The Portland daily press., 1881-10-28

One stormy evening in November, nearly
twenty years ago, it happened that goodly
number of people had assembled in the
country store at Enfield Corner. The pro-
prietor of the aforesaid store, perceiv
ing early in the afternoon that the
evening was likely to be cold and
rainy, had provided for the comfort OF his
expected visitors by kindling roaring fire
in a huge cylinder stove. Soon after dark
they began to drop in, until a score or more
of men and boys were seated around the
stove, upon nail-casks, soap-boxes, and
whatever else could be conveniently used
for the purpose. They discussed, in oracu-
lar words, the latest political and agr1cultur-
al Jews. Somewhat apocryphal stories of
remarkable feats in the logging-camp or hay
field were duly told and applauded. Now and
then droll story or an extremely pointed
Joke, at the expense of some individual
present, would provoke such boisterous and
long continued laughter that the very dishes
from their shelves at the rear of the stove,
made rafting response.
But even in the democratic air of coun-
his mind, conversation flags sometimes. So,
on the evening in question, there came
sudden dearth of joke and story, and SO
deep silence fell upon the company that
they could hear the rain and sleet beating
upon the great show windows at the front
Of the store. Everybody seemed buried in
meditation, trying, perhaps. to recall some
story which had not already been related to
the same company at least a dozen times,
when Uncle Silas Weeks slowly removed his
pipe from his mouth, with the air of man
who has something of Importance to say.
Now Uncle 6ilas was one of the Oldest men
in town, and it was currently reported that
in his younger days he had travelled great
deal and had seen much of the rougher side
of life. In his later years it had been his
custom to draw from the depths of his ex-
perienee, great buckets of advice which he
bestowed very freely and Unfortunately
upon all who would receive the same. From
an idea, perhaps, that large experience
necessarily begets great wisdom, this advice
was generally received by the townspeople
with certain degree of Difference and re-
spect. So, when the old man gave evidence
that he was about to speak, as we have all
ready mentioned, the company waited in re-
spectful silence for the expected morsel of
wisdom. Uncle Sias expectorated thought
fully at the stove and commenced to speak:
az never had much of a chance at book
larnin' as you all know; but PVe larned a
sight by 'sperience. A man that has lum-
bered on the Penobscot, and fished on the
Banks, and been twice round the Horn in
whaler, and dug gold in Californy, and that
has been to Bosting more'n twenty times,
hadn't ought to be a fool. tell you, gen.
tlemen, Pve larned something from hard
knocks"
Cant you tell US something you have
learned, Uncle Silas%' cried an audacious
yoangster who sat on the edge of the coun-
ter, swinging his feet in space below.
''Fust and foremost" continued the old
man, with great emphasis upon every word,
and casting whitening look in the direction
Of the interruption, 81 larned airly in life to
mind my own business-then,' in the next
place, larned to look out for number one.
Iakln2 care OI your ucl SupOi . DuoAICoo
won't make rich man of YOU"
''Was it by minding' your own business
that you got rieh?" put in the audacious
yosth again. The question was followed by
q burst of laughter from the entire company,
for it was notorious that Uncle Silas was
poorer than a blind crow, and was saved
from becoming charge to the town only by
the considerable charity of some of his neigh
bors. Taking no notice of the question he
continued, as soon as order had been re-
stored:
There's that minister that preached in the
school-bouse last Sunday. He had good
deal to say about lovin' our neighbors as
well as we do ourselves. Now, say it's all
well enough to love your neighbors, for that
don't cost nothin'; but, when it comes to
workin' and slavin' for them without pay,
say Faint common sense. When l do
days work for one of you, expect to get
my pay for it. If you can't give methe cash,
what do do?'
'Swear like pirate" suggests the
counter.
''No, take it in pork or potatoes. | cal
kerlate that after all, these pious folks are
good deal like me. They love you dearly,
for that don't cost nothin'. They are will
fng to help you, but they expect their pay
for it If they can't get money, they will
take it in praise. When L was boy 1 used
to read stories ofmen who spent their whole
lives doin' good to their fellow men; but,
In all my travels, l never saw one of them
yet They all died hundreds of years ago
and diden't leave any heirs or signs
neither. Nowadays, everybody works for
pay. Don't you forget that
At the close of this little speech, the long
est one he had ever made, Mr.. Weeks re-
sumed his pipe, drawing two or three rathe4,
vigorous whiffo in quick succession, partly
with view to relight it and partly to make
mp for lost time; but notable silence fell up
on the company as nhey ponderd the weigh
by sentiments purpounded for their consd-
Grafton by the speaker The first sound to
break the stiffness was the sharp voice of
the youth already mentioned.
''Thats the gospel for me- Every man
for himself" said he with patronizing nod
4Abu sAS AOob "a phO aooCu1ulSu ClbiLcuo
of Enfield made haste to nod their assent
also.
Yet it was a fact, that on the very same
November evening, while Mr. Weeks and
his associates were deciding that everything
heroic had become extinct, Enfield possessed
in its own right, genuine hero. That was
proved TO the satisfaction of everybody,
even of Mr. Weeks himself, after the hero
was dead. 1t is undispHted that he was
born IN the town, lived within its borders
all his life, and died there; yet the most re-
liable information goes to prove that not