WORK.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1315, 13 May 1897, Page 12

WORK.

Long before daybreak John Smith went to his work. The great shop lay in a network of squalid streets, and ro~e so high in the air that the topmost windows were gilded by the setting sun. But that was seldom. Grim and' sombre was this solid structure. In the early morning the toiler passed through the great gates, took his brass number from the board, and dropped it into the timekeeper’s box. He was one of six common labourers who served the turners and fitters. .The turners, again, served monster lathes, gigantic boring-machines, or lofty drills. They stood silently over the stolid tools, with one eye fixed on guago and dial, and the other on the iron curls which fell shining to the ground—the mounds of iron dust. The fitters pieced great engines together ; and tap of hammer, chip of chisel, rasp of file never ceased. And the air smelt of iron. Overhead ran a mesh of belts whizzing through space round drums. In a corner rumbled the engine which governed all. And all day long the great workshop shook through every joint. John Smith did the dirty work. He fetched and carried ; lifted and strained. Watch him now as ho bends under the weight of that iron shaft which he is carrying to a lathe. He is of middle stature, with sloping shoulders, back bowed a little. His face is wan, and his cheeks have great hollows in them. His hair is plentifully streaked with grey, and wisp 3 of it stragglo down his face, and terminate in a short beard. His clothes shine with a greasy mixture of oil and iron. The dust has eaten into his skin: the needle of a compass would follow him. His nails are broken and curved into the flesh. Suddenly Smith slipped and fell to the ground. He uttered a sharp cry of agony. The shaft had crushed his hand. He got up with set lips, and went to the nearest hospital. The surgeon looked at the pulpy mass, and went to work. When he had done, two of Smith’s fingers had gone, and two other stumps had become respectable members of society again. “Thank you, sir,” said Smith, smiling, as he was leaving the room. “It’s a good thing it wasn’t the whole arm.”-—West-minster Gaxette.