THE SMITHY — THE SMITH — BUILDING THE FIRE — GALLERY MEN — APPRENTICES — THE OLDEST HAND — DEATH OF A SMITH — THE SMITH’S ATTITUDE TO HIS MATES — HIS GREAT GOOD-NATURE — THE SMITHS’ FOREMAN

Adjoining the frame-building shed is the waggon smithy, where the thousand and one details for brake systems for the carriages and waggons, and other articles and uses are manufactured. Here, also, all kinds of repairs are executed, and a great number of tools of every description made for the permanent way men and for other workshops round about. It is said that the forge is the longest in England, and this is probably correct. It is slightly under two hundred yards in length, and it contains one hundred fires. These are built at equal distances, on each side of the shed, with crowns like large bee-hives, and the chimneys are joined in with the walls. Every fire is supplied with a boshful of water in which to cool the various tools, and there is also a tap and a rubber pipe for damping the coals.

Behind the forge is a recess for the coke, which is crushed by machines outside and wheeled in ready for use. Above this is a rack for the tongs and tools, of which the smith possesses a considerable number. They are of all sorts and sizes, capable of holding and shaping every conceivable article. Of tongs there are flat-bits, hollow-bits, and claws large and small, with sets and “set-tools,” “fullers,” flatters, punches, “jogglers,” and many others with no specific title but conveniently named by the brawny fellow who uses them. Standing in one corner, or soaking in the water of the bosh, are large and small sledges and one or two wooden mallets. Every fire has its sieve or “riddle,” as it is called, for sifting the coke before it is put in the forge, for every particle of dust must be removed from the fuel so as to obtain a clear, bright heat. If there is welding to be done the coke will have to be broken up small — about the size of a walnut — with the mallet, in order to concentrate the heat, and to allow of the iron being easily moved in the fire and well-covered with the fuel.

The task of making up the fire falls upon the smith’s mate or striker. Perhaps, if the piece of work is of big dimensions, two fires are needed; if it is small or moderate-sized, one will be sufficient. It is the mate’s duty to get everything ready for the smith. First of all the clinker is removed and the dust taken out from the centre of the fire with an iron shovel. The live coals are now raked to the middle and the blast applied. When this is performed the fresh coke is “riddled” up, and carefully distributed in the forge. Every smith is very particular as to the shape of his fire. In general disposition it will be high at the back with the corners — right and left — well filled, rather full in front and even in the centre. If the weather is hot and the coke dry it may receive a good watering — once before the smith begins his heat, and several times during the operation. A good smith will be sparing of water, however, for too much of it makes the fire burn too fiercely in the centre, contracts the area of heat and causes the iron to be dirty and slimy. The harder the coke, the better it is, and the more brilliant the heat will be. Soft coke is soon consumed and completely reduced to dust, while good, hard coke will last a considerable time in the fire.

It must not be assumed that the smith is idle while his mates are employed in renovating the forge. He is busy preparing his tools and taking dimensions of the job to be made, and pondering on the best means of doing it. For this he usually has a large board whitened with chalk, upon which he sketches out the article and by means of which he determines the best method of forming his bends and angles. He may not be much of an artist, but in his rude way he will make a very commendable drawing of his job and will thus be enabled to determine beforehand exactly what to do to effect it, just the time to begin his tapers and angles, the direction of the bend, and the tools for doing it. He never leaves the method undetermined till he has his iron on the anvil, but takes pains to have everything settled and every phase of the operation well in view before he begins it. It is the inferior or the unintelligent workman alone that heats his iron and trusts to a chance idea to complete the job.

Meanwhile the cloth cap has been removed from the head, and the waistcoat and braces hung up behind the forge. The long leathern apron is produced from the wooden tool-chest and tied around the waist, or fastened with the belt, about three inches of the top of the trousers being often turned down outside. The smith’s trousers are usually of blue serge, and they are made very loose and baggy, so as to allow of much stooping. The strikers more frequently use aprons made of canvas or of old thin refuse leather that has been stripped from the worn-out carriages and horse-boxes and consigned to the scrap-heap. While the finishing touches are being put to the forge the burly smith takes his can and goes to the tap for a drink of water. Arrived there he fills the vessel, removes the quid of tobacco from his cheek — a great many smiths chew tobacco — raises the can to his lips, rinses out his mouth once or twice and spouts the water out again to a great distance. Then he takes a long drink, fills the can again and carries it back to the forge, where he hands it to his mates, or sets it down for future refreshment.

