The Jewel of the Order of the King's Own by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

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ONCE on the sea-shore, in a land a long way off, I met an old man / dressed as a galley-slave, and toiling at convicts' work, with a / heavy chain around one of his arms; but his face and bearing were / stamped with the truest nobility. I felt sure he must be a victim of / some political cabal, and not a criminal, for not a trace of crime / or remorse debased that calm brow and those clear, honest eyes. This / might not have struck me as remarkable, since such unmerited sufferings / were but too common in that country. What arrested my attention was / the expression of unfeigned and lofty joy which irradiated his aged / countenance.

In the interval of noon-day rest allowed him, as well as the other / convicts, I sate down beside him and entered into conversation with / him. I found he was an old soldier. And at length, I was encouraged by / his frankness to inquire the cause of the strange contrast between his / expression and his circumstances.

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