inspiring, because more hopeful and more 
cheering, than the splendid tragedies of the 
opera. You may go forth to see the ground- 
