Cuore (Heart) 63pages

[Illustration:

Cuore

Edmondo De Amicis]

[Illustration: "THE BOY HAD WALKED TEN MILES. "--Page 123. ]

CUORE

(HEART)

AN

ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOURNAL

_A Book for Boys_

BY

EDMONDO DE AMICIS

_TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRTY-NINTH ITALIAN EDITION_

BY

ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1887, 1895 and 1901.

BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1915.

BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD

Printed in the United States of America

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

THIS book is specially dedicated to the boys of the elementary schoolsbetween the ages of nine and thirteen years, and might be entitled: "TheStory of a Scholastic Year written by a Pupil of the Third Class of anItalian Municipal School. " In saying written by a pupil of the thirdclass, I do not mean to say that it was written by him exactly as it isprinted. He noted day by day in a copy-book, as well as he knew how, what he had seen, felt, thought in the school and outside the school;his father at the end of the year wrote these pages on those notes, taking care not to alter the thought, and preserving, when it waspossible, the words of his son. Four years later the boy, being then inthe lyceum, read over the MSS. And added something of his own, drawingon his memories, still fresh, of persons and of things.

Now read this book, boys; I hope that you will be pleased with it, andthat it may do you good.

EDMONDO DE AMICIS.

CONTENTS.

OCTOBER. PAGE THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL 1 OUR MASTER 3 AN ACCIDENT 5 THE CALABRIAN BOY 6 MY COMRADES 8 A GENEROUS DEED 10 MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST 12 IN AN ATTIC 14 THE SCHOOL 16 _The Little Patriot of Padua_ 17 THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP 20 THE DAY OF THE DEAD 22

NOVEMBER.

MY FRIEND GARRONE 24 THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN 26 MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS 28 MY MOTHER 30 MY COMPANION CORETTI 31 THE HEAD-MASTER 35 THE SOLDIERS 38 NELLI'S PROTECTOR 40 THE HEAD OF THE CLASS 42 _The Little Vidette of Lombardy_ 44 THE POOR 50

DECEMBER.

THE TRADER 52 VANITY 54 THE FIRST SNOW-STORM 56 THE LITTLE MASON 58 A SNOWBALL 61 THE MISTRESSES 62 IN THE HOUSE OF THE WOUNDED MAN 64 _The Little Florentine Scribe_ 66 WILL 75 GRATITUDE 77

JANUARY.

THE ASSISTANT MASTER 79 STARDI'S LIBRARY 81 THE SON OF THE BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER 83 A FINE VISIT 85 THE FUNERAL OF VITTORIO EMANUELE 87 FRANTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL 89 _The Sardinian Drummer-Boy_ 91 THE LOVE OF COUNTRY 100 ENVY 102 FRANTI'S MOTHER 104 HOPE 105

FEBRUARY.

A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED 108 GOOD RESOLUTIONS 110 THE ENGINE 112 PRIDE 114 THE WOUNDS OF LABOR 116 THE PRISONER 118 _Daddy's Nurse_ 122 THE WORKSHOP 132 THE LITTLE HARLEQUIN 135 THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL 139 THE BLIND BOYS 142 THE SICK MASTER 149 THE STREET 151

MARCH.

THE EVENING SCHOOLS 154 THE FIGHT 156 THE BOYS' PARENTS 158 NUMBER 78 160 A LITTLE DEAD BOY 163 THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH 164 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES 166 STRIFE 172 MY SISTER 174 _Blood of Romagna_ 176 THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED 184 COUNT CAVOUR 187

APRIL.

SPRING 189 KING UMBERTO 191 THE INFANT ASYLUM 196 GYMNASTICS 201 MY FATHER'S TEACHER 204 CONVALESCENCE 215 FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN 217 GARRONE'S MOTHER 219 GIUSEPPE MAZZINI 221 _Civic Valor_ 223

MAY.

CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS 229 SACRIFICE 231 THE FIRE 233 _From the Apennines to the Andes_ 237 SUMMER 276 POETRY 278 THE DEAF-MUTE 280

JUNE.

GARIBALDI 290 THE ARMY 291 ITALY 293 THIRTY-TWO DEGREES 295 MY FATHER 297 IN THE COUNTRY 298 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES TO THE WORKINGMEN 302 MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS 305 THANKS 308 _Shipwreck_ 309

JULY.

THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER 317 THE EXAMINATIONS 318 THE LAST EXAMINATION 321 FAREWELL 323

CUORE.

AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOURNAL.

_OCTOBER. _

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL.

Monday, 17th.

