164 
THE CULTIVATOR. 
May 
tie Republic, having our own court-house. &c., we ought 
not to complain. 
A glance at the map will show the surface of our coun¬ 
ty considerably dotted with the usual signs, which on a 
map signify mountains; and a visit here would show the 
traveller that we have not been slandered in this respect. 
This is truly a mountainous county; but amid the moun¬ 
tains are fertile spots and tracts of country, that will 
equal any part of our state in productiveness. Of these 
portions I shall, at another time speak. My present pur¬ 
pose is simply to introduce you and your readers to 
Putnam county. 
How often do we find people travelling abroad, to far 
distant lands and climes, for the purpose of viewing rich 
and varied scenery, while they are either ignorant of, or 
do not care to visit that which is almost within their 
grasp. Here, within 50 miles of the great metropolis of 
the United States, is a portion of country that, in the 
grandeur, wildness, and beauty of its scenery, will vie 
with the accounts we read of many parts of California 
and Mexico. 
I have said this is a county of mountains, but it is a 
county of lakes, too. Wander with me in spirit, as 1 
hope you may one day do in person, to the top of the 
mountain which is just one mile from my dwelling. ¥e 
will suppose it a fine spring morning. Arrived at its 
summit, what do you behold! Turn your eyes south¬ 
ward and westward, and the hills, vallies, and rolling 
lands, and the beautiful Lake Mohegan of Westchester 
county, meet your eye. Further off, about six miles 
distant, you see the noble Hudson winding its way 
through the Highlands, whose shaggy brows are reflect¬ 
ed in the deep water that laves their base. For 20 miles 
and more, you see that beautiful river, studded with 
white sails, with here and there a steamer gliding over 
its tranquil bosom. But, alas, the latter grace not the 
Hudson’s waters as they did. The scream of the whis¬ 
tle, and the rattle of the cars, as the sound echoes 
through the mountain passes, and falls upon the ear in 
the silence of the morn, tells the requiem of the steam¬ 
er, for the present, at least. And yet we mourn not that 
it is so. This is the utilitarian age, and before it, ro¬ 
mance must fade away or be turned into reality. How 
short a time is it, comparatively speaking, since the first 
steamer ascended the Hudson’s waters, and when the 
triumph over sloop navigation seemed apparent, no doubt 
many a man viewed them with a jealous eye, consider¬ 
ing them as much an innovation as many a steam-boat 
owner now thinks the railroad on the Hudson’s margin ; 
but still, that river now teems with sloops, and so too, 
at no distant day, will it again teem with steamers. Tru¬ 
ly, there is no “ fighting against destiny.” The spirit 
of the age is onward, and in its rapid march there will 
be found enough for all to do. 
But pardon my digression. Turn your eye eastward, 
and some of the finest agricultural portion of this county 
is before you. In the distance, about nine miles, lies 
Lake Mahopae, at an elevation of 1,000 feet above the 
Hudson, (some estimate it at 1,500 feet.) This lake is 
three miles long, and about nine miles around it; its 
depth is great, equal to that of Ontario or Erie. Like 
most of the lakes in this section, it has an outlet but no 
inlet, and is formed from springs in the bottom. Its wa¬ 
ter is so pure and clear, that objects can be distinctly 
seen at a depth of 30 feet. It has several islands in it; 
one containing a number of acres. Mahopae, for some 
years past, has become quite a resort for New-Yorkers 
and others, seeking the cool and wholesome air of the 
country, during the hot months of summer. 
Turn northward. What a field for the study and con¬ 
templation of the geologist lies before us. Mountains 
of conical shape rise in every direction. What have they 
been? How came they there? Were they once the 
craters of volcanoes, that poured forth their melted lava 
on every side, but which have been extinct for ages? 
Certain it is, that no ordinary commotion has been there, 
whether it has been caused by fire or water. Embo¬ 
somed in those mountains are several lakes. One, lake 
Conaope, is little if any inferior to Mahopae in beauty. 
It is about two miles long and three-quarters of a mile 
wide. Far away in the distance, you see the mountains 
of Fishkill, and farther, far as the eye can reach, appear 
the majestic group of the Catskills, breaking upon the 
eye like the dark cloud on the horizon of a summer’s 
twilight. Such is one view, among many, to be found 
here. But you may say, what has all this to do with 
agriculture? Directly, perhaps it has nothing; indirect¬ 
ly it has something. 
Many a man, doubtless, has grown up from boyhood 
amid such scenes, and never once, while gazing on them, 
has felt his heart beat with emotion; butnothwithstand- 
ing this, move him from his mountains, and ought else 
seems tame to him. This attachment of man to a moun¬ 
tain land, when that land has been his birth-place, has 
been told over and over again in the pages of romance 
and of history. A good and wise Providence, dispenses 
his favors with an evener hand, than we are apt to think at 
first sight; and he has given to the mountain-land some ad¬ 
vantages not generally met with elsewhere. Health, that 
first and greatest of blessings, is generally found there. 
Water, the purest and best, flows in rippling rills over 
the hill-sides and through the vallies. There is no stag¬ 
nant pool or sluggish stream there to breed disease, which 
mars with its dread power the beautiful residences of the 
low-lands. 
I have known men to wander to the valley of the 
Mississippi, but they came back again. I have known 
men to wander to the prairies of the far west, but they 
came back again; they sighed in secret for their blue 
hills and crystal streams. They sighed for the healthy 
air of their native land. 
A stranger occupying, what would seem to the eye, a 
far more highly favored agricultural district, free from 
rocks and stone, would wonder how the men of the 
mountains obtained a livelihood; but it is a fact that 
while in many agricultural districts, farmers have, com¬ 
paratively speaking, nothing to sell but once a year, 
these men always have something—a little wood, a load 
of bark, a few chickens, a tub of butter, a colt or a yoke 
of oxen; and by the by, the latter, for working pur¬ 
poses, are among the finest and best broken cattle that 
I ever saw. They are strong and hardy, and seem form¬ 
ed by nature to perform the work of the country of 
which they are natives. 
Land is valued low in the mountains. Mountain farms, 
as they are called, can be bought at from five to ten dol 
