He knows the origins of things, knows whence comes his wealth and happiness. But when civilisation sends him manufactured goods instead of his own rude homely ones, I fear he will not trace them back to God. Earth is the great hostess of the human race, and the Sun is the host. And, strange to say, the moujiks are the better mannered guests. All I have said will, however, prove inadequate to give a true idea of the Age of Wood.
Nails are rareties, and even leather boots are made with wooden brads.
The horse-shoe, though of iron, is fixed with wooden nails. The windows hang on leather or rope hinges. At one end hangs a wooden bucket, and at the other the pulling rope. The pine trunk is the length of an immense telegraph pole, and it stands out across the village street like the long arm of a crane. When I was near Yemetsk I sat on a bank and drew a gate, and a peasant came up and asked me the usual questions.