TO-DAY is the first day of school. These three months of vacation in thecountry have passed like a dream. This morning my mother conducted me tothe Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third elementarycourse: I was thinking of the country and went unwillingly. All thestreets were swarming with boys: the two book-shops were thronged withfathers and mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, andcopy-books, and in front of the school so many people had collected, that the beadle and the policeman found it difficult to keep theentrance disencumbered. Near the door, I felt myself touched on theshoulder: it was my master of the second class, cheerful, as usual, andwith his red hair ruffled, and he said to me:--

"So we are separated forever, Enrico?"

I knew it perfectly well, yet these words pained me. We made our way inwith difficulty. Ladies, gentlemen, women of the people, workmen, officials, nuns, servants, all leading boys with one hand, and holdingthe promotion books in the other, filled the anteroom and the stairs, making such a buzzing, that it seemed as though one were entering atheatre. I beheld again with pleasure that large room on the groundfloor, with the doors leading to the seven classes, where I had passednearly every day for three years. There was a throng; the teachers weregoing and coming. My schoolmistress of the first upper class greeted mefrom the door of the class-room, and said:--

"Enrico, you are going to the floor above this year. I shall never seeyou pass by any more!" and she gazed sadly at me. The director wassurrounded by women in distress because there was no room for theirsons, and it struck me that his beard was a little whiter than it hadbeen last year. I found the boys had grown taller and stouter. On theground floor, where the divisions had already been made, there werelittle children of the first and lowest section, who did not want toenter the class-rooms, and who resisted like donkeys: it was necessaryto drag them in by force, and some escaped from the benches; others, when they saw their parents depart, began to cry, and the parents had togo back and comfort and reprimand them, and the teachers were indespair.

My little brother was placed in the class of Mistress Delcati: I was putwith Master Perboni, up stairs on the first floor. At ten o'clock wewere all in our classes: fifty-four of us; only fifteen or sixteen of mycompanions of the second class, among them, Derossi, the one who alwaysgets the first prize. The school seemed to me so small and gloomy when Ithought of the woods and the mountains where I had passed the summer! Ithought again, too, of my master in the second class, who was so good, and who always smiled at us, and was so small that he seemed to be oneof us, and I grieved that I should no longer see him there, with histumbled red hair. Our teacher is tall; he has no beard; his hair is grayand long; and he has a perpendicular wrinkle on his forehead: he has abig voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one after the other, as though hewere reading our inmost thoughts; and he never smiles. I said to myself:"This is my first day. There are nine months more. What toil, whatmonthly examinations, what fatigue!" I really needed to see my motherwhen I came out, and I ran to kiss her hand. She said to me:--

"Courage, Enrico! we will study together. " And I returned home content. But I no longer have my master, with his kind, merry smile, and schooldoes not seem pleasant to me as it did before.

OUR MASTER.

Tuesday, 18th.

My new teacher pleases me also, since this morning. While we were comingin, and when he was already seated at his post, some one of his scholarsof last year every now and then peeped in at the door to salute him;they would present themselves and greet him:--

"Good morning, Signor Teacher!" "Good morning, Signor Perboni!" Someentered, touched his hand, and ran away. It was evident that they likedhim, and would have liked to return to him. He responded, "Goodmorning, " and shook the hands which were extended to him, but he lookedat no one; at every greeting his smile remained serious, with thatperpendicular wrinkle on his brow, with his face turned towards thewindow, and staring at the roof of the house opposite; and instead ofbeing cheered by these greetings, he seemed to suffer from them. Then hesurveyed us attentively, one after the other. While he was dictating, hedescended and walked among the benches, and, catching sight of a boywhose face was all red with little pimples, he stopped dictating, tookthe lad's face between his hands and examined it; then he asked him whatwas the matter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead, to feel ifit was hot. Meanwhile, a boy behind him got up on the bench, and beganto play the marionette. The teacher turned round suddenly; the boyresumed his seat at one dash, and remained there, with head hanging, inexpectation of being punished. The master placed one hand on his headand said to him:--

"Don't do so again. " Nothing more.

Then he returned to his table and finished the dictation. When he hadfinished dictating, he looked at us a moment in silence; then he said, very, very slowly, with his big but kind voice:--

"Listen. We have a year to pass together; let us see that we pass itwell. Study and be good. I have no family; you are my family. Last yearI had still a mother: she is dead. I am left alone. I have no one butyou in all the world; I have no other affection, no other thought thanyou: you must be my sons. I wish you well, and you must like me too. Ido not wish to be obliged to punish any one. Show me that you are boysof heart: our school shall be a family, and you shall be my consolationand my pride. I do not ask you to give me a promise on your word ofhonor; I am sure that in your hearts you have already answered me 'yes, 'and I thank you. "

At that moment the beadle entered to announce the close of school. Weall left our seats very, very quietly. The boy who had stood up on thebench approached the master, and said to him, in a trembling voice:--

"Forgive me, Signor Master. "

The master kissed him on the brow, and said, "Go, my son. "

AN ACCIDENT.

Friday, 21st.

