If a man doesn't work with a spade or follow the plough, you won't believe that he works at all.

He must drive, or dig, or drain, or mow.

There's no labour but what strains a man's back, and makes him weary about the loins; but I'll tell you, Peter Gill, that it's here'-- and he touched his forehead with his finger--'it's here is the real workshop.

It's thinking and contriving; setting this against that; doing one thing that another may happen, and guessing what will come if we do this and don't do that; carrying everything in your brain, and, whether you are sitting over a glass with a friend or taking a nap after dinner, thinking away all the time! What would you call that, Peter Gill--what would you call that ?' 'Madness, begorra, or mighty near it!' 'No; it's just work--brain-work.

As much above mere manual labour as the intellect, the faculty that raises us above the brutes, is above the--the--' 'Yes,' said Gill, opening the large volume and vaguely passing his hand over a page.