Connecticut western news., 1891-04-29

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 T ISN'T every one who has a
 village green to write about.
 I have one, although I have
 not seen much of it for some
 years past. I am back again
 - now. In the language of the duke who went around with motto about him, s'I am here!'' and fancy am about as happy peasant of the vale as ever garnished a melo-drama, al- though I have not as yet danced on my village green, as the melo-dramatic peasant usually does on his. It was the case when Rosina Meadows left home.
 The time rolls by serenely now-so se- renely that don't care what time it is, which is fortunate, because my watch is at present in the hands of those linen of New York who are called riotors." We met by chance, the usual way certainly not by appointment brought the interview to close with all possible des- patch. Assuring them that I wasn't MT. Greeley, particularly, and that he had never boarded in the private family where enjoyed the comforts of home, rendered them my watch, and begged they would distribute it judiciously among the laboring classes, as had seen the rioters styled in certain public prints.
 Why should I 1oiter feverishly in Broadway, stabbing the hissing hot air with the splendid goldheaded cane that was presented to me by the citizens of Waukegan, Illinois, as slight testimo- nial of their esteem? Why bron in my rooms? You said to me, Mrs. Gloverson, when took possession of those rooms, that no matter how warm it might be, breeze had way of blowing into them, and that they were, withal, quite coun- tIyied; but am bound to say, Mrs. Gloverson, that there was nothing about them that ever reminded me, in the re- motest degree, of daisies or new-mown hay. Thus, with sarcasm, do I smash the deceptive Gloverson.
 Why stay in New York when had village green? l gave it up, the same as would an intricate conundrum-and, in short, I am here.
 Do I miss the glare and crash of the imperial thoroughfare? the milkman, the fiery, untamed omnibus horses, the soda fountains, Central Park, and those things? Yes, do; and I can go on miss ing lem for quite spell, and enjoy it.
 The village from which I write to you is small. It does not contain over forty houses, all told; but they are milk white, with the greenest of blinds, and for the most part are shaded with beauti full elms and willows. To the right of us is 8 mountain-to the left lake. The village nestles between. Of course it does. I never read novel in my life in which the village didn't nestle. Vil- lages invariably nestle. It is kind of way they have.
 We are away from the cars. The iron horse, as my little sister aptly remarks in her composition On Nature, is never heard to shriek in our midst; and on the whole I am glad of it.
 The villagers are kindly people. They are rather incoherent on the subject of the war, but not more so, perhaps, than are people elsewhere. One citizen, who used to sustain good character, sub scribed for The Weekly New York Her. aid few months since, and went to studying the military map in that well known journal for the freside. I need not inform you that his intellect now totters, and he has mortgaged his farm. In literary point of view we are blood thirsty. A pamphlet edition of the life of cheerful being, who slaughtered his wife and child, and then finished him. self, is having an extensive sale just now.
 The store-I must not forget the store. It is an object of great interest to me. I usually encounter there on sunny after moons, an old Revolutionary soldier. You may possibly have read about Another Revolutionary Soldier gone," but this is one who hasn't gone, and, moreover, one who doesn't manifest the slightest inten- tion of going. He distinctly remembers Washington. of course; they all do; but what wish to call special attention to is the fact that this Revolutionary sol dier is one hundred years old, that his print without spectacles-he never used them, by the way-and his mind is per fectly clear. He is little shaky in one of his legs, but otherwise he is as active as most men of forty and his gener- al health is excellent. He uses no to- bacco, but for the last twenty years he has drunk one glass of liquor every day no more, no less. He says he must have his tod. had begun to have lurk- ing suspicious about this Revolutionary soldier business, but here is an original Jacobs. But because man can drink glass of liquor day and live to be 8 hundred years old, my young readers must not infer that by drinking two glasses of liquor day man can live to be two hundred. (Which, I meanter 'ay, 1t doesn't foller," as Joseph Gargery might observe.
 This store, in which may constantly be found calico and nails and fish and tobacco in kegs and snuff in bladders, is s venerable establishment As long ago IS 1914 it was an institution. The country troops on their way to the de- fense of Portland, then menaced bv British ships -of-war, were drawn up in front of this very store and treated at the towns expense. Citizens will tell you how the clergyman refused to pray tor the troops because he considered the war an unholy one; and how somewhat eccentric person of absolute habits vol- unteered his services, stating that he once had an uncle who was deacon and he thought he could make toler- able prayer, although it was rather out of his line; and how he prayed so long and absurdly that the colonel ordered him under arrest, but that even while soldiers stood over him with gleaming bayonets the reckless being sang a preposterous song about his grandmother's spotted calf, with it's Rifol-lol-tiddery-ldo; after which he howled dismally.
 And speaking of tho store reminds me of little story. The author of "several successful comedies" has been among US,