The year has begun with an accident. On my way to school this morning Iwas repeating to my father these words of our teacher, when we perceivedthat the street was full of people, who were pressing close to the doorof the schoolhouse. Suddenly my father said: "An accident! The year isbeginning badly!"

We entered with great difficulty. The big hall was crowded with parentsand children, whom the teachers had not succeeded in drawing off intothe class-rooms, and all were turning towards the director's room, andwe heard the words, "Poor boy! Poor Robetti!"

Over their heads, at the end of the room, we could see the helmet of apoliceman, and the bald head of the director; then a gentleman with atall hat entered, and all said, "That is the doctor. " My father inquiredof a master, "What has happened?"--"A wheel has passed over his foot, "replied the latter. "His foot has been crushed, " said another. He was aboy belonging to the second class, who, on his way to school through theVia Dora Grossa, seeing a little child of the lowest class, who had runaway from its mother, fall down in the middle of the street, a few pacesfrom an omnibus which was bearing down upon it, had hastened boldlyforward, caught up the child, and placed it in safety; but, as he hadnot withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel of the omnibus hadpassed over it. He is the son of a captain of artillery. While we werebeing told this, a woman entered the big hall, like a lunatic, andforced her way through the crowd: she was Robetti's mother, who had beensent for. Another woman hastened towards her, and flung her arms abouther neck, with sobs: it was the mother of the baby who had been saved. Both flew into the room, and a desperate cry made itself heard: "Oh myGiulio! My child!"

At that moment a carriage stopped before the door, and a little laterthe director made his appearance, with the boy in his arms; the latterleaned his head on his shoulder, with pallid face and closed eyes. Everyone stood very still; the sobs of the mother were audible. The directorpaused a moment, quite pale, and raised the boy up a little in his arms, in order to show him to the people. And then the masters, mistresses, parents, and boys all murmured together: "Bravo, Robetti! Bravo, poorchild!" and they threw kisses to him; the mistresses and boys who werenear him kissed his hands and his arms. He opened his eyes and said, "Myportfolio!" The mother of the little boy whom he had saved showed it tohim and said, amid her tears, "I will carry it for you, my dear littleangel; I will carry it for you. " And in the meantime, the mother of thewounded boy smiled, as she covered her face with her hands. They wentout, placed the lad comfortably in the carriage, and the carriage droveaway. Then we all entered school in silence.

THE CALABRIAN BOY.

Saturday, 22d.

Yesterday afternoon, while the master was telling us the news of poorRobetti, who will have to go on crutches, the director entered with anew pupil, a lad with a very brown face, black hair, large black eyes, and thick eyebrows which met on his forehead: he was dressed entirely indark clothes, with a black morocco belt round his waist. The directorwent away, after speaking a few words in the master's ear, leavingbeside the latter the boy, who glanced about with his big black eyes asthough frightened. The master took him by the hand, and said to theclass: "You ought to be glad. To-day there enters our school a littleItalian born in Reggio, in Calabria, more than five hundred miles fromhere. Love your brother who has come from so far away. He was born in aglorious land, which has given illustrious men to Italy, and which nowfurnishes her with stout laborers and brave soldiers; in one of the mostbeautiful lands of our country, where there are great forests, and greatmountains, inhabited by people full of talent and courage. Treat himwell, so that he shall not perceive that he is far away from the city inwhich he was born; make him see that an Italian boy, in whatever Italianschool he sets his foot, will find brothers there. " So saying, he roseand pointed out on the wall map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, inCalabria. Then he called loudly:--

"Ernesto Derossi!"--the boy who always has the first prize. Derossirose.

"Come here, " said the master. Derossi left his bench and stepped up tothe little table, facing the Calabrian.

"As the head boy in the school, " said the master to him, "bestow theembrace of welcome on this new companion, in the name of the wholeclass--the embrace of the sons of Piedmont to the son of Calabria. "

Derossi embraced the Calabrian, saying in his clear voice, "Welcome!"and the other kissed him impetuously on the cheeks. All clapped theirhands. "Silence!" cried the master; "don't clap your hands in school!"But it was evident that he was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleasedalso. The master assigned him a place, and accompanied him to the bench. Then he said again:--

"Bear well in mind what I have said to you. In order that this casemight occur, that a Calabrian boy should be as though in his own houseat Turin, and that a boy from Turin should be at home in Calabria, ourcountry fought for fifty years, and thirty thousand Italians died. Youmust all respect and love each other; but any one of you who should giveoffence to this comrade, because he was not born in our province, wouldrender himself unworthy of ever again raising his eyes from the earthwhen he passes the tricolored flag. "

Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, when his neighborspresented him with pens and a _print_; and another boy, from the lastbench, sent him a Swiss postage-stamp.

MY COMRADES.

Tuesday, 25th.

The boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Calabrian is the one whopleases me best of all. His name is Garrone: he is the biggest boy inthe class: he is about fourteen years old; his head is large, hisshoulders broad; he is good, as one can see when he smiles; but it seemsas though he always thought like a man. I already know many of mycomrades. Another one pleases me, too, by the name of Coretti, and hewears chocolate-colored trousers and a catskin cap: he is always jolly;he is the son of a huckster of wood, who was a soldier in the war of1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, and they say that he has threemedals. There is little Nelli, a poor hunchback, a weak boy, with a thinface. There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fineFlorentine plush, and is named Votini. On the bench in front of me thereis a boy who is called "the little mason" because his father is a mason:his face is as round as an apple, with a nose like a small ball; hepossesses a special talent: he knows how to make _a hare's face_, andthey all get him to make a hare's face, and then they laugh. He wears alittle ragged cap, which he carries rolled up in his pocket like ahandkerchief. Beside the little mason there sits Garoffi, a long, thin, silly fellow, with a nose and beak of a screech owl, and very smalleyes, who is always trafficking in little pens and images andmatch-boxes, and who writes the lesson on his nails, in order that hemay read it on the sly. Then there is a young gentleman, Carlo Nobis, who seems very haughty; and he is between two boys who are sympatheticto me, --the son of a blacksmith-ironmonger, clad in a jacket whichreaches to his knees, who is pale, as though from illness, who alwayshas a frightened air, and who never laughs; and one with red hair, whohas a useless arm, and wears it suspended from his neck; his father hasgone away to America, and his mother goes about peddling pot-herbs. Andthere is another curious type, --my neighbor on the left, --Stardi--smalland thickset, with no neck, --a gruff fellow, who speaks to no one, andseems not to understand much, but stands attending to the master withoutwinking, his brow corrugated with wrinkles, and his teeth clenched; andif he is questioned when the master is speaking, he makes no reply thefirst and second times, and the third time he gives a kick: and besidehim there is a bold, cunning face, belonging to a boy named Franti, whohas already been expelled from another district. There are, in addition, two brothers who are dressed exactly alike, who resemble each other to ahair, and both of whom wear caps of Calabrian cut, with a peasant'splume. But handsomer than all the rest, the one who has the most talent, who will surely be the head this year also, is Derossi; and the master, who has already perceived this, always questions him. But I likePrecossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger, the one with the longjacket, who seems sickly. They say that his father beats him; he is verytimid, and every time that he addresses or touches any one, he says, "Excuse me, " and gazes at them with his kind, sad eyes. But Garrone isthe biggest and the nicest.

A GENEROUS DEED.

Wednesday, 26th.

It was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like. WhenI entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upperfirst had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could find me at home, the master had not yet arrived, and three or four boys were tormentingpoor Crossi, the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whosemother sells vegetables. They were poking him with rulers, hitting himin the face with chestnut shells, and were making him out to be acripple and a monster, by mimicking him, with his arm hanging from hisneck. And he, alone on the end of the bench, and quite pale, began to beaffected by it, gazing now at one and now at another with beseechingeyes, that they might leave him in peace. But the others mocked himworse than ever, and he began to tremble and to turn crimson with rage. All at once, Franti, the boy with the repulsive face, sprang upon abench, and pretending that he was carrying a basket on each arm, he apedthe mother of Crossi, when she used to come to wait for her son at thedoor; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi losthis head, and seizing an inkstand, he hurled it at the other's head withall his strength; but Franti dodged, and the inkstand struck the master, who entered at the moment, full in the breast.

All flew to their places, and became silent with terror.

The master, quite pale, went to his table, and said in a constrainedvoice:--

"Who did it?"

No one replied.

The master cried out once more, raising his voice still louder, "Who isit?"

Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, rose abruptly and said, resolutely, "It was I. "

The master looked at him, looked at the stupefied scholars; then said ina tranquil voice, "It was not you. "

And, after a moment: "The culprit shall not be punished. Let him rise!"

Crossi rose and said, weeping, "They were striking me and insulting me, and I lost my head, and threw it. "

"Sit down, " said the master. "Let those who provoked him rise. "

Four rose, and hung their heads.

"You, " said the master, "have insulted a companion who had given you noprovocation; you have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have struck aweak person who could not defend himself. You have committed one of thebasest, the most shameful acts with which a human creature can stainhimself. Cowards!"

Having said this, he came down among the benches, put his hand underGarrone's chin, as the latter stood with drooping head, and having madehim raise it, he looked him straight in the eye, and said to him, "Youare a noble soul. "

Garrone profited by the occasion to murmur some words, I know not what, in the ear of the master; and he, turning towards the four culprits, said, abruptly, "I forgive you. "

MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST.

Thursday, 27th.

