Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1879-07-08
From the Portland Daily Press.
OUR PARIS LETTER.
PAKIs. Maine. so juno.

lOHi tilS NliidBt III lllt DNdtt
set upon the summit of the range of Ok
ford hill-the eye, aided by good glass,
can look down to the eastward and catch
sight of the far-away glitter of the sea
and the spires of Portland It is not
strange, then, that the reporters pencil
points toward Portland, following the road
over which thought runs so rapidly. A
sojoum in Paris would imply observation
of all sorts of fashionable gayeties; and
for the benefit of our lady readers few
details of PariSian costumes may be not
cd as that the clouds wore evening toi-
lcttcs of rose and gold, trimmed with
bouffant drapcrics of gnlzy white; that
young birch wore a distinguished cos
tune of tightly fitted white satin; and a
squirrel was notably elegant in a prom
enadc costume of striped gray, with a
long train which she managed with great
address as she ran along fence rail
Concerts, like the language of truthful
James, are frequent and free for each
shady, thick lcaved pine and hemlock is
the home of a thrush or bobolink, and
every bush has its bird. 1t is easy to
fancy that the ferns are dancers, poised
easily on one foot; the rocks sparkle with
mica like the scenes of brilliant bur
lcsquc, and there is no contOrtionist like
your old apple-trce. Paris Is full of APP
ple-trees Perhaps, after all, the town
did not take its name from the French
capital, but from some lover of olden
fable, who deemed that when the Young
Paris Judged between the three goddesses,
he met them on a hill as high and fair as
this one; where, too, he had not far to
look for the apple given to Venus. And
thus it may be that this lovely height
was named Paris Hill Or. to descend
to sober probabilities, it may have been
named in honor of A. X. Paris, whose
old residence stands upon the main street
of the village, pleasantly shaded by fine
trees; and whose prominence is attested
by the number of Maine men of whom
the surname follows the initials 4. X. p.
The roads around Paris are exceedingly
picturesque and pleasant. The ground
is hilly, but the roads are well kept, and
the soil Is favorable for good, smooth
road-making. North Paris, West Paris,
South Paris, Norway and Oxford afford
agreeable drives, varying in scenery and
in length. There are several very pleas
ant boarding houses in the village, at
either of which the traveller might look
with confidence for comfortable board and
lodging Among these, the Hubbard
House may be cordially recommended,
for such fresh, airy rooms, delicate clean
Illness, and kind and courteous attention
are delightful to encounter. Good horses
used to the uphill and down of which
the roads consist-may be hired of Mr..
| Tufts, near the hotel. He is also a care
ful and accommodating driver, and knows
how to select pleasant roads from which
fine views may be enjoyed by parties in
his care. Add to all this, that hotel
charges and hire of horses are very mod
erate-and the seeker for a quiet and
pleasant place in which to pass the sum
mcr vacation will begin to believe he has
found an Earthly Paradise. His faith in
this respect will be strengthened when a
circle of lowland, set about with hills, is
pointed out to him by the guide As the
Happy Valley. AT least adds our
guide, with the quiet impartiality that is
the core of New England humor, lat
least that is the name the inhabitants
give it. The neighbors generally call It
Hungry Hollow" Any subsequent NOR
ali1ing fails utterly before this simple
statement Nothing is left 10 add to the
plain story of the content that lives in
the valley, and the critical spirit of the
dwellers in high places. Now the road
goes past old orchards; the fruit hardly
shows yet among the leaves, the little
apples not larger than nut; but the
curious braiding of the branches, and the
pathetic twists and warps of the trunks OF
the apple trees are ycYpicturcsque against
the sky.
Every house, new or old, has It's or
chard, usually a large one; and near
many of the doors stands great bush OF
the sweet, old-fashioned cinnamon roses,
fuller of flowers than of leaves. One OF
these roscbushes was a poem in itself,
; needing no verse for its setting forth.
This is the scene: An old black house,
not ruinouS, but on the contrary with the
sober, thrifty New England look; sun
and rain had shonc and beaten upon 1t,
season after season, and mellowed It's
timbers to a rich dark tint; glad eyes and
sad had looked out of its windows to the
west; and the old house seemed full OF
the life of many years. The green door
yard lay in the sharp yellow light of the
time when the sun is nearly set; the
cows, brindled and brown, came crowdlng
up to the bars; before the house, a steep
green slope ran down to the low land,
bevond which rose the Oxford hills, and
Kearsarge and Washington away off in
the thin mist; behind the house, great
ledge of granite, dark with pines, and
taking the first shadows of night in the
clefts of its rocks, and under its trees.
A little way farther, near the road, was
the rosebush. a tangle of thoms and a
riot of roses, clinging and climbing over
"a tomb. The roses ran over the gray
granite, and peered about the door in
pathetic contrast. Here were pink petals
gay with the full life of flower, outside
the tomb that had Onened often. when