By this time the iron will have been placed in the forge and the blast applied by the strikers. The sets also will have been ground, the shafts of the hammers examined and the wedges tightened. The floor, too, will be cleanly swept round about, for the smith is most particular in the matter of neatness and will not have loose ashes and cinders, or other rubbish, lying under his feet. A light, square table, sometimes of wood and sometimes of iron plate, is set by the anvil, and of a height with it, to contain the tools. A handful of birch, bound together after the manner of a little besom, is placed conveniently upon the table. This is used for brushing the heat when it comes from the coals, and for removing the dust and scale from the anvil. As the blast rushes through the pipe from underground and into the forge it roars loudly, sounding in the coke like a strong wind among trees. Long, yellow flames rise and leap high up the chimney, and the air around is filled with clouds of dust and sulphur fumes from the burning coke. As the heat of the fire increases this diminishes; in a short time the gaseous properties are entirely consumed and there is no smell of any kind.

Our smith is a perfect giant in stature. In height he is well over six feet, solid and erect, with tremendous shoulders and limbs. His head is massive and square, with broad deep forehead and bushy brows. His grey eyes, frank and fearless, are rather deeply inset. The nose is Roman and slightly crooked; the mouth, with thick lips a little relaxed, is pleasant and kind. He has a heavy, bronze moustache, a clean shaven chin and plump, ruddy cheeks. The whole countenance is square, and exhibits the marks of good-nature and honest character. His ponderous arms are hard and brown, full of rigid bone and muscle, and his hands are large and horny with continual holding of the tongs and hammer. His breast is remarkably broad and hairy — his woollen shirt is always thrown open at work; he has hips and belly like an ox, legs like those of an elephant, and large flat feet, and he weighs more than eighteen stone. When he walks his motion is rather slow and deliberate. He goes heavy on his soles, and his shoulders rise and fall alternately at every step he takes.

He is at all times steady and cool, and he seems never to be in a hurry. At the anvil he gives one the same impression, so that a stranger might even think him to be sluggish and dilatory, but he is in everything sure and unerring, never too soon or too late. Every action is well-timed; nothing is either over- or under-done. He performs all his beats with a minimum amount of labour. Where a nervous or spasmodical person would require forty or fifty blows to shape a piece of metal he will accomplish it with about twenty-five. His masterly eye and calculating brain are ever watchful and alert. He understands the effect of every blow given, and while the less experienced smith is still engaged with his piece nearly black-hot, his is finished, complete, with the metal still yellow or bright red. He moves always at the same pace, and his work is of a uniformly superlative character. When strangers are about, watching him at his weld, he makes no difference whatever in his usual methods of procedure, but behaves just as coolly and deliberately and takes no notice of any man.

Some smiths and forgemen, on the other hand, hate to be watched at work by strangers — “foreigners,” as they call them — and very quickly give evidence of their dislike and irritation. They will every now and then dart an angry look at the visitors, and, after using the tools, throw them down roughly, muttering under their breath and telling the strangers to “clear off,” though not sufficiently loud to be heard. By and by the unoffending strikers will come in for a castigation; whatever kind of blow they strike it will be wrong for their mate. At last he shuts off the blast from the forge, and, laying down his hammer, turns his back towards the “interlopers,” and waits till they have passed on up the shed. After their departure he resumes his labour and quickly makes up for the lost time.