My schoolmistress has kept her promise which she made, and came to-dayjust as I was on the point of going out with my mother to carry somelinen to a poor woman recommended by the _Gazette_. It was a year sinceI had seen her in our house. We all made a great deal of her. She isjust the same as ever, a little thing, with a green veil wound about herbonnet, carelessly dressed, and with untidy hair, because she has nottime to keep herself nice; but with a little less color than last year, with some white hairs, and a constant cough. My mother said to her:--

"And your health, my dear mistress? You do not take sufficient care ofyourself!"

"It does not matter, " the other replied, with her smile, at oncecheerful and melancholy.

"You speak too loud, " my mother added; "you exert yourself too much withyour boys. "

That is true; her voice is always to be heard; I remember how it waswhen I went to school to her; she talked and talked all the time, sothat the boys might not divert their attention, and she did not remainseated a moment. I felt quite sure that she would come, because shenever forgets her pupils; she remembers their names for years; on thedays of the monthly examination, she runs to ask the director what marksthey have won; she waits for them at the entrance, and makes them showher their compositions, in order that she may see what progress theyhave made; and many still come from the gymnasium to see her, whoalready wear long trousers and a watch. To-day she had come back in agreat state of excitement, from the picture-gallery, whither she hadtaken her boys, just as she had conducted them all to a museum everyThursday in years gone by, and explained everything to them. The poormistress has grown still thinner than of old. But she is always brisk, and always becomes animated when she speaks of her school. She wanted tohave a peep at the bed on which she had seen me lying very ill two yearsago, and which is now occupied by my brother; she gazed at it for awhile, and could not speak. She was obliged to go away soon to visit aboy belonging to her class, the son of a saddler, who is ill with themeasles; and she had besides a package of sheets to correct, a wholeevening's work, and she has still a private lesson in arithmetic to giveto the mistress of a shop before nightfall.

"Well, Enrico, " she said to me as she was going, "are you still fond ofyour schoolmistress, now that you solve difficult problems and writelong compositions?" She kissed me, and called up once more from the footof the stairs: "You are not to forget me, you know, Enrico!" Oh, my kindteacher, never, never will I forget thee! Even when I grow up I willremember thee and will go to seek thee among thy boys; and every timethat I pass near a school and hear the voice of a schoolmistress, Ishall think that I hear thy voice, and I shall recall the two years thatI passed in thy school, where I learned so many things, where I so oftensaw thee ill and weary, but always earnest, always indulgent, in despairwhen any one acquired a bad trick in the writing-fingers, trembling whenthe examiners interrogated us, happy when we made a good appearance, always kind and loving as a mother. Never, never shall I forget thee, myteacher!

IN AN ATTIC.

Friday, 28th.

Yesterday afternoon I went with my mother and my sister Sylvia, to carrythe linen to the poor woman recommended by the newspaper: I carried thebundle; Sylvia had the paper with the initials of the name and theaddress. We climbed to the very roof of a tall house, to a long corridorwith many doors. My mother knocked at the last; it was opened by a womanwho was still young, blond and thin, and it instantly struck me that Ihad seen her many times before, with that very same blue kerchief thatshe wore on her head.

"Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so?" asked mymother.

"Yes, signora, I am. "

"Well, we have brought you a little linen. " Then the woman began tothank us and bless us, and could not make enough of it. Meanwhile Iespied in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling in front ofa chair, with his back turned towards us, who appeared to be writing;and he really was writing, with his paper on the chair and his inkstandon the floor. How did he manage to write thus in the dark? While I wassaying this to myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarsejacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable-pedler, the boy with theuseless arm. I told my mother softly, while the woman was putting awaythe things.

"Hush!" replied my mother; "perhaps he will feel ashamed to see yougiving alms to his mother: don't speak to him. "

But at that moment Crossi turned round; I was embarrassed; he smiled, and then my mother gave me a push, so that I should run to him andembrace him. I did embrace him: he rose and took me by the hand.

"Here I am, " his mother was saying in the meantime to my mother, "alonewith this boy, my husband in America these seven years, and I sick inaddition, so that I can no longer make my rounds with my vegetables, andearn a few cents. We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino todo his work on. When there was a bench down at the door, he could, atleast, write on the bench; but that has been taken away. He has not evena little light so that he can study without ruining his eyes. And it isa mercy that I can send him to school, since the city provides him withbooks and copy-books. Poor Luigino, who would be so glad to study!Unhappy woman, that I am!"

My mother gave her all that she had in her purse, kissed the boy, andalmost wept as we went out. And she had good cause to say to me: "Lookat that poor boy; see how he is forced to work, when you have everycomfort, and yet study seems hard to you! Ah! Enrico, there is moremerit in the work which he does in one day, than in your work for ayear. It is to such that the first prizes should be given!"

THE SCHOOL.

Friday, 28th.

