The weekly Minnesotian. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1852-1858, 1855-04-14
lFor the Minnesotian.
Village Sketches.

from the sky, and clashes the branches of tn
old trees together into a rude timbrel music
Well to retrace our steps, return to our street
On each side Of it are ancient Gins, turf ant
white fences, with here and there beautiful
cottages nesting like birds, closing their wing
around the house tree. Cottages-ornee ant
gabled, in every variety of architeeture-porch
CO, bay-wndows and verandah ''all around thu
house." We have one Doctor, ditto Shoemak
er, the Store. Blacksmith, Carpenters, Cows
Horses. fowl and flesh A poor-house, crazy
man, two superannuated c9lored people, gos
sip and a bad boy. But it is unlike any Other
little place in lis wealth of intellect, high or
ders of mind-refnement. cultivation and &C
complishment. The air is filled with inspira
ton. Where congregatcs more genius than in
Berkshire: Is not Monument Mountain gran
lite column to Bryant, that no time shall effect
but stand his soulmarks through eternity p
Is not every tree, rock and stream, around her
native place crowned with the ever living
wreath of fame by the talented Authoress Of
Berkshire!
Near us are DR.. Griswold, Herman Melville,
Holmes, and in the summer, Henry Ward
Bcechcr and others. We catch glimpses OF
t csc shining lights sometimes. Shakespeare
must have had prophetic one, when he said,
Chow far that little candle throws his beanls.''
Nowadays we see all the great minds face
TO face, thanks to Photography and Railroads.
Apropos-the latter brings to mind a ride of
ract loIio nd
took the eleven O'Clock morning train for Glen
dale, a beautiful place two miles distant beau
tiful as it's name, but doomed to bloom unseen,
for utility had turned it into that destroyer of
beauty, manufacturing town. Its ripping
stream was damned. Its finest rocks became
- gas fixture, and its trees fell in its defence.
We were going to the Glendale Mills, "WoOlen
Factory" (as the card expressed it, to see all
that was to be seen. And we did-from the
eommencement-the great furnace, with its red
jaws, glowing and flaming, setting all the ma
cbinery in motion. to the spinning room, next
the roof.
Here are the dyeing rooms;' a general
smell of bark, huge vat of boiling indigo,
two gloomy phantoms looming up in the mist,
"true blues" rolling up cloth on windlasses
from the tubs beneath. A peculiar, cloudy,
damp feeling, dyeing sensation prevailed.
ooh! the ladies' bonnets, the ladies' bon
nets" screamed the foreman. "Mr G., they
VII all dye!''
A concert scream and rush followed. I am
sorry for the sake of mankind to add, that the
one gentleman was just as much afraid of dye
ing as the ladies, and his new hat gave him
courage to precede us in the melee. We who
wore black bonnets and hoods returned those
whose new felts and velvets vanity had prompt
ed to wear, stood
ssLike Tantalus without the pale.'
The finishing room was filled with roll upon
roll of shining cloths of every hue, "grey,
black and brown" The carding was new to all
OF us; each machine keeps one man busy. One
little boy, scarcely fourteen years of age, had
the care OF one.
The spinning room at the top of the building
employed but five men. One of these attracted
our attention and interested US. His years
numbered more than fifty; his clothes were
poor and threadbare, but scrupuloasly clean /;
his face wore resigned, melancholy look. Mr..
G. told us that he had been absent from that
mill but three days in the last eighteen years.
Regular as clock-work he entered the door and
,ralked fourteen hours daily in the winter, be-
hind that machine. Think OF it. What tread
mill life. Day after day to stand in the same
room, on the same boards, walking back and
forth, rolling that pile of springing machinery
What is winter summer, year in, year out to
him? Is it any wonder that be has grown me-
cbanical, subdued, with a vacant, thoughtful
face, chained to a rock by poverty. felt as
though he must fly. wondered he did not open
the window and dash out, down four stories
"anywhere, anywhere, out of the world"
The weaving room was airy and spacious, the
floor white for the girls "holy-stone" it. Pill
lars through the center of the room and many
windows. The whirr and clash of the shuttle!
was deafening. Here we had more interest,"
This was the wOmen's department One hat
the charge of the looms, and it was quite
enough to keep them busy-takng out empt.
bobbins and replacing them with filed ones
tying weaver's knots and heading pieces. ON
little girl of twelve years was commencing tn,
web of her life. Her looms wOve and wove ant
the little hands flew from one to another with
out cessation. Her cheeks had an unnatura
glow want Of air and exercise were weaving
the warp of disease through the wool of ma
ture.
Each factory girl had her window, filed will
green plants prayer books, looking glasses, bit
of colored papers, and treasures that looking
at helped to cheer them. Here was a casemen
void of green, little red shoe and q half mad
apron and sewing implements filled the seat
The owner of these looms was tall, slender
woman, Transparency white, hollow-eyed ant
negligently dressed. She seemed exhauste'
and harzassed. She dropped into chair afte
feeding, as though she could stand no longer
imagined her thinking of a little one at home
perhaps it was sick, or would not receive al
tention. Her face haunted me all day.
In contrast to her, the next looms were ur
der the care of bright, rosy Irish girl, nea
and tidy-snging at her task, as pretty an
healthy a specimen of the country girl as
have seen. Two roses were in full bloom in he
window, and vine with small yellow bio.
som twining the pillar in the sunshine.
The shears and mapping were inspected an
then we went to the store while the gentlema
went to dinner officiated and rummaged til
drawers. dned on crackers, raisins, CONNECTION