Some smiths, again, though extremely nervous under the eye of a stranger, do not object to being watched, while others positively like the attention. Such as these are always anxious, under the circumstances, to impress the stranger with their great skill and dexterity in the use of tools and in twisting and turning the iron about on the anvil. They are the “gallery men.” As soon as visitors appear afar off they begin to prepare for an exhibition. The blast is steadied down, or shut off, and the fire is cooled round. The tools are all most conveniently disposed upon the anvil or table, and everything is made ready for a “lightning” weld. The strikers are as well agreed as the smith, and brace themselves up for an extra special effort. They wait till the visitors are nearly opposite them and certain of viewing the operation. Then on goes the blast, roaring loudly in the firebox, while the smith, with the perspiration streaming down his brow and cheeks, turns his heat over and over in the forge and glances quickly across to take care that he is ready at the right moment. The visitors notice the unusual activity of the men at the fire and stand still, waiting to see the heat. This is the signal for the iron to leave the coals. With exaggerated celerity the sections of metal are withdrawn from the forge and brought to the anvil. The fused parts are clapped smartly together, the striker throws down his tongs viciously, grips his hammer and, following the directions of his mate, rains a shower of blows on the spluttering iron. The sparks whizz out, and reach the visitors, singeing the dresses of the ladies — if there happen to be any among them — and causing them to cry out and step backwards a few paces, while the anvil rings merrily under the blows. Now the smith lays down his own hammer quickly and takes up the steel tool for finishing and squaring the heat. His mate follows, striking rapidly, at all angles, heavy and light, light and heavy, according to what is required, though the smith utters not a word during the process, for the whole routine is known by heart. Over and over the piece is jerked on the anvil — a fine flourish being given to each movement — until it is finished. Upon its completion the smith hands it to the striker, who receives it dexterously and places it on the ground, or in the pile, the pair of them looking several times at the visitors as much as to ask them if they do not think the job well and quickly done, and begging a compliment. The visitors usually accord them an admiring glance in recognition of their prowess and pass on up the forge.

The gallery men are smart and quick by nature, and are fairly sure of being successful in “exhibition” work. The slightest blunder would spoil the whole act and make them appear ridiculous, consequently none but those who are really skilful ever attempt the business. The average smith, however, and especially the one we have in view, never breaks his rule or goes out of his way to oblige visitors, but continues at a steady, uniform rate. The workman who is showy and energetic before visitors is often remiss when they have gone by; it is the continual plodder that gets through the most work in the long run. The visitor, moreover, if he is gifted with an ordinary amount of insight and commonsense, may easily recognise the superior workman and discriminate between the genuine and the superficial effort. Occasionally, when strangers pass through, after such a performance as I have described, the striker, more in jest than in earnest, throws his cap at the feet of the visitors, suggesting that a tip would be welcomed. It is but fair to say that the hint is seldom or never taken.

Though the striker, or inside mate, must perform the task of preparing the fire for the smith, he is no longer responsible for it. Henceforth the smith takes it under his care, and only hands it over to his mate when the heat is finished and a stop has to be made to renew the forge. If the job upon which he is engaged is of any dimensions and two fires are needed, that will make it increasingly hard for the strikers. The heaviest work is naturally more usually assigned to the strongest men, though the rule of adaptability also holds here and the various jobs are given to those who have proved themselves to be the most efficient at them. Of the smiths, some are famed for their skill in one direction, and some for their ability in another. This job requires strength, that speed and cleverness, and another needs a combination of all those qualities and is difficult to do at any time. Occasionally it transpires that an inferior smith has been kept at one class of work for such a long time that he gets out of touch with the other jobs in the shed, and would shape awkwardly if he were suddenly called upon to undertake something new and unusual to him. This is a mistake not often committed by the foreman, however. He periodically changes and interchanges the work and so gets the smiths accustomed to many and miscellaneous toils. The skilled and clever smith will be at home anywhere and everywhere. He will do anything, anyhow, and by any method you please, for he is a complete master of the trade. He will make all kinds of tools with the utmost ease and simplicity. He will also forge chains, wheels, joints, and levers, work in iron or steel, in “T” stuff, or angle iron; every conceivable shape and form of work is subject to his operation. If you put him at the steam-hammer he is still at home; he will forge out an ingot or bloom with the best man on the ground.

All the lightest work falls upon the young apprentices and the very old men, who are too feeble to undertake heavy and trying tasks, but are yet far too valuable to be dispensed with altogether. The apprentices perform such work as simple setting and bending, the making of bolts and eyes, rings and links for chains and so on. They usually come to the work at the age of sixteen, and stay for five or six years, when they voluntarily hand in their notices and migrate to other towns. There they are received as improvers, or as journeymen, and are forthwith paid the trade rate of wages. This varies considerably in many localities, and it is to be noted that railway sheds almost always provide the very lowest wages. Since the work is constant and sure, however, and is not subject to the many fluctuations of the contract shop, the stability of employment is counted a certain compensation for lower wages, and the majority of smiths accept the conditions philosophically.

The young apprentices are strong and sturdy, and invariably of a sound constitution; one never sees a sickly-looking youth taking up the occupation of smithing. This accounts for the fine physique and often big proportions of the senior smith; the reason being that the youths chosen were hardy and suitable, and showed signs of physical development. The sons of smiths usually choose the trade of their fathers and follow in their footsteps. There is consequently often a hereditary quality in the workman; they have been a family of smiths for generations.

