The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1882-09-22
Life in a Maine Village.

AIiAo Al u kaoAnO vhAoSOs
To properly understand the folk-life
of this simple village, one must know
first that its best elements have been
Slapped off yearly, for at least the space
of a generation, by emigration. There
is a steady annual exodus of the bright,
active, ambitious young men and wo-
men to better fields. Only the billiards
remain on the native soil. And queer
community these latter make.
The chief feature of this life is its to-
tai lack of concentration. What little
there is of individual energy is diffused
over the whole sphere of activity. The
jeweler of the town is also the barber,
the general mechanic and the tinker;
he likes to shay it, little, to fish lit
tie, to ''berry it, little, and to raise
some garden truck. He is sample,
and pleasant one, of all his fellows.
If they are tradesmen, they keep a little
of everything; if mechanics, they turn a
hand to a little of everything; if day
laborers, they want to shift around into
dozen or more varieties of work during
the year. No one works hard. Fish,
CLAIMS and vegetables are the food sta
Piles. Perhaps it is impossible to base
labor upon these; perhaps it is the in
fuence of the lazy atmosphere; perhaps,
again, it is in the breed. But whatever
the cause, the result is very clear; no
eastman knows what the word "work''
means. The stores open in an indolent
manner at or so in the morning.
They close with more promptness at
noon; reopen sleepily about two hours
later, and thenceforward are likely to
shut up at any time. There is delight
full uncertainty about every phase of
what they call business. 1t is the ex-
ception to find merchant in his own
store, even in the busiest times; the tin
smith, his boy will tell you. may be
over at the butchers; perhaps you could
find him at the drug store; possibly he
is on the wharf; there is q chance of
encountering him at the hotel. What
is true of the tinsmith is true of all the
others. The leading manufacturing es-
Enlistment of the village-almost the
only one-is canning factory, where
Holsters, mackerel, CLAIMS, etc., are put
up for the market There is steady
demand for the goods of this factory,
to which it seems utterly Indifferent.
When the village boys feel like working
at that particular thing, the factory
opens, and stays open until the boys
take notion to go fishing or haying or
mining-for there are mines in these
parts. Then. wholly regardless of the
state of the market, its demand or its
supply, the factory stops. Here labor
is autocratic. 1t chooses its own times,
hours and fields. When it is lethargic,
no inducement is strong enough, no
emergency grave enough, to stir it into
action.
There is absolutely no enterprise, or
suggestion of enterprise, among the ma
tives. The lobster.pots are set in the
same places, the mackerelboats go to
the same coves, year after year. If the
Holsters do not come into the pots, if
the mackerel do not bite, so much the
worse; nobody looks for them anywhere
else. Once on time Castine had
good deal of business; now she has next
to none. Nobody thinks of asking why,
or, at least, going out after the retreat
ing trade and striving to bring it back.
Traffic is now altogether local, and as
narrow and short-ranged as may be. A
Castine man, with $500 worth of fish on
hand, which were on the very verge of
faint, found another willing to purchase.
There was difference of $40 between
their views, and no sale was made that
day. The next day there was only
difference of S18, but no sale. That
night the owner of the fish had to throw
the whole lot into the sea. He was
rather proud than otherwise of his re-
fusal to be cheated out of $18 though.
The people there know no steak-cut
save the tough round. They buy that
because there is no bone in it; the por-
terhouse is sold for roasts; they like it
better for steaks, they say, but cannot
afford to buy so much bone. Living,
however, is exceedingly cheap there,
and all through this sectioD-cheaper
than in any other part of the country,
perhaps.
The social side of this village life is
very meager and cold. The women
rule matters here very generally. The
men of snap and stuff having sought
their fortunes elsewhere, those who re-
main are easily domneered by their
wives, mothers and sisters. This fact
accounts for much that is otherwise odd
most lost art here. Music is sober
and serious. New Workers are regard
ed with uneasiness. The wilder West
ern man is looked upon with positive
distrust. A person who confesses to
liking for lager beer is viewed in Cas-
tine as n confirmed opium-eater would
be in Albany. The gregarious instinct
of the two sexes finds vent in mite
societies, singing classes, and grand
camp meeting once q year. Camp
meetings reach their climax of populari-
ty in Maine. There is not much re-
ligious fervor or excitement in them,
but much sedate and quiet comfort, for
the women ut least. As to masculine
diversions, it is not easy to hit upon
their identity. The men of the village
do not seem to get much fun. Perhaps
their sport is spread so evenly through
their listless lives, along with their
labor, that there is no call to break out
in spots. Certainly there is no such
thing as hilarity among them. After