It is some two years ago that one of these benighted men told me—I pity him—he told me he had been into our beautiful Berkshire county to enjoy the delicious air and the delightful mountains. He went to North Adams, which lies so calm and basks so peacefully in the embraces of its sheltering hills. He said that when the noonday bell clanged out, a living torrent of men and women, boys and girls, poured forth from one of the gorgeous temples which have been there raised for the worship of the new god. In that temple were created cheap shoes. He said these men and women, boys and girls, were haggard, old, squalid, dirty; they showed traces—so it seemed to his jaundiced eyes—of drink, hopelessness, lechery, and vileness. He asked who they were. He was told—and they said it with glee—
"That is our cheap labor!"
And where does it come from—from the homes of New England? Oh, no! From Ireland, from Germany, from Portugal, from China, from Canadian-Acadie, that pastoral spot of which poets sing!
"Vileness, filth, baseness!" he said. "My God, has Berkshire come to this!"
It was a very foolish thing to say, and his calling upon his antiquated God was not only foolish, but useless. His God is not the God now.
He took a ride through the winding roads and wooded hills of that delightful land. His driver proposed to take him round by the "Limestone brook" to show him the new factory.
"And what do they make there?"
"Why, didn't you know? They are grinding up the white limestone, and they send away tons and tons on't every day."
"And what is it used for?"
"Used for? It's used for mixin'. They make three grades: the sody grade, and the flour grade, and the sugar grade."