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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.