The Winslow mail., 1911-02-25

IA sociated with the village
smithy. Would you hear the
latest news of the country-side?-
to the smithy. Would you meet the
retired farmer or the village nomads,
go to the smithy.
This is the meeting-place of all
classes, the reading and debating
room by day, which one finds adjourn
ed to the fireside of the village inn by
night. The village blacksmith is a
busy man and, as II to upbraid the
idler and the phlegmatic, he makes
his anvil ring from early morning and
except the subject be very interesting,
waits till occasion calls him to the bel
lows handle ere he gives his views on
momentous questions, local and ma
tional, which are discussed near the
forge. His workshop is the center Of
attraction, the center of business, the
gathering-pl of all and sundry, and
when its doors are closed the village
wears depressed, unnatural appear
ance, which strikes one Immediately if
one is familiar with local idiosyn-
crasies.
Foregathering at the doors, the
habitues prod holes in the ground with
their sticks and discuss the forthcom-
ing sales, notices of which are insep-
arabic from the smithy door The
smith is away and they proceed to the
village inn, which does not seem to
have quite recovered its energy from
los CT ,irh ;1 lofh -
yet cast off all the fumes of strong
pipes and twist tobacco, it's floors are
still damp and clammy from the
cleansing pail, it's spittoons have not
yet been adjusted in their wonted
corners; but the smith is away and
so the inn Is the alternative. 1t is a
poor substitute, for there is no visi-
tor here to quiz, the ring of the anvil
is missing, the parson has shut him
self up in his study, the landlord of
the morning is not the landlord of last
night, and SO conversation drifts to
tur2ips, and the company, who know
each others views on both turnips
and pigs inside out, go home to dinner
early, passing the smiths closed doors
with the feeling of regret a man has
who has been used to his club and
after years finds himself unable to
pay its fees. However, the sights and
incidents of his excursion provide the
smith with fund of information and
his patrons with a plethora of ques-
tions on the following morning when
they draw up to the corners and lean
ing-posts which they have come to
look upon as their own personal prop
erty.
A variety of incidents takes place
before these open doors, surrounded
by newly-painted cart-wheels, aged
and dilapidated harrows, injured and
rusty plows and a heap of "scrap"
awaiting buyer. Almost every one
who is "a native" of the locality pulls
up to pass the time of day and ask if
them there chains is made" or that
there horse rake DONE Then belat-
ed motorists, broken-down cyclists
and the more old-fashioned drivers of
| gigs whose horses have cast shoes, all
call in turn for the smith to set them
| fair and square to continue their
| journey.
The blacksmith is essentially some
thing of mechanic, and knows, as
he puts it, ''the innards of them mo-
tors" better than he understands the
'innards" of his own COW or the horses
he shoes. He prefers the two latter,
however, having little sympathy with
the motor, which has already robbed
| him of many horses at the big houses
in the locality. The smithy frequent
ers stand leaning on their sticks as
he crawls under the motor or bends
over the cycle, filled with indignant
curiosity at these latter-day innova-
tions. The company feel a sort of
proprietary interest in the smithy,
and so look upon the motor as an in
vention specially directed against
blacksmiths generally and their own
village blacksmith in particular. There
are occasionally red-letter days at the
forge when young horse is being
shod for the first time. Great is the
criticism during the operation, much
resented by the horse
At one time there was associated
with the smithy a great deal of lore
and legend; it was at the anvil that
lovers decided whether their affections
were returned, and here, too, by
strange rites and ceremonies, mys
teries Of murders and thefts were