A DAY IN OLD SAYBROOK 



145 



A Day in Old Saybrook — a Real New 

 England Village. 



BY CAROLINE CLARK IIINTON, NEW YORK 

 CITY. 



Nature is true to herself in Old Say- 

 brook, Connecticut. Man has tam- 

 pered with her very little. She yields 

 the scent of wild clover by the road- 

 side, and on the outskirt of the village, 

 the tang of salt from the marshes. 



The village is a natural part of the 

 whole, sleepy, with restful arms reach- 

 ing over wide stretches of ground, and 

 woods with the undergrowth untram- 

 meled by men's feet. 



There are churches in large propor- 

 tion to the population ; the stores 

 smell of must, but carry a surprising 



"THE HOUSES ARE GENUINELY OLD." 



assortment of dry goods and groceries. 



The houses are genuinely old, and 

 are, for the most part, surrounded by 

 gardens of old-fashioned flowers. Side 

 by side grow the tall sunflowers, the 

 gay hollyhocks, the familiar dahlias 

 and asters and appealing forget-me- 

 nots. Fennel also has its place in the 

 garden, and is given as a token of hos- 

 pitality to those who stop to inquire 

 the way. I counted myself fortunate 

 in stopping a whole day in the old 

 village. 



I saw people enjoying life (they 

 have time), men and women growing 

 old gracefully, the women buxom and 

 young in spirit, the men possessed of 

 ripe wisdom and growing upon their 

 chins the long patriarchical beards of 

 Biblical lore. 



I remembered the day when I had 



"EVEN THE WEEDS GROW WITH AN UNDIS- 

 TURBED FREEDOM." 



ridden my horse down to the ferry's 

 landing, had summoned the old boat 

 from the opposite shore with a wave 

 of my handkerchief, and crossed like 

 slow freight to Old Lyme. Although 

 this was many years ago, I was as- 

 tonished to find a great change even in 

 Old Saybrook. 



Instead of horses and carriages 

 crossing on the old ferryboat, automo- 

 biles were seen crossing the fine new 

 toll bridge, while trolleys had appeared 

 and invaded the main streets of both 

 these old villages. 



But in spite of trolley cars and auto- 

 mobiles they remain old — much as we 

 imagine were the days of early New 

 England. 



"THESE PROLIFIC BLOOMS SPRING UP UNEX- 

 PECTEDLY—BEHIND A ROCK, ALONG A 

 MINIATURE CANAL." 



