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Updated: June 9, 2025
After finding a pleasant lodging near the Baletti's, I took a coach and went to the "Hotel de Bourbon" with the intention of calling on M. de Bernis, who was then chief secretary for foreign affairs. I had good reasons for relying on his assistance. He was out; he had gone to Versailles. At Paris one must go sharply to work, and, as it is vulgarly but forcibly said, "strike while the iron's hot."
I have met with the lines in two or three versions, of which the following, copied in the churchyard at Aberystwith, appears to be the most complete: "My sledge and hammer lie reclined; My bellows too have lost their wind; My fire extinct, my forge decay'd, And in the dust my vice is laid. My coal is spent, my iron's gone; My nails are drove, my worck is done."
Suddenly my companion turned on me, a most truculent expression on his face. "For an independent thinker," he said, "you are rather a pusillanimous jackass. A man of your convictions to shy at a shadow! Fie, sir, fie! What if the room were empty? The place was full enough of traps to permit of Captain Iron's immediate withdrawal." Much may be expressed in a sniff. I sniffed.
Among these is one on the tomb of a smith, which on account of its singularity, I here copy and send you. "My sledge and anvil he declined, My bellows too have lost their wind; My fire's extinct, my forge decayed, My coals are spent, my iron's gone, My nails are drove: my work is done."
She knew already just where the building ought to stand. There was a certain empty lot on High Street which would give a library a prominent site. This lot was owned by old Elder Concannon. "There've been miracles happened here in Poketown during the last year or so; if I have patience and wait to strike when the iron's hot, maybe that miracle will come to pass," Janice told herself.
Obdurate wretch! too fierce, too fell to move The least kind yearnings of a mother's love! No knight thou art, as having no estate; Long suffered'st thou in Rhodes an exile's fate, No more the happy Golden Age we see; The Iron's come, and sure to last with thee. Instead of wine he thirsted for before, He wallows now in floods of human gore.
I've been darning stockings, and trimming a hat, and ironing a blouse, and washing lace, and writing letters all in a rush. I love a muddle on Saturdays. It's such a change after routine all the week. What do you think of the hat? Seven and sixpence, all told. I flatter myself it looks worth every penny of ten. Don't pull down that cloth. The iron's underneath. Be careful of that table!
For the next ten days, or till further notice, Hôtel des Deux Mondes, Avenue de l'Opéra. Amelia's mind was made up at once. "Strike while the iron's hot," she cried. "This sudden illness, coming at the end of their honeymoon, and involving ten days' more stay at an expensive hotel, will probably upset the curate's budget. He'll be glad to sell now. You'll get them for three hundred.
"What are you bristling up about?" asked Albert. "Merely getting ready to start again," replied Dick. "You know the old saying, Al, 'you've got to hit while the iron's hot. More treasure is down there in the pass, but if we wait it won't stay there. Everything that we get now is worth more to us than diamonds."
"Listen fellows, let's duck back towards the woods for a bit and have a council of war," ordered Garry. "There will be less chance of our being observed there, and no chance of our being overheard." So saying, Garry led the way back for about half a mile. "We must strike while the iron's hot, and it seems to be hot tonight.
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