rough the foliage of grave elms down upon a green valley. I got on
swimmingly; and after a frugal dinner at the little round table, I
buckled on my knapsack with a feeling of self-gratulation in view of the
literary part of my day's work. Having paid my bill, and given the lady
a copy of my corn-meal receipts, I resumed my walk toward W----.

I was suddenly diverted from my contemplation of this magnificent
scenery, by a fall of heavy rain drops, as the prelude of an impending
shower. Seeing a gate open, and hearing a familiar clicking behind the
hedge, I stepped through into a little blacksmith's shop, about as large
an American smoke-house for curing bacon. The first object that my eyes
rested on, was a full-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 father's anvil, at which he was at work, with all the
vigor of his little short arms, making nails. I say, a _full-grown_ man;
for I fear he can never grow any larger, physically or mentally. As I
put my hand on his shoulders 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 a pleasant word or two of greeting, his flesh
felt case-hardened into all the induration of toiling manhood, and as
unsusceptible of growth as the anvil block. Fixed manhood had set in
upon him in the greenness of his youth; and there he was, by his
father's side, a stinted, premature _man_ with his childhood cut off;
with no space to grow in 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 necessity, that would not let him stop long
enough to pick up a letter of the English alphabet on the way. O, Lord
John Russell! think of this. Of this Englishman's son, placed by his
mother, scarcely weaned, on a high, cold stone, barefooted, before the
anvil; there to harden, sear, and blister his young hands by heating and
hammering ragged nailrods, for the sustenance those breasts can no
longer supply! Lord John! look at those nails, as they lie hissing on
the block. Know you their meaning, use and language? Please your
lordship, let me tell you--I have made nails many a day and many a
night--_they are iron exclamation points_, which this unlettered,
dwarfed boy is unconsciously arraying against you, against the British
government, and the