Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-06-27
NO. l5l.
Gales and Sketehes.
THE BLACKSMITHs DAUGHTER.

ouGditouSS WIS DldckSm1tn. lou
would have thought so If you had ever
seen the bunch of muscle nestled in the
front above the elbow of his strong right
arm. To see him rain Titanic blows on
the iron that lay so patient on the anvil
would almost call out cry for mercy for
the dumb metal out of which he was forg-
ing ring-bolt, horseshoe. or spike
for reaping machine. How cunnihgly
each stroke helped to shape and fashion
the lurid metal. He tossed off horse shoes
hy the dozen as if they were hot cakes.
The hammer that you conld hardly lift be
handled like mallet, and it sang in the
air on the down stroke, and rang thrilling
ly on the anvil when it struck home. AL
most provokingly uncaring and indifferent
the anvil seems YOU wanted ii 10 show
some sort of difference for the master-arm
| that was over il; but it didn't How Su-
gartongs abused the bellows when he got
at them! He left them wind blown, and
for quite while they puffed and gasped
in an exhausted way like an old ladv on
a third flight of stairs. How Sugartongs
seemed to abuse everything in his smith
cry, like giant in toy shop.
What was fifty weight of iron to him .
But he really loved the metal. although
he pnt it to hard uses. He would pass his
eye along piece of iron as fondly as q
girl would run her eyes along a yard of
| ribbon; it was lovely in his eyes, and
cunning in his mind, in its mock resist
ance. He shaped it to his liking as deftly
as if he were fashioning bar of soap. To
us. iron in a cold state is typical OF firm
ness, esstance-indomitabl unyielding-
| ness. Stubborn and obdurate to us is
cold iron; to Sugartongs with his bel
(,
hands of the potter. Sugartongs loved
the song his anvil sang, and the din, din,
din of his smithery. There was none
that came more kindly to his ears. His
daughter played discordant, untuned,
country piano. after the dishes were
washed for the last time in the day; but
to Sugartongs, after the melody of his
| shop, that instrument seemed tame and
| triiing; it lacked the vigor, tone aud hon.
| est ring of an anvil. Good gracious you
| could not compare the two The black
smiths anvil was much finer: so much
liner; so much more positive and earnest.
The smiths face was always very black.
| Honest, hard-labor sweats on the brow.
His hands thick and heavy, were almost
| always covered with fine coal dust de-
post. and he had way of besmirching
his face when he drew away the perspir-
alton that was dripping from his hard
looking forehead Was it working so
much with the coarse, hard. grim metal
that had given Sugartongs a stern, un-
yieldng-looking countenancep But his
heart was white and unsoiled. He shaved
once week. on Sunday morning; so on
Friday or Saturday. Sugartongs face was
very grizzly, and most abominably
smirched and ill-kept looking. But he
didn't owe any man money, nor i'll feeling
he hadn't an enemy in the world. and
his life was clean one for all his rather
foul person. He wore a long leather
apron. tied behind his back, reaching
from his besmirched chin to his besmirched
ankles. He meant, when time had forged
the last link that bound him to earth, and
put out his last fire. to be buried with
that apron on; at the last trump it might
speak a good word for him, and showsby
its burns and stains that his talent hadn't
| lain in II clean, soft, white napkin all his
life. He had distaste for anything that
didn't SAVIOR somewhat of labor; he liked
work far better than play. But his smith
cry was what he called his play shop.
Sugartongs had what you and l would
call some very disagreeable habits. He
drank out Of pail when he was thirsty.
like horse; but how grateful such drink
was, and how satisfactory! He some
times ate his dinner without an ablution
if customer were in sight, and four
hoofs were awaiting iron shoes; then.
like many blacksmiths whose prosperity
was likely to begin, he didn't carry a
handkerchief and he smoked smutty,
small clay pipe with broken stem. He
had been known to say his prayers with
that dirty little pipe clinched between bis
teeth. But he prayed honest-like, for all.
How old was he p Fifty. But then what
were fifty years to him! He felt as
hearty. vigorous and boisterous as If he
were but thirty. and sang at his work, or
whistled an accompaniment to his anvil,
as happy as a contented plow-boy early
afield OF an April morning. ere the day is
burden, and effort has laid lash across
his back. Ask. How young is he and
will answer. for agileness, jump and gen.
eral go-ahead. twenty-five, and sound as
tried gold. Who can hurry by village
smithery9 What dirty, smoky. sooty.
smutty altogether out-oforder kind of
place blacksmith,s shop is. How is
anything ever found in itP Hammers
lie everywhere. At times, the eye and
mind are sure only of the anvil and bel
lows. Horse-shoes in heaps and scat
ltered-very worn-out horse-shoes. Some-
times you find a rusty iron shoe in the
pail from which the smith drinks but
iron is toning. Was smithery ever put
in order? Isn't it handed down to the
third and fourth generations in con-
diton bordering on unutterable con-
fusion Who has ever seen new.
clean, well-re gulated blacksmith's shop?
Is it not worth passing thought as to
when. in what dark age, the village
smithery first threw open clean, high,
wide doors, and new hammer and
new anvil first smote the peace Of samk
mer morning? We must accept thoneher
ory in lieu of the fact. that ablacksWjfh'4
shops were never new, nevef, cleaa, nsy-
er other than just such places a6' NJ l11d
them to-day, in city SAa1i csaiegy-(Yqts
where labor. honests herd llheeeo as111tds
lodger the year round. Ard lg4oryr1sn(R
out her ringing voice ~ ls< - 1eyi
how happy sn6 hope5af s1 Nv
is, and ihsrsiierspssssle -! ea. sssss