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THE DEFECTIVE NAIL.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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391

THE DEFECTIVE NAIL.

I looked at a carpenter nailing one day
Some weatherboards on in a workmanlike way,
And saw that the claw of the hammer he clapped
To a nail which the moment before he had tapped,
And, drawing it out, threw it by with a jerk,
Took another instead and went on with his work.
“What's that for?” I asked him. “Have nails grown so cheap
That you toss them away as too worthless to keep?”
“No,” he answered, “it bent in the driving, and so,
Lest it make a bad job, to the ground it must go.
We draw while we're able,” he said, with a grin,
“For we can't pull it out, once we hammer it in.”
When the nail had been followed by one that was good,
I noticed beside it a dent in the wood—
The mark had been made by the base of the claw
Through the strong force exerted the bent nail to draw;
And there the depression, to eyesight quite plain,
Though twice painted over will doubtless remain.
No marvellous incident certainly; still
It set me to thinking, as little things will,
How habits, like nails, be they wrong ones or right,
Can't be drawn from their places when hammered in tight;
And, though drawn ere they sink to the head, leave behind
By their drawing, some traces on body and mind.
When a young man seeks money and nothing beside,
And, quoting Ben. Franklin, his meanness to hide,

392

Does small things for pelf, and with muck-rake in hand,
Shuns the crown overhead, petty gains to command,
Though it end in that wealth he is anxious to win,
He has struck a bent nail, and has hammered it in.
When a dashing young man at the outset of life,
Who has won some pure maiden and made her his wife,
Leaves his home and his wife for some low, murky den,
Where he drinks and carouses with dissolute men,
The nail he is driving may crooken to sin;
Better pull it out quickly, not hammer it in.
When some neighbor of those sees their faults through a glass
That makes them too large for the censor to pass,
And, with sense of their wickedness, righteously hot,
Calls one a mere miser, the other a sot—
He is handling a nail that is not worth a pin;
Like a corkscrew 'twill twist if he hammer it in.
When a girl shows the world that she surely thinks less
Of her culture and conduct than gadding and dress;
When she eagerly seeks for a confab with those
Whose talk solely runs upon dresses and beaux,
Neglecting home duties some street-yarn to spin—
That nail will give trouble if once hammered in.
When a wife finds her temper grow peevish and sour,
And the tones that once charmed her have lost all their power;
When she scolds till her husband, in fury and pain,
Like a fool seeks in whiskey oblivion to gain—
'Twere better by far did she never begin
To tap on that nail, much less hammer it in.

393

When some woman—wife, widow, or spinster the same—
Too eager to blow the dull coals to a flame,
The faults of her sisters brings closer to view,
Calling this one street-gadder, and that one a shrew,
Her nail has a flaw, is ill-shapen and thin,
As she'll find to her cost when she hammers it in.
Enough for the lesson. The nails that we drive,
Not through boards that are pulseless, but frames that are live,
Examine them well, closely scan ere too late;
Should they prove of firm metal, well-cut, and quite straight,
Regardless of sneering, or clamor, or din,
Place each where it should be, and hammer it in.