He then went on his way attended by more heart-felt blessings and praises than ever fell to the lot of the proudest conqueror returning with the spoils of a hundred battles.

I looked after his retreating figure till I could see it no more--I felt that I had grown stronger for the mere presence of a hero--a man who indeed was "every inch a king." I am a royalist--yes.

Governed by such a sovereign, few men of calm reason would be otherwise.

But royalist though I am, I would assist in bringing about the dethronement and death of a mean tyrant, were he crowned king a hundred times over! Few monarchs are like Humbert of Italy--even now my heart warms when I think of him--in all the distraction of my sufferings, his figure stands out like a supreme embodied Beneficent Force surrounded by the clear light of unselfish goodness--a light in which Italia suns her fair face and smiles again with the old sweet smile of her happiest days of high achievement--days in which he children were great, simply because they were EARNEST.

The fault of all modern labor lies in the fact that there is no heart in anything we do--we seldom love our work for work's sake--we perform it solely for what we can get by it.
Therein lies the secret of failure.