"THROUGH A BEAUTIFUL LANE. a young growth of dwarf oak and pine, and with only one house for five miles of the way. As we approached East Hampton the woods gave place to clearings and cultivated fields. Presently, at a turn in the road, we caught a glimpse of the old church spire above the roofs and foliage; and passing through a beautiful lane, that reminded us of some of Birket Foster's bits of English landscape, we entered the main street, which is twice the width of Broadway, carpeted with emerald-green turf, with wagon ruts running through the centre. Weather-beaten houses stood close to the foot-paths, embowered in foliage; and here and there we saw large flocks of geese stretching in undulating lines across the road. Passing the first church, shingle-covered, rotten and crumbling with the wear of one hundred and fifty-three years, its bent and rusty vane creaking in the wind, just across the street stands "Clinton Academy," once holding high rank among the educational institutions of the State; and here, in close proximity, is the birth-place of J. Howard Payne, author of "Home, Sweet Home." In the distance we catch a view of the great arms of a windmill moving slowly, J. HOWARD PAYNE what manner of men settled this quaint, drowsy old village, gray and moss-covered with age, and telling of pre-Revolutionary times. We learn that at the time the great struggle between king and Commons was beginning in England-during the time of John Hampden and Milton-a band of Puritan neighbors, most "The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared: This was their welcome home." One hundred and twenty-five years later the sons of this good old stock voted, June 17, 1774, to "co-operate with our brethren in this colony to defend our liberties." During the Revolutionary war the town suffered many heavy blows; but through the long seven years of hardship and struggle it is not known that any Tory ever made his home on its sacred soil. ly farmers, left their comfortable homes in Maidstone, Kent, on the river Medway, thirty miles from London. They first landed at Salem, Massachusetts, and a short time afterward found their way to the easterly end of Long Island, and founded the town of East Hampton in the year 1649, purchasing the lands from the Indians as far east as Montauk for the sum of £30 4s. 8d. sterling. It was then an unbroken wilderness, and the Indians were numerous on every side. On the east, at "Montaukett," the royal Wyandanck swayed the sceptre; on the north, at Shelter Island, his brother, Poggota-"The intelligence and morals of her people cut, ruled the tribe of "Manhassetts;" and a third brother ruled over the "Shinecocks." And here, in the dark and gloomy forest, in silence unbroken save by the Indian war-whoop, the cry of the wild beasts, or the solemn roar of the ocean, they made their earthly home, and laid the foundations of a government insuring to all the people the largest civil and religious liberty. and the genius of her sons have been among the brightest ornaments of the Empire State." The "old church" represented in the vignette was built in 1717. The bell and clock are over a century and a quarter old. Its first pastor received for his support "forty-five pounds annually, lands rate free, grain to be first ground at the mill every Monday, and one-fourth of the whales stranded on the beach." On the death of Dr. Buel, the third pastor, in the year 1799, Rev. Lyman Beecher was settled over the church. Referring to Dr. Beecher's MAP OF THE LONG ISLAND COAST FROM SAG HARBOR TO MONTAUK POINT. other flowers over the centre. She sent to New York for her colors, and ground and mixed them herself. The carpet was nailed down on the garret floor, and she used to go up there and paint. She took some common wooden chairs and painted them, and cut out figures of gilt paper, and glued them on and varnished them. They were really quite pretty." autobiography, we do not find that he makes | border all around it, and bunches of roses and any positive statement as to the addition made to his income through the misfortunes of "stranded whales;" but we do learn, however, that "as late as about 1700 it is said that a woman named Abigail Baker, in riding from East Hampton to Bridgehampton, saw thirteen whales along the shore between the two places." Dr. Beecher married immediately after his settlement, and the following narrative, communicated to his children, shows the difficulties which he and his wife encountered in setting up housekeeping. "There was not a store in town, and all our purchases were made in New York by a small schooner that ran once a week. We had no carpets; there was not a carpet from end to end of the town. All had sanded floors, some of them worn through. Your mother introduced the first carpet. Uncle Lot gave me some money, and I had an itch to spend it. Went to a vendue, and bought a bale of cotton. She spun it, and had it woven; then she laid it down, sized it, and painted it in oils, with a H. B. STOWE. "That carpet is one of the first things I remember, with its pretty border." CHARLES. "It lasted till my day, and covered the east room in our