The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1892-07-28
ITALY IN AMERICA.
AN ITALIAN COLONY IN THE SUBURBS
OF NEW YORK CITY.

II hou nave AraVeieu In italy You Find
the Same Picturesque People on the
Banks of the Bronx - The Rigorous
Climate of the North Unfriendly.
When Adelins Patti, swarthy, black
haired little girl of twelve, was playmate
to dozen residents of Washingtonville,
who remember and talk of her, the PATHS
were almost the sole Italian residents there
Should the PATHS return to live in the
peak rooted, red brick house at Washing
tonville they would find hundreds of their
own country folk in the neighborhood now
The population of the village has nearly
doubled within four years, and most Of the
newcomers are Italians. During the same
period people of that race have invaded
and seized considerable part of the beau
tiful Bronx valley between Woodlawn and
Williams Bridge.
The kind of free masonry that exists
among Italian laborers brought these peo
pie to Washingtonville when the village
borrowed $4,000 to be expended on public
works, and when that money has been ex
hausted the newcomers will move on to
some other point where years work
awaits their hardy muscles. In the valley
between Woodlawn and Williams Bridge
the settlement has an air of permanence
Meanwhile suburban New Workers. are
learning what is the genuine life of the
Italian peasant. The key to much that
seems strange in the conduct of the Italian
immigrant in New York is to be found in
the fact that he is endeavoring to live, in a
hostile climate and amid intensely urban
surroundings the simple, open air life of
rural Italy.
The long established French colony at
Williams Bridge looks with establishment
at the conduct Of the Italian interlopers.
Cafe aq lqfit and sou le plat have been
served for breakfast so long on the banks
of the Bronx and dinner, marked with
orderly progression from soup to benedic-
tine has become so much a part of daily
life that the simplicity of garlic and black
bread is not understood. But Italian life
in the Bronx valley is the more picturesque
from it's simplicity, since it is thus nearer
the life that the people lived in homes be-
yond the seas. Folks that know the upper
part of New York only by the map fall
into ludicrous errors. The map plots it
down truthfully enough that the Bronx at
and above Williams Bridge, before plum
cling into the romantic wilderness of Bronx
park, forms the eastern boundary of the
annexed district. But the map says never
word of broad, green meadow extend
ing more than a mile from Williams
Bridge to Woodlawn. The map is equally
forgetful of the fact that the meadow is
sprinkled with clumps of the noblest elms,
and that the Bronx meanders through it
in serpentine beauty crossed here and
there by rustic log bridges that lead to
New York.
Only half block east of the Harlem
station at Williams Bridge flight of steep
steps leads down to a light footbridge
across the Bronx. That bridge leads out
of New York into the wilds of Westminster
and New Italy. AS far as the eye can see
stretches grass edged footpath, now de-
scending deep into the valley, now chased
to the upland by the encroaching stream.
High on the hillside are the new dwellings,
built by spectators. Lower are the sim
pie cottages of earlier Williams Bridge, and
perched on a steep bankside in the loveliest
| part of the valley is an odd little watch
makers shop, with sign proclaiming
| that the artiticer within repairs jewelry
| and sets diamonds. The Bronx valley in
that part has exactly the aspect of an Eng
! lish common. 1t is almost without inclo
sures, although here and there well built
stone sustaining walls indicate the ter
raced grounds of some former prosperous
resident. The Italian homes struggle
| along an irregular street at the brow of
the hill All keep goats and chickens, the
former apparently for milk, and there is
well stocked junkshop on the roadside.
In summer women, barelegged, but
otherwise gayly clad in the fashion of their
race, walk steadily down the steep bank
with burdens on their heads to do the
family washing in the stream. Black
proved, unshaven men sit on the porches
or gaze from the windows while the WON
en- toll at their household duties Dozens
of women trudge the valley morning and
| evening in search of dandelion greens.
Each gatherer of greens wears an apron
and carries a caseknife with well sharp
ened point. Each apron is folded into
bag, and the women walk singly or in
pairs, half STOPPING and ready to reach down
and cut close to the ground any dandelion
leaf that may show itself. The women are
marvelously deft at the work, and they
carry home many bushels of wholesome
food in their capacious aprons. Millet, the
artist of peasant life, would have found a
congenial subject could he have stood in
the Bronx valley and watched a pair of
STOPPING gatherers of greens outlined
against the sky as they moved along the
brow of the hill above.
In the very midst of the valley and far
below the Italian homes on the hillside is
the house Of a French market gardener
1t was picturesque place before he rented
out it's clapboards to patent medicine max
ers but it's southern gable and eastern
garden are suggestive of homely comfort.
A barefoot girl, in gown of peasant blue,
helps the Frenchman hoe his potatoes.
Around the house extends the we'll worn
paths of the valley like little brownish
| yellow streams. The Frenchman's chick.
ems have the run of the whole valley, and
his geese pillow the Bronx, leading fluffy
flock of young. Two rods across the stream
from the Frenchman's peaceful farmhouse
is New York city, and just across the busy
railway the green slopes of Woodlawn