lower, wielding the hammer with all the grace of the sex. The beauties
of their face were rather eclipsed by the smut of the anvil; or, in
poetical phrase, the tincture of the forge had taken possession of those
lips, which might have been taken by the kiss.

Struck with the novelty, I inquired, "Whether the ladies in this country
shod horses?" but was answered, with a smile, "They are nailers."

A fire without heat, a nailer of a fair complexion, or one who despises
the tankard, are equally rare among them. His whole system of faith may
be comprised in one article--That the slender two-penny mug, used in a
public house, _is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked_.

While the master reaps the harvest of plenty, the workman submits to the
scanty gleanings of penury, a thin habit, an early old age, and a
figure bending towards the earth. Plenty comes not near his dwelling,
except of rags, and of children. But few recruits arise from his
nail-shop, except for the army. His hammer is worn into deep hollows,
fitting the fingers of a dark and plump hand, hard as the timber it
wears. His face, like the moon, is often seen through a cloud.



BELLOWS.

Man first catches the profession; the profession afterwards moulds the
man.

In whatever profession we engage, we assume its character, become a part
of it, vindicate its honor, its eminence, its antiquity; or feel a wound