Yes, study comes hard to you, my dear Enrico, as your mother says: I do not yet see you set out for school with that resolute mind and that smiling face which I should like. You are still intractable. But listen; reflect a little! What a miserable, despicable thing your day would be if you did not go to school! At the end of a week you would beg with clasped hands that you might return there, for you would be eaten up with weariness and shame; disgusted with your sports and with your existence. Everybody, everybody studies now, my child. Think of the workmen who go to school in the evening after having toiled all the day; think of the women, of the girls of the people, who go to school on Sunday, after having worked all the week; of the soldiers who turn to their books and copy-books when they return exhausted from their drill! Think of the dumb and of the boys who are blind, but who study, nevertheless; and last of all, think of the prisoners, who also learn to read and write. Reflect in the morning, when you set out, that at that very moment, in your own city, thirty thousand other boys are going like yourself, to shut themselves up in a room for three hours and study. Think of the innumerable boys who, at nearly this precise hour, are going to school in all countries. Behold them with your imagination, going, going, through the lanes of quiet villages; through the streets of the noisy towns, along the shores of rivers and lakes; here beneath a burning sun; there amid fogs, in boats, in countries which are intersected with canals; on horseback on the far-reaching plains; in sledges over the snow; through valleys and over hills; across forests and torrents, over the solitary paths of mountains; alone, in couples, in groups, in long files, all with their books under their arms, clad in a thousand ways, speaking a thousand tongues, from the most remote schools in Russia. Almost lost in the ice to the furthermost schools of Arabia, shaded by palm-trees, millions and millions, all going to learn the same things, in a hundred varied forms. Imagine this vast, vast throng of boys of a hundred races, this immense movement of which you form a part, and think, if this movement were to cease, humanity would fall back into barbarism; this movement is the progress, the hope, the glory of the world. Courage, then, little soldier of the immense army. Your books are your arms, your class is your squadron, the field of battle is the whole earth, and the victory is human civilization. Be not a cowardly soldier, my Enrico.

THY FATHER.

THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA.

(_The Monthly Story. _)

Saturday, 29th.

I will not be a _cowardly soldier_, no; but I should be much morewilling to go to school if the master would tell us a story every day, like the one he told us this morning. "Every month, " said he, "I shalltell you one; I shall give it to you in writing, and it will always bethe tale of a fine and noble deed performed by a boy. This one iscalled _The Little Patriot of Padua_. Here it is. A French steamer setout from Barcelona, a city in Spain, for Genoa; there were on boardFrenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. Among the rest was a lad ofeleven, poorly clad, and alone, who always held himself aloof, like awild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. He had good reasons forlooking at every one with forbidding eyes. Two years previous to thistime his parents, peasants in the neighborhood of Padua, had sold him toa company of mountebanks, who, after they had taught him how to performtricks, by dint of blows and kicks and starving, had carried him allover France and Spain, beating him continually and never giving himenough to eat. On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer able toendure ill treatment and hunger, and being reduced to a pitiablecondition, he had fled from his slave-master and had betaken himself forprotection to the Italian consul, who, moved with compassion, had placedhim on board of this steamer, and had given him a letter to thetreasurer of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to his parents--to theparents who had sold him like a beast. The poor lad was lacerated andweak. He had been assigned to the second-class cabin. Every one staredat him; some questioned him, but he made no reply, and seemed to hateand despise every one, to such an extent had privation and afflictionsaddened and irritated him. Nevertheless, three travellers, by dint ofpersisting in their questions, succeeded in making him unloose histongue; and in a few rough words, a mixture of Venetian, French, andSpanish, he related his story. These three travellers were not Italians, but they understood him; and partly out of compassion, partly becausethey were excited with wine, they gave him soldi, jesting with him andurging him on to tell them other things; and as several ladies enteredthe saloon at the moment, they gave him some more money for the purposeof making a show, and cried: 'Take this! Take this, too!' as they madethe money rattle on the table.

"The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low voice, with his surlymien, but with a look that was for the first time smiling andaffectionate. Then he climbed into his berth, drew the curtain, and layquiet, thinking over his affairs. With this money he would be able topurchase some good food on board, after having suffered for lack ofbread for two years; he could buy a jacket as soon as he landed inGenoa, after having gone about clad in rags for two years; and he couldalso, by carrying it home, insure for himself from his father and mothera more humane reception than would have fallen to his lot if he hadarrived with empty pockets. This money was a little fortune for him; andhe was taking comfort out of this thought behind the curtain of hisberth, while the three travellers chatted away, as they sat round thedining-table in the second-class saloon. They were drinking anddiscussing their travels and the countries which they had seen; and fromone topic to another they began to discuss Italy. One of them began tocomplain of the inns, another of the railways, and then, growing warmer, they all began to speak evil of everything. One would have preferred atrip in Lapland; another declared that he had found nothing butswindlers and brigands in Italy; the third said that Italian officialsdo not know how to read.

