THE WORKSHOP 



117 



feeling about it as if something strange and unfamiliar 

 and uncongenial, somewhat of the feeling that David 

 had about Saul's armour. What an awkward thing a 

 new spade is, how long and heavy and rough of handle ! 

 And then how amiable it becomes when it is half 

 worn, when the square corners that made the thrust 

 so hard are ground away, when the whole blade has 

 grown shorter, when the handle has gained that polish, 

 the best poHsh of all, that comes of long hand-friction. 

 No carpenter likes a new plane ; no house-painter likes 

 a new brush. It is the same with tools as with clothes ; 

 the familiar ease can only come of use and better 

 acquaintance. I suppose no horse likes a new collar; 

 I am quite sure I do not like new boots ! 



Some years ago I knew a young carpenter who was 

 dying of consumption. I can never forget how he 

 spoke of his tools. He had wife and children and a 

 happy home, but when he spoke of what he knew was 

 before him, it was the inanimate companions of his 

 working hours that seemed most to bind him to his 

 waning life. I remember his actual words : " It's not 

 that I am afraid to die, but it's when I think of my 

 tools I feel as if I couldn't bear to go." And it was 

 only when he came to the word " tools " that his voice 

 broke and his eyes filled with tears. 



Some of the tools that are the most precious are 

 those that one has to make oneseh'. Chasing tools, for 

 instance. For though some chasing tools may be bought, 

 yet in working out delicate ornaments in gold and silver 



