There are few mechanics who realize the importance of keeping their tools in perfect order; nevertheless, the experience of every one having to work with a set of tools ought to prove that he should love his tools and regard them with pride. We scarcely recollect a single instance of a really good workman who did not possess this affection for, and pride in, the implements which enabled him to turn out his work well.
If hammers are rusty and with faces covered with careless nicks, and fitted with ill-shaped and broken handles; if sharp-edged tools are badly ground and covered with rust; if cold chisels are made very much like old shanks taken at random from the scrap pile, and litter, dirt, tools and fragments are clustered together in a close conglomeration, it will convey about the same idea to the observer that a beggar in tattered habiliments would in the parlor of a prince. Every one would feel a great desire to either eject the intruder from the apartment or at once leave the place himself.
There are instances where this affection for, and pride in, implements have gone extremely far and become almost a monomania; so much so that the journeyman could scarcely bear to see you examining his chisels, files, etc., and seemed to have a fear, whilst you were looking at them, of some outward effect like that which the Indians attribute to an evil eye, but which merely arose from a species of selfish affection for these children of his handicraft.
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