The daily morning journal and courier., 1899-06-19
THE CONNECTICUT VALLEY
4 TRIP DOWN FROM SPRINGFFELD
 TO PORTLAND.

TO PORTLAND.
 Wayside Notes Relating to the Scenic
 and Antiquarian Attractions of sum
 dry Old Village Streets-Prosperity of
 the Farmers.
 On a mellow October morning we drove from the thrifty city of Spring. field, Mass, with our faces to the south
 ward. We were off for a days outing.
 From Springfield to Portland as the road goes, is about forty-flve miles.
 The main highway follows the eastern highland of the Connecticut river. It is one continuous homogeneous street; and we are told that there is not finer stretch of rural thrift and contentment to be found in America Green sweeps of valley, pillows of hills rolling into the stream, the domes of Mount Tom and Mount Holyoke on the northern horizon, a morning sweetened by the gold and si- lence of the dying year-We swing out of the streets of Springfield and plunge into open. Up a hill and round curve, we have our last view of the city, lying low by the riverside The road swings | into scattering wood; and we are in the country.
 The Connecticut river is to parts Of this narrow valley what the Nile is to | Egypt. Its broad meadows are over flowed in the spring, and they have giv- en bountiful mowlngs twice each year | for two centuries and more. These low lands are from halfmile to two miles wide on either side of the stream On the higher land at their outer margin, along the thoroughfare, are the farm houses. The great river must have had an effect upon the settlers of this rolling valley, for the highway has broad and majestic swing. River and road march onward from the hills to the sea.
 The settler must have piece of now ing land on the bottom. The farms were therefore narrow, fronting on the river; but they made good their area by run ming back two or three miles. In the early divisions the farms were split lengthwise; and thereby the farm houses were brought close together. One who rides behind his horse from Springfield to Portland cannot escape the feeling that he is travelling long village street.
 The journey becomes panorama. All ways wide, at some places the road ex- pands into field-like openings. In these wider spaces one finds the long, ram bling village, so characteristic of rural New England. The village seems only a condensation of the accustomed road- side, only closer settlement of farm houses. Typical of each town center is the combined store and post-offce the village scales and a spreading elm com- prisipg the central figure. Sometimes there is quaint building with the le- gend, Town Records" Again, hand some library or public hall denotes the advanced intellectual life of the coun- tryside. The scene Is always peaceful, indicating a quiet life; yet the people we meet are alert and well informed. They are always glad to tell us the traditions and history of the neighborhood.
 The old town meeting system of gov ernment, in which there is practically no intermediary between the taxpayer and the tax-spender, has been a large factor in the unconscious development of these rural highways, pecNliar to New Eng land.
 This long wide country street Is con- spicuous for its rolling stretches of sward, it's cleanness and its abandon of trees. It has none of the harshness and weediness of the common highway. It's staring banks and unkempt spots were worn away years and generations ago. It is easy, gentle, steady, purposeful; and in these attributes 1t reflects the homes along its winding sides.
 The varying widths are always enter taining. They keep the interest alive. They suggest adaptability to local con- ditions, not the hard and fast lines of the surveyor. We are in New England, not in the Roman township system of the west. Now and then a house sets back on an eminence, and the highway | fence follows the house to it's retreat, | The wide front space may be parS-like | with trees.
 The New Englander loves trees. He loves them with no passing affection or mere sentlmentalism. They are a part | of his life-so much part of it that he IS not aware of the fact He therefore cherishes the patriarchs of the field and | highways. He patches their broken and | decayed branches as long as the spark of | life remains; and he mourns for them when they are dead. A westerner cuts down the ragged and broken tree for to him the vigor and exuberance of activity appeal more strongly than the repose and mellowness of age. The western farmer cleans his fields of trees, for he wants broad and sweeping acres. The New England farmer lets the old trees stand, and the landscape Is popuous with verdurous heads The oak which marks his ancestors birthplace, the tree which was once the public whipping post, the lone pine with its stra tified are as much as cattle and farms. The New Englander is rooted in the past Traditions are parts in the fa- bric of his life. The trees span the cen- turies.
 Everywhere is found the evidence of this deep-seated love. You are shown the place where once a majestic white oak was a noontime resting place for and are told the story of the vandal neighbor, an alien in heart if not in birth, who cut it down that he might not have to run his barbed-wra fence six inches aside from a straight line. Or you hear of the veteran of the Nf r11n n f1,n 4