"'It's an ignorant nation, ' repeated the first. 'A filthy nation, ' addedthe second. 'Ro--' exclaimed the third, meaning to say 'robbers'; buthe was not allowed to finish the word: a tempest of soldi and half-liredescended upon their heads and shoulders, and leaped upon the table andthe floor with a demoniacal noise. All three sprang up in a rage, lookedup, and received another handful of coppers in their faces.

"'Take back your soldi!' said the lad, disdainfully, thrusting his headbetween the curtains of his berth; 'I do not accept alms from those whoinsult my country. '"

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.

November 1st.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the girls' school building, near ours, togive the story of the boy from Padua to Silvia's teacher, who wished toread it. There are seven hundred girls there. Just as I arrived, theybegan to come out, all greatly rejoiced at the holiday of All Saints andAll Souls; and here is a beautiful thing that I saw: Opposite the doorof the school, on the other side of the street, stood a very smallchimney-sweep, his face entirely black, with his sack and scraper, withone arm resting against the wall, and his head supported on his arm, weeping copiously and sobbing. Two or three of the girls of the secondgrade approached him and said, "What is the matter, that you weep likethis?" But he made no reply, and went on crying.

"Come, tell us what is the matter with you and why you are crying, " thegirls repeated. And then he raised his face from his arm, --a babyface, --and said through his tears that he had been to several houses tosweep the chimneys, and had earned thirty soldi, and that he had lostthem, that they had slipped through a hole in his pocket, --and he showedthe hole, --and he did not dare to return home without the money.

"The master will beat me, " he said, sobbing; and again dropped his headupon his arm, like one in despair. The children stood and stared at himvery seriously. In the meantime, other girls, large and small, poorgirls and girls of the upper classes, with their portfolios under theirarms, had come up; and one large girl, who had a blue feather in herhat, pulled two soldi from her pocket, and said:--

"I have only two soldi; let us make a collection. "

"I have two soldi, also, " said another girl, dressed in red; "we shallcertainly find thirty soldi among the whole of us"; and then they beganto call out:--

"Amalia! Luigia! Annina!--A soldo. Who has any soldi? Bring your soldihere!"

Several had soldi to buy flowers or copy-books, and they brought them;some of the smaller girls gave centesimi; the one with the blue feathercollected all, and counted them in a loud voice:--

"Eight, ten, fifteen!" But more was needed. Then one larger than any ofthem, who seemed to be an assistant mistress, made her appearance, andgave half a lira; and all made much of her. Five soldi were stilllacking.

"The girls of the fourth class are coming; they will have it, " said onegirl. The members of the fourth class came, and the soldi showered down. All hurried forward eagerly; and it was beautiful to see that poorchimney-sweep in the midst of all those many-colored dresses, of allthat whirl of feathers, ribbons, and curls. The thirty soldi werealready obtained, and more kept pouring in; and the very smallest whohad no money made their way among the big girls, and offered theirbunches of flowers, for the sake of giving something. All at once theportress made her appearance, screaming:--


"The Signora Directress!" The girls made their escape in all directions, like a flock of sparrows; and then the little chimney-sweep was visible, alone, in the middle of the street, wiping his eyes in perfect content, with his hands full of money, and the button-holes of his jacket, hispockets, his hat, were full of flowers; and there were even flowers onthe ground at his feet.

THE DAY OF THE DEAD.

(_All-Souls-Day. _)

November 2d.

This day is consecrated to the commemoration of the dead. Do you know, Enrico, that all you boys should, on this day, devote a thought to those who are dead? To those who have died for you, --for boys and little children. How many have died, and how many are dying continually! Have you ever reflected how many fathers have worn out their lives in toil? how many mothers have descended to the grave before their time, exhausted by the privations to which they have condemned themselves for the sake of sustaining their children? Do you know how many men have planted a knife in their hearts in despair at beholding their children in misery? how many women have drowned themselves or have died of sorrow, or have gone mad, through having lost a child? Think of all these dead on this day, Enrico. Think of how many schoolmistresses have died young, have pined away through the fatigues of the school, through love of the children, from whom they had not the heart to tear themselves away; think of the doctors who have perished of contagious diseases, having courageously sacrificed themselves to cure the children; think of all those who in shipwrecks, in conflagrations, in famines, in moments of supreme danger, have yielded to infancy the last morsel of bread, the last place of safety, the last rope of escape from the flames, to expire content with their sacrifice, since they preserved the life of a little innocent. Such dead as these are innumerable, Enrico; every graveyard contains hundreds of these sainted beings, who, if they could rise for a moment from their graves, would cry the name of a child to whom they sacrificed the pleasures of youth, the peace of old age, their affections, their intelligence, their life: wives of twenty, men in the flower of their strength, octogenarians, youths, --heroic and obscure martyrs of infancy, --so grand and so noble, that the earth does not produce as many flowers as should strew their graves. To such a degree are ye loved, O children! Think to-day on those dead with gratitude, and you will be kinder and more affectionate to all those who love you, and who toil for you, my dear, fortunate son, who, on the day of the dead, have, as yet, no one to grieve for.

