The wooden plough, as regards its form, might have been thousands of years old; it was drawn by a little donkey, and traced in the soil--the generous southern soil--the merest scratch of a furrow.

I could not but approach the man and exchange words with him; his rude but gentle face, his gnarled hands, his rough and scanty vesture, moved me to a deep respect, and when his speech fell upon my ear, it was as though I listened to one of the ancestors of our kind.

Stopping in his work, he answered my inquiries with careful civility; certain phrases escaped me, but on the whole he made himself quite intelligible, and was glad, I could see, when my words proved that I understood him.

I drew apart, and watched him again.

Never have I seen man so utterly patient, so primaevally deliberate.