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SOFTLY.

It was one of the secrets of my craft, in the old days when I wanted to weld iron or work steel to a fine purpose, to begin gently. If I began, as all learners do, to strike my heaviest blows at the start, the iron would crumble instead of welding, or the steel would suffer under my hammer, so that when it came to be tempered it would "fly," as we used to say, and rob the thing I had made of its finest quality. It was the first condition of a good job to begin gently; in a moment or two I could come down with a firmer hand, and before I was through pour out all my might in a sturdy storm of blows ; but, if I began with the storm at this kind of work, I ended, as a rule, with a wreck.

I notice the same principle as a rule in the great iron-mills. The reason why the Nasmyth hammer can come down so gently as just to crack an egg, and then can smite like a small earthquake, lies

in the need there is that there should be such a compass of power and gentleness within the same device. Take the gentleness out on the one hand, or the ponderous might on the other, and the thing fails of its completeness. The perfection lies in the blending; because the work this blind giant has to do is very much like that your good smith has to do, to come down gently as a June shower, or to smite like a tornado, according to the need.

So you have noticed a skilful mechanic start a new machine, a steam-engine in the factory, a locomotive on the track, or a sewing-machine in the living-room: it is no matter, he always begins gently. He may be ever so sure it is all right, and that all the parts are balanced perfectly: it is the first condition of keeping the balance true, that his machine shall not go tearing away at high pressure on the instant, but shall feel its way into the best it can do through a sort of separate intelligence it has managed to grasp by reason of its birth and breeding. It is the man's child in a sense, and he knows exactly what to do in crder that it may do honor to his hand and brain. He must let this fine fruit of his life have time to find its way into a full action gently: so you notice he will ease a little here, and tighten a little there, just a thought, as he says with an exquisite fitness of the word to the deed, and so at last his work is well done.

I watched this principle again in a grand organ,

when they were building up and bringing out its harmonies. The skilful fellow who had that work to do did not start out by putting all the pipes in their places, pulling out all the stops, and then storming you with one crash of melody which would shake the church. I noticed he began gently with some of the finest chords, made those true, and then went on to others of a greater volume, and so wrought on to the end. Now and then I would sit for half an hour listening, and wondering at the gentle patience. I could not make out half the cadences, or see the use of half the trouble he took: he was using a fine spirit he had in his nature to detect the dissonance, while I went by the rule of thumb. I got so tired at last of the whole business, that I begged one day he would let the music out in one great flood. He did it to please me, but I was not pleased. The organ was not ready for such a revelation, and he knew that, of course; only ministers must have their own way sometimes when they are all wrong, and I had my way. But now, out of a gentle, patient touch, which never halts, and never loses its temper, this wonderful instrument has grown to be a perpetual delight.

You have noticed again, that in training a fine animal for good service the trainer begins gently. He smites the tiger with an iron bar, and cows him; but if he is a wise man he talks to his horse, allures him, courts him, and makes a friend of him.

It was imagined within my day, that to have a good horse you must break him. I notice the word is seldom used now: we do not break, we train. Only the most vicious are broken; and they end, as a rule, with a well-proven demonstration of the worthlessness of the plan. If they do not learn to love, but only to fear you, if on their bells is not written "Holiness to the Lord" in that true fashion which would please good Mr. Bergh, then the day is almost sure to come when they will break out in one superb dash of desperation, and make you feel with Balaam that there may be but one step between your tormented brute and death.

And so I love to note such things as these, as I watch the perpetual advent of little children into. this life of ours, and wonder how we shall deal with them in the one wise way which will weld them, shall I say, to whatsoever things are true and lovely and of good report, start them to the surest purpose, or train them so as to bring out the whole power for good God has hidden in their nature. There must be one right way. I think this father of little children found it when he said, "The children are tender I will lead them gently." They may seem crude as unwelded iron or unshapen steel, or mere machines, or little brutes; and there are men in the world who seem, by their action, to have some such notion of a child's nature, to their eternal shame. All the same if these hints from what is

so like and unlike are of any use, here is the principle at the very outset of our endeavor to make a man out of our man-child, and a woman out of our maid-child: they are tender, we must lead on softly. Solomon may slip in with his cruel maxim of, "Spare the rod, and spoil the child:" he has no business about my place while my children are tender. I can no more be hard on them than Jesus could. If I hurt them in this evil way, I hurt those who are of the kingdom of heaven. My gray hairs have brought me this wisdom (and woe is me, I should be so wise !), that the unpardonable sin is to be hard on a tender child. I do not know whether God forgives me I know I do not forgive myself. They forget, I hope: I do not forget. No cut of the hand or the tongue ever fell from a true father on such a child, that failed to ache forever in the heart of the giver; and no such thing was ever done which was not a damage all round. I do not wonder the old grandsire is so gentle with the second generation. He will not tell you, or himself perhaps, how it is that he is so tender with these new

He is trying to make it

buds on the tree of life. up to them poor man, it is all he can do now. He would fain recall some passages in his fatherhood, but that cannot be done; and so he chokes back the inextinguishable regret, and humbly tries to get even through the over-measure. My good old mother was something of a Spartan with her boys;

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