The weekly Minnesotian. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1852-1858, 1854-12-16
',r the MINI 'sut,an
VILLAGE Sketches.

/ Who shall say that it is not worth ones while
! t" sit at window in the village as well as in
tie city? Ncghbor Eunice is a part and par
eel of hers: her pains are all panes; her or
gans those of vision entirely. Our objects Of
interest are manifold.
Early in the morning the butchers wagon
coal team, neighbor Hopkins little boy, three
COWS. and superannuated dog are all that are
worthy of attention.
! The coal drivers are stout men. full Of !:fc,
and singing some gay song on their way. They
are proud OF their horses and high places.
have often thought, however, they should ne
yer possess light natures, fer they always ira
vel in darkness judging from their personal APP
pcaranccs.
Later, We have Tie pedlar's in "yellow
shays," with neat boxes. They can sell you
anything. from half cents wsih of buttcns
to slice Of the North Pole, and if il is net gen
uine, it ought to be.
Here is wagon load of Shakers Noahs Ark
for wagon. Women in coal scutiie bonuets
and sadcolorcd shawls. Men and boys like
mushrooms. Large hats cover the place where
the head ought to be. They are straight as
their neighboring pines the rising generation
would do we'll to initiate them. They would
make excellent walkins-sticks but they are
supposed to have nothing of the Cain in them
Aunt Ennce has stepped over to tell me that
-four has risen. She is sitting by the window
Listen t. her:
There goes the peacock, wonder who let
him out. There's the crazy man, maybe you
dol't know they let him run aLoIt now
lymph, Deacon Graham with new hat There's
Judge Bell on Squire pavid's black horse.
Ny! Sally Bcames with Joe Vinton wonder if
they re engaged: Guess they're going to Bar
ringtoa. Think I'll step over 70 Dolly :, to sec
her new quilt ana find out
Pccribg all around the room, with her l:ttlc
grey eyes to see that everything was as it
should be- she passes out the door. s,oops to
pick up pin, and is gone.
The next strcct-passcr is Tom. Everybody
knows Tom, for he is nobodys boy and good
for-nothing. HIS pants are blue, out at the
knees, and frinscd around his boot tops. The
boots were originally meant for the giant in the
fairy story. He has a widc-awake bat with no
brim. but he is brimrul Of mischief. SINGS
Carry me loJg.' to the tune of "Oli Hun
drcd.' He kicks the dead leaves right and
left, lying in the riffs, pilcing them as high a,
his head and so,ncrseting over them. Now
hear but faint tones of his woes; now all i
quiet.
Quiet as the grave. A funcraI is coming
doNn the grassy path, winding in and ont o;
the brown trees. Some little blossom has been
plucked with the dew still upon its lips. Two
men bear its small weight, and
four little boys walk beside it, holding the
Grape which covers the coffin. As pail bea, ers.
Now follow the long Inc OF relatives and
friends while the old bel, that has r,ll- the
kncll Of its grandparents. Or great. grand Ia
even farther back than that
peals ont in solemn voice that d little o.c o
added to the children in Heaven.
Until very lately, the apples have been
hanging on the trees in Mary Lows garden,
with rosy cheeks turned to the sun.
The corn at neighbor Hornets is dead to the
7ery roots, and stands in green and yellow mel,
lncholy, waving its grey tsssels in the pale