170 years ago THE WEEKLY MINNESOTIAN September 11, 1852 Minnetonka and a trip thereto.

Its Discovery and Name. It is of course incredible to suppose that a body of water forty miles in extent, could have remained within fifteen or twenty miles of St. Paul and St. Anthony until this year, and not have been known by anyone to exist.

The mere discovery of Lake Minnetonka by white men, probably dates as far back as the time of Father Hennepin, but a discovery and knowledge of its vast resources and extent is an event of this year. That a lake, or series of lakes, lay off in that direction, was known to all the Indian traders, and we have heard them speak of the fact frequently, but until the explorations, commenced early last spring by Messrs. Tuttle and Stevens, it is evident nothing like a correct idea of the topography of this region was entertained.

Minnetonka should be Mdeatonka; but as the former name has already been started, and has gone abroad to the whole world, the change cannot be made without great inconvenience. So, rather than undertake so serious a job as to attempt the change, it is probably best to stick to Minnetonka, which simply means Big Water, while Mdeatonka is more definite, meaning Big Lake.

(description follows of Lake Wilkin, Point Wakon and other features tied to Minnetonka) September 18, 1852

Facts and Fancies. Minnetonka. Such was the demand for our last issue, on account of the description it contained of Minnetonka, that the whole edition ran completely out early Monday morning, leaving the wants of many of our friends, and several strangers, entirely unsupplied. We thought we had printed a sufficiently large edition, but were much mistaken. Owing to this fact, we this week republish the entire article, having partly re-written and added considerably to it. In fact, last week we had to saw it off about twothirds of the way from the letter end, by the cry of “enough copy.” We now make an imperceptible splice, connecting the first and second volumes of the Minnesotian with the extended narrative, which if not interestingly written, is at least an attempt at describing one of the most interesting regions of Minnesota. If it prove the cause of bringing one industrious, thrifty farmer to Minnesota, we will more than be repaid for our labor.

Volume Two. We here present our readers with the first number of the second volume of the Minnesotian. This is its New Years Day.

We are sadly disappointed in one respect. We had hoped to send it forth upon its “Calls” today win a new suit of clothes, and labored our utmost to accomplish the desired end; but the sand bars of the Illinois and the Mississippi were against us. Whether this is owing to our deadly opposition to them and their friends Pierce and King, we know now, but such is the fact, and we cannot avert the consequences. Our new type, although shipped some weeks hence from New York, has not yet arrived.

Poetry. The Indian Mounds. by Florilla Fleetwood. Weary and sick of a heartless world, I wandered away from life’s vain show; The wild winds, charged with the breath of flowers, Were lavish with kisses on cheek and brow, And floated in the hair like the forest child’s, With the winds at play in her native wild.

And smiling bright flowrets my footsteps did greet, While the frail canoe glided far down at my feet— The splash of the paddle, the native “ho!” “ho!”

Resounds over the bluffs as onward they go; The river glides swiftly and gently along, Its roar is the echo of Nature’s wild song.

I sat on a mound—the work of men’s hands A thousand years gone to the spirit land— The bones of their fathers were sleeping beneath, And above them were waving the century trees.

The mind wandered back through the vista of years and the spirit of dead came the musings to cheer.

(two stanzas intervene) Whence came the ‘mound builders” and where were they gone?* From these billowy plans to their own “spirit home.”

Hoe came they, or when, to this beautiful West, Where the sun sinks mid oceans of flowers to rest?

We know now, and all our researches are in vain, Unborn generations will still ask the same.

St. Paul, Sept., 1852 *This was a common question at that time.