The smiths, provided they are strong and healthy, are usually retained at the forge till they have reached the age of seventy when, under the present rule, they are required to leave. Even this is a kind of concession to them, for, generally speaking, the other workmen are turned off long before they reach such an advanced age. The smith’s usefulness, even in his age, is the cause of this; though feeble, he is still able to do good work and to help with his knowledge and experience. He is usually employed at tool-making, or at other light occupations. His poor old hand, almost as hard as iron, shakes with the weight of the hammer; his head trembles visibly, and his legs totter beneath him. He comes in early in the morning, in order to avoid the crush. He brings his meals with him and eats them in the forge, and he is the last going out at night. In his decline he is forced to live near the works — only a street or so from the entrance — and even then it takes him a long time to hobble to and fro. In the evening and at week-ends he usually stays at home to rest, or he may possibly look in to see a friend, or to take a mug of ale at the neighbouring inn.

It is a sad day for him when he receives intelligence of his discharge. Feeble as he is become, he has a real affection for the smithy, and is never so happy as when he is at his forge and anvil. As long as he can drag himself backwards and forwards, see the old faces, and snuff the breath of the fires, he is content. His health, too, which has been maintained by the constant exercise of his trade, is passable while he can do a little work. When he is forced to lie idle, and to forego his regular habit of early rising and the exertion of his muscles with the hammer, that suffers as a matter of course. His joints forthwith become stiff and set; his little store of strength, instead of increasing with the change, wastes and declines. In a very short while he is dead, and his old bones are haled away to the cemetery on top of the hill. A number of his mates and fellow-smiths follow him to the grave and witness the last rites, not for the sake of formality, but out of pure friendship and respect. His name is certain to live long in the annals of the smithy.

The oldest hand in the forge at the present time is aged sixty-eight, though there were recently several above this age who have now been placed on the retired list or superannuated by their societies. He has led a hard life, and affords a very good example of the average type of smith. He was apprenticed at Cheltenham and made a journeyman at Gloucester. From that city he passed on to Worcester, and went thence to Birmingham, working for about a year at each place. Afterwards he migrated to Sheffield — the home of furnaces and forges — and shifted thence in turn to Liverpool, Lancaster, Rotherham, Durham, and several other manufacturing centres, settling finally in the railway town. He has brought up a big family and seen them all established in life. Of his sons several are smiths; one is in America, one in Africa, and one at home in England. He has saved enough money to buy his house, and he has a few pounds besides, so that he has no fear of being reduced to want. He has worked hard and lived well, and he has always drunk his glass of ale. He is associated with several bodies and committees, and he has presented a bed to the local hospital out of his earnings, with the natural condition that smiths have the first claim upon it. Though his hand is a little unsteady with continual use of the tools, he can still manage a fair day’s work. He is very proud of his trade and takes great delight in telling you of his travels and adventures. Every summer he passes the examination of old smiths made by the works’ manager to see that they are fit for duty, and he still looks forward to years of activity at the forge.

Nearly all the smiths live in the town and within easy reach of their work. A few only of their number have had a rustic apprenticeship. The great majority of those in the shed have learnt the rudiments of their trade in factories, and have migrated from place to place. By living in the midst of large towns and cities, they have become almost indifferent to surroundings and are able to make themselves happy and comfortable in the most crowded and uncongenial situations. For the beauties of external nature they care but little; they appear to be wholly wrapt up in and concerned with their own vocation. They nearly all belong to unions and organisations, and are the most independent of men, though they do not make a great parade of the fact. Their independence is born of self-confidence — the knowledge of their own usefulness and worth, and the strength of their position. If they should choose to leave one place they are certain of getting employment elsewhere, for a good smith is never out of work for long together. Other trades suffer considerably through slackness of employment, but there is a constant demand for smiths and hammermen. The fact is that fewer smiths and forgemen are made, in proportion to their numbers, than is the case with some other trades. The work is hard and laborious, and the life must be one of toil and sacrifice.

