Bresci will live on bread and water--but it is not the bread and water that will make his life worse than death. He could be happy on such simple fare if his mind had work to do. Many a man has done his good work and enjoyed life's greatest pleasures while suffering mere hunger or poor fare. Many men would be happier if they could see Bresci, the murderer, forced into that idleness which is sometimes ignorantly desired. In his prison Bresci is protected from the sun and the rain and the cold. He can sleep as many hours as he likes. No duns can trouble him. He pays no rent. There is absolutely nothing that he MUST do. But there is absolutely nothing that he CAN do. The saddest slave in Morocco toiling under the heaviest load would win Bresci's gratitude if only he would let Bresci carry that load. The most desperate man, harassed by cares of all kinds, would seem blissfully happy in Bresci's eyes, for he has at least full play for his sentiments, for his activities. ---- To punish Ravaillac's attack on the life of the French King, long ago, they tried ingenious devices. They broke him on the wheel. They tortured him slowly. Finally they poured melted lead into his stomach through his navel. It was a hard death. But they did not punish Ravaillac as severely as Bresci is to be punished. The minutes, the hours, the weeks, months and years will drag along. Idleness, idleness, idleness. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No human smile or voice to measure time. Sleep, bread and water; sleep, bread and water. Gradually madness will come and bring relief. Be glad that you are active, you who work willingly. And you young man who rebel against labor and long for the chance to do nothing, study Bresci's case and take up your load gladly. The decree condemning us to earn our bread in the sweat of our brow was merciful, not stern. For that same power which sentences all to work also causes happiness to be found in work alone. THE OWNER OF A GOLDEN MOUNTAIN An old man sits at the end of his life, with money piled up on all sides of him. Years ago he was working hard. All his ability was strained to the utmost pushing back those who strove to pass him on the road up the golden mountain. He enjoyed the conflict, he enjoyed the sight of beaten rivals. His delight was in work, in ACQUISITION. His growing surplus added new zest to his life. He pitied "the poor fool" who wasted time at anything save money-making. But he is at the top of the heap of money now. He looks about, and none compete with him. A few strugglers--too far away to be heard--strive for a little of his useless accumulation. Legal sharpers struggle and get a little, and in return keep away those who try to climb up near him. The interest has gone out of life. Where he used to see competitors, he now sees only old memories. The old associates have gone--it is even too late to help them--and he will soon go, too.