The Portland daily press., 1878-08-29
A WEsTERNER IN MAINE.
Pen Picture of a Sleepy ViIlage-Vassal-
boraugh-A ''Happy VaIIey.v
(Maine letter to the Cincinnati Gazette,

(Maine letter to the Cincinnati Gazette.)
Our journey led us to Portland, Maine, which
together with Casco Bay, embraces, according
to the late John S. G. Abbott, some of the
finest scenery on either side of the Atlantic,
thence through Augusta, the home of Names
great senator, to the sleepy little village Of
Vassalborough. The golden rod waved along
the old stone walls, the white and red spirea
fcurished in the rocky pastures, and the birch
groves and pine woods waved and murmured
in the sunshine and wind, but there was small
trace of human animation or enterprise. A
Rip Van Wrinkle sleep seemed to have fallen
upon the place years ago, and to continue still,
undisturbed by the events of the stirring pre-
sent or "the thoughts that shake mankind. ("
A sunny, rocky road wound over the hill
through the cluster of houses which formed
the village, and disappeared in pine woods.
This ledto our destination, ten miles away.
superannuated coach, drawn by two sleepy
looking horses, stood ready to convey us
thither. The driver, after bestow ing on us the
back seat, proceeded to fill the others with
sundry boxes, packages and leather mail-bags.
dashed one set of shafts for a hay-rake on top
OF the coach and another under 1t, and tied an
iron wheel for q reaper on top of our trunk be-
hind. Thus accoutered we rumbled lazily up
the sunny hillsids aud into the shadow of the
pine forest. Our driver seemed to be enthralled
by the same Rip Van Wrinkle elumber which
wrapped the village. His freshest "Reminiscences
can war, and he beguiled the hours with
stories OF Palo Alto and Cerro Gordo and the
City of Mexico, turning half round in his seat,
while the sleepy horses logged up hill and
down, or interrupting himself in the middle of
a sentence to stop at houses by the road and
deliver the miscellaneous articles with which
we were laden. We reached this Happy
Valley just as the sunset was tinging the two
lakes with rose color, aud six weeks stay has
increased rather than diminished the admira-
ton we felt for it then.
Many things strike me as being peculiar to
New England. The roads are as good as our
pixies in the West, being naturally hard and
smooth. TOll-gates are unknown. Men do not
ride on horseback. Everybody goes in bug
gies, or carriages drawn by one horse. There
are no farm wagons, hay carts with two wheels
drawn by oxen, serving all farming purposes.
Everything looks smooth and ineat. No
rough edges, no fence corners full of weeds, no
unsightly ploughed ground, no rotten rails, but
hay fields clipped clean, and stone walls half
overgrown with ferns and golden rod. Even
the powders which crop out here and there in
pastures and orchards cover themselves decor
ously with lichens. Nothing is bare, new,
crude or raw. Everything seems to have been
finished, and the order of life settled for several
generations. There are no new buildings, no
Improvements or innovations, but the same
buildings grow gray with age and gather ich-
ems on them, and the people walk in the ruts
that their fathers walked in, and never do any,
thing striking or original. Farming is done in
a careful, frugal manner, and nothing is allow
ed to 20 to waste. There is no speculation. A
real estate agent would starve here; SO would
surveyor. Everyone invests in slow-gong con-
Germs that pay moderate interest, and when
one of them fails tbs as if the granite of their
hills had been riven, and the old established
order of things dissolved in chaos. If any one
is enterprising or original he goes out West or
to the cities and the country is left with con
sentative, orthodox population, who have re-
spect for ancient traditions. To upset estab-
lished customs, and disregard the traditions of
their forefathers, would seem to the m like pull
ing down the pillars of the universe upon
themselves, and topping, all together, in q
crash of dust and confusion. IL is interesting
to be spectator and look on, but 1 should kick
against the bricks if had to live in this ortho-
dOx dullness. l should want to do something
unprecented to startle the inhabitants of this
mill-pond of existence, just as used to have
desire to talk out loud in Quaker meeting or
throw book scross the house and startle the
mapping elders on the topmost seats.