Although some smiths drink an enormous quantity of cold water at the forge there are others who seldom taste a drop of the liquid. If you ask them the reason why, they will tell you that it is not a wise plan to drink much cold water at work. They say that it causes cramp in the stomach, colds, rash, and itching of the skin, and add that it makes them sweat very much more than they would otherwise do. The more you drink, they say, the more you want to drink, and it is but a habit acquired. If you care to use yourself to it you may work in the greatest heat and feel very few ill effects from it if you are abstemious in the taking of liquids. At the same time, the majority of smiths do drink water, and that copiously, and seem to thrive well upon it. Such as do this, and are fat and well, when spoken to upon the matter, always smile broadly and tell you it is the result of having a contented mind and of drinking plenty of cold water.

It is certain that those who drink most perspire most, but that does not appear to hurt them in the least, and you often hear it said by a workman who is not addicted to perspiring freely that he feels very “stuffy” and congested and that he should be better if he could sweat more. A delightful feeling is experienced after a good sweating at work. Every nerve and tissue seems to be aglow with intensest life; the blood courses through the body and limbs freely and vigorously, and produces a sense of unspeakable physical pleasure. Sweating as the result of physical exercise has a powerful effect upon the mind, as well as upon the body; it clears the vision and invigorates the brain, and is a perfect medicine for many ailments, both mental and physical. If many of the languid and indolent, who never do any work or indulge in sturdy exercise, were suddenly to rouse themselves up and do sufficient physical labour, either for themselves or for someone else, to procure a good sweating at least twice a week, they would feel immeasurably better for it. Life would have a new meaning for them. They would eat better, rest better, and sleep better. They would feel fresher and stronger, altogether more active and vigorous, more sympathetic and satisfied. Though he is, as a rule, quite unaware of it, the workman derives considerably more physical pleasure from life than do those persons, mistakenly envied, who do nothing, for everything has a relish to him, while to the others all is flat and insipid. Truly work is the salt of life, and physical work at that, though there is a most passionate desire in many quarters to be well rid of it.

The majority of the smiths, even though they do not drink much cold water in the forge, are fond of a glass of ale; there are very few teetotalers among them. No one would wish to imply by this that they are “wettish customers.” The very nature of their work makes them thirsty, and though they constrain their appetites while they are at the fires, nevertheless when they come to the town they feel bound to go in somewhere or other and “wet the whistle,” as they term it. After a hot turn in the shed the foaming ale goes down with a delicious relish and the smith feels that he is entitled to enjoy that pleasure, considering how hard he has toiled all day in the heat and dust. There is also the evening paper to be read, after which follows a chat with his mate, and all the hard toil is for the moment forgotten. Rested and refreshed, the man of the forge goes home to his wife and children and partakes of a good tea, feeling very fit and on excellent terms with himself and others.

It is rather remarkable that smiths do not smoke very much tobacco. In the use of the weed they are very moderate, though the strikers and mates easily make up for the deficiency. Every day, after having their meals in the smithy, they walk out into the town or stand under the bridge to “have a draw” and read the morning newspaper, returning leisurely about ten minutes before it is time to start work again.

To his mates and strikers, while at the forge, the smith is rather quiet and reserved, often speaking very little and seldom discussing with them matters apart from the work. This is not out of any undue feeling of pride in himself or unsociableness, but because he is full of his work, and disinclined to talk much. Neither is he given to the discussing of political and social problems and continually seeking an opportunity for holding an argument with this or that one. It is characteristic of him to view everything calmly and soberly; he is imbued with the genuine philosophical temperament. It is a certain and invariable rule that the one who has the most ready tongue and is always ripe for an argument is not the most energetic and proficient at his employment. If such a one as this should desire to entangle the sturdy smith in a cobweb of discussion he is bluntly and unceremoniously told to “clear out,” for he has no time to listen to such “stuff.” Off the premises, however, he is friendly and indulgent to his mates and strikers. When he meets them in the town he stops and speaks to them and invites them to have a glass of ale at his expense.