Litchfield home." H. B. STOWE. "Well, father, what did East Hampton folks say to that?" "Oh, they thought it fine. Old Deacon Tallmadge came to see me. He stopped at the parlor door, and seemed afraid to come in. Walk in, deacon, walk in,' said I. Why, I can't,' said he, 'thout steppin' on't.' Then, after surveying it a while in admiration, 'D'ye think you can have all that, and heaven too?'" In writing of the town the author of "Home, Sweet Home" says: "It is twenty minutes' walk from the ocean. A beautiful oasis, so surrounded by sands and barrenness that the inhabitants are confined to farms barely sufficient to enable them, with patient industry and rigid economy, to draw thence the means of sustaining their families...... The traditions of the place are few, but mysterious. I first sought them in the town records; but vast, indeed, was my perplexity on only encountering notices of various inexplicable hieroglyphics granted to the Zephaniahs and Ichabods and Jeremiahs, through many generations, for the respective 'ear-marks' of each. Eventually, however, it was relieved. I found out that these mystical ear-marks' were merely registers of the stamps on the ears of the cattle under which the towns-people entered them for a portion of the pasturage at Montauk, to which each freeholder had a right." After breakfast we directed our steps toward the birth-place of Payne-a modest, unpretending house, nestling under the shadow of the Academy building, where his father, we were told, was once a tutor. How many touching associations crowd upon us as we remember the many weary hearts whose thought and aspiration have found expression through the singer who first saw the light in this out-of-the-way nook, and whose fate it was to die away from home and kindred in a foreign land! "Hearts there are on the sounding shore The eternal type of the wondrous whole, Grace informing with silent soul." But I must not loiter, contenting myself with the thought that I have said sufficient to show that there is at least one spot, not far from the metropolis of the New World, that has not felt the improvement of the age, and that it is just the place to dream away leisure hours. We were busy all day sketching the many picturesque objects, and retired to rest delighted with our day in East Hampton. Early the next morning we start toward the rising sun, reaching the village of Amagansett about eight o'clock. Here we strike Napeague Beach, and halt to sketch a fish-cart and a boat, partly covered by the sand, and a little further on the wreck of the ship Catharine, the surf breaking in bursts of spray, and creaming in and over her barnacled timbers. Eastward "The sunlight glitters keen and bright, Mile after mile we walked by the sea; the beach was a pure clean sweep, free from seaweed, pebbles, or stones. Tiny sandpipers were running along in front of us, following the curves of the incoming and receding waves. Fragments of wrecks were frequent. Toward noon we stopped to rest, and found some beach plums, which proved to be sweet and palatable. After resting a while we continued our way, the walking growing more difficult, as the tide is higher here, and the beach begins to be broken. Stones and shells seemed to be frequent as we approached nearer the end of the Point. The weather was perfectly delicious, the sky without a clond, the sea a soft blue, growing green as it breaks on the shore, fresh and pure from the broad Atlantic. For hours we had been passing over the "dreaded" Napeague Beach, which we had been told was impassable. Gradually the land began to rise out of the broken, sandy dunes, and to grow into irregular bluffs. Here we began to look out for the first house, and about two o'clock caught sight of it from the bluff, close to the shore, and were soon refreshing ourselves in the comfortable parlor with some home-made blackberry wine, and cool water from the well. We obtained from Mr. Lawrence a sketch of some of the "ear-marks" now in use in marking cattle. During the past season fifteen hundred head of these, one hundred horses, and seven hundred sheep had been pastured on the downs east of this house, at a charge per head for common stock of $2 50, and of $5 for the field or fattening pasture. There are three keepers, living about four miles apart, whose duty it is to shift the cattle from point to point, as the water or pasture may require. They are furnished with a comfortable house, and as much land as they may require for farming purposes, with the privilege of keeping a certain number of cattle, sheep, etc., with every opportunity to raise chickens, geese, ducks, and turkeys. Life-saving stations are scattered about four miles apart along the coast, containing boats ready to launch at a moment's notice; but we were told by old wreckers that, owing to their great weight, it is impossible to launch them through the heavy surf, and that practically they are of no use. After dinner we continued our walk, following the coast till sundown; then on over the downs, through the deepening twilight into the gloaming, the music of the everlasting and monotonous roar of the sea sounding in our ears, |