The Portland daily press., 1894-07-07
THECITY OF WATERvlLLE.

One of the Loveliest Towns in the Country
Broad Straight Streets and Lawns In
numerable-some Reflections on Com
mencement at Colby.
Correspondence OF the Press.l
See Paris and die"-Vide French
Classics.
All good people when theyadie go to
Boston"-Vide Boston Theology.
Heaven is very good place, but of
course it isn't Chicago. wide post
mortem Chicago testimony.
These familiar quotations all come to
mind when visiting any beautiful New
England town for the first time in June.
Ones impulse is to repeat them, sup
planting the proper noun in each, by
the name of the beautiful town in
question. Just now it is Waterville.
One must be void of appreciation and
enthusiasm indeed who could fail to
echo Judge Bonney's "lovliest town in
New Englandp' Surely if there is a
iovelier one it has been very modest a bout
revealing itself. Situated on the banks
of the Kennebec river, it's area is level,
it's streets broad, it's lawns immaculate!
Its residences are near enough to suggest
neigh borhood, yet tar enough apart Tor
ample elbow room. Each stands with
drawn from the street. Aforementioned,
shaded and quiet. Some of them are
mansions of the olden time, suggesting
in their cool composure some stately old
English dowager, with her aflstocrat1c
hands folded from all unrest. Straight,
smooth walks abound, and lawns, lawns
everywhere. Electric lights are here, and
an electric railway traverses the length OF
the town, reaching alrneia at one terml-
nus and the French settlement at the
other.
This French settlement, high upon
the very brink of the precipitous river
hank. is, in common with many locali-
ties less pungently odored, more interest
ing to pass through than to inhabit.
The motor-man drives through here
like a flash, bnt the eye still catches
some salient features. 1t is curious to
note the stolid nonchalance with which
the women lounge on the doorsteps and
chew gum to make life comfortable. 1T
is curious, too, to mark the delicate
shades and distinctions of color between
the babies and the dirt they roll IN. 1T
is curious to see the bits of vegetable
gardens that betoken degree OF THRIFT,
and that cling to those steep banks like
lichens on a boulder. 1t is startling as
well as curious to see the reckless dang
ling of boyish heels from rickety fences
a hundred feet above the river edge, the
owners of which, if they were sons of
millionaires or college professors (same
thing) would tumble with fatal certainty
backward, every rollicking one OF them,
and be dashed on the rocks below. But
these WON'T. They will dangle their
heels and rollick and whoop, and defy
death and destruction. till they are men,
and then they will bangle their heels
and strike, and defy the government.
And those swarthy babies, why don't
they get under the wheels of those cars,
which rush by within six feet OF their
very doors, and get ground to mince-
ought. A clean baby in Kate Green
away dress would. But these don't.
They toddle and tumble and roll right
under the nose of the rushing car; you
hold your breath and look back, as you
fearfully suppose, to view their mangled
remains. Their remains are all there.
but they are not mangled. They are
Just as they were before, toddling, tumb-
ling, serene.
The distinguishing difference between
a French and an Irish settlement is very
distinct-the Astounding wealth of the
one being in babies and dogs, that of
the other in babies and pigs.
4 l1TreeS?" Yes, l.haVes deem wal Ting Tor
you to make that suggestion, while my
pen has been wandering down to French
Town. left the subjectNof the trees till
now, on the principle of.the boy with the
best of his pie. Because after all is said,
the gre at beauty of Waterville is it's
trees. She shows evidence in every way
of having had for her pioneers men Of
taste and forethought. For such trees
do not grow in generation. And it set
in a former generation they were placed
with fore thought of the fitness of relation
to he homes that were then to DE. They
are mostly elms, which on this.river soil
have grown luxurantly and to great
height. They line every street and gem
every lawn, but never one too many.
They never stand too close, never crowd.
Widely apart their grand Doles rise and
fling out their graceful arm just touch
ing each others fnger-tips above the
roofs of the town. So far Fabove is the
arch of green that one always walks and
hreathes with a sense of expansive free
dom.
OFF of one of the leading avenues is
Park place, a charming little locality,
all starched and ironed for the occasion.
That is ones inevitable impression.
Here on each side of short carriage
drive, as straight as an arrow and smooth
as floor, half dozen Queen Anne cot
tages are clustered, each lawn-set of
course, or it wouldn'tb be Waterville, and
THE PRESS