The religious beliefs of the smiths are not as well-known as are those of some classes of workmen, for they are not in the habit of discovering themselves to outsiders. Though he who has his forge in the village, under the old elm or spreading chestnut, may go regularly to church, there is no evidence to prove that those who dwell in the town imitate him in that respect. Their Sundays appear to be spent chiefly at home in rest and quietness, in company with their wives and families. A few, plainly and simply dressed — for the smith heartily hates all foppishness and superficial ornament — may be seen in the evening walking out towards the fields. The majority, however, stay indoors and recuperate for the coming week’s work, or merely go to see their friends who live a few streets away. But if they do not go to church or chapel they are far from being deficient in charitableness and true piety. They merely aim to live the best life they can and to do good wherever possible. Their religion is one of kindness to all; they are at once large-hearted and broad-minded, honest, just, and liberal. Their sympathy for their fellows arises largely from the fact that they are well acquainted with hard toil; they know what it is to work and sweat, to be hot and thirsty, beaten and tired. Theirs is no gentlemanly occupation, such as is that of some other journeymen; not merely the theoretical exercise of a craft, but one that requires good, solid exertion, such as brings out all that is best in a man.

A proof of their utter good-nature and kindness to their fellows may be seen in the fact of their having, for the last twenty years, made a voluntary weekly offering of a halfpenny per man to the local Cottage Hospital. This is taken once a fortnight, the condition being that it must be unsolicited and a straight gift. In twenty years the sum collected has amounted to over two hundred pounds. This is quite independent of the annual collections made for charities, in which the smiths again always head the list by a large margin. There is no other example at the works of such spontaneous good-nature, and this will show, more than any words, the true characteristics of the brawny men at the forges.

The smiths’ foreman is the very personification of his class, and is a highly interesting study. He is of great stature — he is over six feet in height — with broad, square shoulders and large limbs; fleshy, but not corpulent. His forehead is wide and steep; he has bushy brows, iron grey hair and beard, and red cheeks. His eyes are frank and honest; his voice deep and gruff, but not unkind; and when he speaks to you he looks you full in the face. His whole figure is striking; he towers above the majority of his workmen. His weight, as he tells you himself, with a mixture of pride and modesty and the suspicion of a smile, is nineteen stone six. After this he hastens to inform you that he is not the heaviest at his house, for his good wife turns the scale at twenty-two stone. He has been once married and is the father of a large family — nineteen in all — twelve of whom are yet living. His age is well over sixty, and he will soon have to retire from the forge, though he is still hale and hearty, fond of a glass of good beer, and, as he frequently and forcibly tells you, he is “a great eater of beef.”

As for scholarship and culture, he makes no claim to either, for he never had the opportunity of much education, though he is a famous smith, and is gifted with the rare faculty of getting his men into a good humour and keeping them there. He is on good terms with all his staff; is jealous of their interests, open and honest in his dealings with them, and he has the satisfaction of being respected in return. He is one of the old school, of a type that is nearly extinct now; a bold defender of the rights of smiths, a hard and fast believer in the hand-made article. Naturally, for him, he is suspicious of all modern machinery that tends to do away with the trade of the smithy, and he swears by the most unbreakable oaths that whatever is done by the newer systems of forging and stamping he is able to equal it on the anvil, both as regards strength and cheapness. When the managers recently attempted to bring about sweeping reductions in the prices throughout the smithy he opposed them at every point, swore that he was master in his own shed, and that no one but he should be allowed to fix prices. “When I am gone you can do just whatever you like, but I’m going to have a say in things as long as I’m about here,” said he. On the managers insisting to cut the prices, he unceremoniously took off his coat, and, turning up his shirt-sleeves, presented the representative with a pair of tongs and a hammer and challenged him to have a trial at the game himself. “Here’s my fire, guvnor, and there’s yourn. Come on with you and let’s see what you can do, and if you can make it at your price I’ll give in to you, but you’ll never do it in the world.” Only one or two prices fell in the whole shed. The managers abstained from further interference and since that time the smiths have been but very little molested.

No one could walk through the forge and observe the splendid physique and bearing of the smiths, their skill and dexterity with the tools at the fires and anvil, without a feeling of pride and genuine admiration for them. They are a fine body of men, and their frankness and good-nature, their freedom from ostentation, and general straightforwardness impress one even more than do their physical qualities, and help to fix them more deeply and truly in his regard and esteem. They are not little and petty; they are not spiteful and malicious. They are not jealous of each other’s skill and position; they are no tale-bearers. They seldom quarrel about politics or religion, or hold any other controversy in the shed or out of it. Their attitude to each other is fair and unquestionable; they are natural and spontaneous, very free and generous. If proof is needed of this you have but to come into the smithy and see for yourselves. You will find it written in their faces in unmistakable characters. You will discover it in a greater degree if you converse with them. You will be completely satisfied as to their genuineness and quite convinced of the justice of these observations.