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"Strike! ding! ding!

Strike! ding! ding!

The iron glows,

And loveth good blows

As fire doth bellows

Strike! ding! ding!"

Out beyond the sht sky, like soreat jewel; but we have no time for

star-gazing, Black George and I, for to-night we are at work on

the old church screen, which must be finished to-, and the

sparks fly, while the sooty face of Black George, now in shadow,

now illuod or

Salamander In the corner, perched securely out of reach of

stray sparks, sits the Ancient, snuff-box in hand as usual

To ht, for, in the red,

fiery glow, the blackened walls, the shining anvil, and the sically

transfigured, while, in the hush of night, the drone of the

bellows sounds more impressive, the stroke of the ha sparks mark plainly their

individual courses, ere they vanish

I stand, feet well apart, and swing the great "sledge" to whose

diapason George's hand-ha in

after each stroke with a ring and clash exact and true, as is,