In the Borgo of San Marino, eldest and smallest republic, a group of sun-bronzed hillmen gathered, resentful. Theirs is a country without public debt, a tiny, remote upland (surrounded by Italy). There unemployment is unknown because every man either tills his ground or, if he has none to till, emigrates. So it has been in San Marino years without end. No progress, no need of progress, no desire to change the round of peaceful toil which began when St. Marinus fled the persecutions of Diocletian (A. D....
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