Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 21 June to November 1860 . and season. The heads of the kegs arc alsocut by machinery, and are laid up to season withthe staves. The saw-dust is carefully preservedfor bedding for the horses employed about themills, while all the chips, bark, and waste isgathered up and used for lighting fires. Our friends were much interested in followingthe various processes attending the manufactureof the casks; which, however, would be com-monplace in the description, and we beg leave toomit it. Returning to the packing-room, theywitnessed the operation of filling the c
Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 21 June to November 1860 . and season. The heads of the kegs arc alsocut by machinery, and are laid up to season withthe staves. The saw-dust is carefully preservedfor bedding for the horses employed about themills, while all the chips, bark, and waste isgathered up and used for lighting fires. Our friends were much interested in followingthe various processes attending the manufactureof the casks; which, however, would be com-monplace in the description, and we beg leave toomit it. Returning to the packing-room, theywitnessed the operation of filling the casks bymen who stand at the bins with huge claws, andwhile raking the nails down a narrow shootgive a rocking motion to the cask with their feet,which packs the nails. Wlien filled, the cask isthrown upon a scale, weighed, and passed overto another operative, who heads it up, stencils itwith the name and number, and rolls it away toa pile, whence, in proper time, it is shipped onboard of a canal-boat at the door of the store-house, for New York and a FILLING THE CASKS. BEFORE THE MIRROR. OW, like the Lady of Shalott,I dwell within an empty through the day, and through the night,I sit before an ancient loom. And like the Lady of Shalott, I look into a mirror wide,Where shadows come, and shadows go, And ply my shuttle as they glide. Not as she wove the yellow wool, Ulyssess wife, Penelope;By day a queen among her maids, But in the night a woman, she, Who, creeping from her lonely couch,Unraveled all the slender woof; Or with a torch she climbed the towers,To fire the fagots on the roof! But weaving with a steady hand,The shadows, whether false or true, I put aside a doubt which asks, Among these phantoms what are you? For not with altar, tomb, or urn, Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars,Or banquet in the tented field; Or Norman knight in armor clad. Waiting a foe where four roads meet; Or hawk and hound in bosky
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpublishernewyorkharperbroth
