The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1846-10-01
From the Christian Citizen.
A Leaf from the Editors Jour-
nal.

IueSddY, July 2l.
An HoUR WITH NATURE AND THE
NAILERs. Seeing gate open, and hearing
familiar clicking behind the hedge, step
ped through into little blacksmith's shop,
about as large as an American smoke-house
for curing bacon The first object that my
eyes rested upon was a flll-grown man, nine
years Of age, and nearly three feet high,
perched upon a stone Of half that height, to
raise his breast to the level of his fathers an
vii, at which he was at work, with all the Wig
or of his little short arms, making nails.
Say fM}-gr0ra man, for | fear he can never
grow any larger, physically or mentally. AS
| put my hand on his shoulder in a familiar
way, to make myself at home with him, and
to remove the timidity with which my sudden
appearance seemed to inspire him, by pleas
ant word or two of greeting, his flesh felt
case-hardened into all the induratOn OF toll
ing manhood and as unsuSceplblc OF growth
as his anvil block. Fixed manhood had set
in upon him in the grcenncss OF his youth ::
and there he was, by his fathers side, stunt
ed, premature man; with his childhood cut
off; with no space to grow III between the
cradle and the anvil block; chased as soon as
he could stand on his little legs, from the
hearth-stone to the forge-stone, by iron ne
cessty, that would not let him stop long
enough to pick up a letter Of the English al
phabet on the way. o, Lord John Russell.
think of it! OF this Englishnan's son, plac
cd by his mother, scarcely weancd, on high,
cold stone, barefootcG, before the anvil there
to harden, scar, and blisterits young hands by
heating and hammering ragged nailrods, for
the sustenance her breast can no longer sup
ply Lord John look at those nails, as they
lie kissing on the block. Know you their
meaning use, and language? Please your
lordship, let me tell you'll have made nails
before now-they are iron exclamation points,
which this unlettered, dwartish boy is ncon-.
sciously arTaying against you,against the Brit
ish government, and the ministry OF British
literature, for cutting him off without letter
of the English alphabet, when printing is
done by steam for incarccrating him, for no
sin on his or his parents side, but poverty,
into dark, six-by-cight prison Of hard labor,
youthleSS being-think Of it an infant har-
dened, almost in its mothers arms,in a man,
by toll that bows the sturdiest Of the worlds
laborers who come to manhood through inter
venng years of childhood
The boys father was at work with his back
Edwards me when l entered. At my first
word of salutaton to the lad he turned around
and acocsted me little bashfully, as if unac-
customed 10 the sight of strangers in that
place, or reluctant to let them into the scene
and secret of his poverty. | sat down upon
one end of his naii-bencl, and told him was
an American blacksmith by trade, and that
had come in to see how lie got on IN the
world whether he was earning pretty good
wages at his business, so that he could live
comfortably, and send his children to school,
A. I'll Ill, o,Ionoo1 iOdririnOlV ot the
the boy. who was looking steadily at me from
his stone stool by the anvil. Two or three
little crock-faced girls from two to five years
of age, had stolen in timidly, and cou-
ple Of young, frightened eyes we're peering
over the door-sill at me. They all looked as
if some task were daily allotted them in the
SCOT and cinders of their fathers forge, even
to the sharp-eyed baby at the door. The
door Englishman The was as much an English
man as the Duke of Wellington-looked at
bis bushv-headcd, bare-footed children, and
said softly. with melancholy shake Of his
head. that the times were rather hard with
him. IT troubled his heart, and many hours
of the nicht he had been kept awake by the
Thought of it, that he could not send his chill
dren to school. nor teach them himself to read.
They were GOOD children, he sad, with q
moist vearninc in his eyes; they were all the
wealth he had, and he loved them the more,
the harder he had to work for them. The
poorest part of the poverty that was on HIM,
was that he could not give his children the
letters. They were good children, for all the
crock of the shop was on their faces, and their
fingers were bent like eagles claws with
handling nails. He had been poor man all
his DAYS, and be knew his children would be