THY MOTHER.

[Illustration: THE CHARCOAL MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. --Page 27. ]

NOVEMBER.

MY FRIEND GARRONE.

Friday, 4th.

THERE had been but two days of vacation, yet it seemed to me as though Ihad been a long time without seeing Garrone. The more I know him, thebetter I like him; and so it is with all the rest, except with theoverbearing, who have nothing to say to him, because he does not permitthem to exhibit their oppression. Every time that a big boy raises hishand against a little one, the little one shouts, "Garrone!" and the bigone stops striking him. His father is an engine-driver on the railway;he has begun school late, because he was ill for two years. He is thetallest and the strongest of the class; he lifts a bench with one hand;he is always eating; and he is good. Whatever he is asked for, --apencil, rubber, paper, or penknife, --he lends or gives it; and heneither talks nor laughs in school: he always sits perfectly motionlesson a bench that is too narrow for him, with his spine curved forward, and his big head between his shoulders; and when I look at him, hesmiles at me with his eyes half closed, as much as to say, "Well, Enrico, are we friends?" He makes me laugh, because, tall and broad ashe is, he has a jacket, trousers, and sleeves which are too small forhim, and too short; a cap which will not stay on his head; a threadbarecloak; coarse shoes; and a necktie which is always twisted into a cord. Dear Garrone! it needs but one glance in thy face to inspire love forthee. All the little boys would like to be near his bench. He knowsarithmetic well. He carries his books bound together with a strap of redleather. He has a knife, with a mother-of-pearl handle, which he foundin the field for military manoeuvres, last year, and one day he cut hisfinger to the bone; but no one in school envies him it, and no onebreathes a word about it at home, for fear of alarming his parents. Helets us say anything to him in jest, and he never takes it ill; but woeto any one who says to him, "That is not true, " when he affirms a thing:then fire flashes from his eyes, and he hammers down blows enough tosplit the bench. Saturday morning he gave a soldo to one of the upperfirst class, who was crying in the middle of the street, because his ownhad been taken from him, and he could not buy his copy-book. For thelast three days he has been working over a letter of eight pages, withpen ornaments on the margins, for the saint's day of his mother, whooften comes to get him, and who, like himself, is tall and large andsympathetic. The master is always glancing at him, and every time thathe passes near him he taps him on the neck with his hand, as though hewere a good, peaceable young bull. I am very fond of him. I am happywhen I press his big hand, which seems to be the hand of a man, in mine. I am almost certain that he would risk his life to save that of acomrade; that he would allow himself to be killed in his defence, soclearly can I read his eyes; and although he always seems to begrumbling with that big voice of his, one feels that it is a voice thatcomes from a gentle heart.

THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN.

Monday, 7th.

Garrone would certainly never have uttered the words which Carlo Nobisspoke yesterday morning to Betti. Carlo Nobis is proud, because hisfather is a great gentleman; a tall gentleman, with a black beard, andvery serious, who accompanies his son to school nearly every day. Yesterday morning Nobis quarrelled with Betti, one of the smallest boys, and the son of a charcoal-man, and not knowing what retort to make, because he was in the wrong, said to him vehemently, "Your father is atattered beggar!" Betti reddened up to his very hair, and said nothing, but the tears came to his eyes; and when he returned home, he repeatedthe words to his father; so the charcoal-dealer, a little man, who wasblack all over, made his appearance at the afternoon session, leadinghis boy by the hand, in order to complain to the master. While he wasmaking his complaint, and every one was silent, the father of Nobis, whowas taking off his son's coat at the entrance, as usual, entered onhearing his name pronounced, and demanded an explanation.

"This workman has come, " said the master, "to complain that your sonCarlo said to his boy, 'Your father is a tattered beggar. '"

Nobis's father frowned and reddened slightly. Then he asked his son, "Did you say that?"

His son, who was standing in the middle of the school, with his headhanging, in front of little Betti, made no reply.

Then his father grasped him by one arm and pushed him forward, facingBetti, so that they nearly touched, and said to him, "Beg his pardon. "

The charcoal-man tried to interpose, saying, "No, no!" but the gentlemanpaid no heed to him, and repeated to his son, "Beg his pardon. Repeat mywords. 'I beg your pardon for the insulting, foolish, and ignoble wordswhich I uttered against your father, whose hand my father would feelhimself honored to press. '"

The charcoal-man made a resolute gesture, as though to say, "I will notallow it. " The gentleman did not second him, and his son said slowly, ina very thread of a voice, without raising his eyes from the ground, "Ibeg your pardon--for the insulting--foolish--ignoble--words which Iuttered against your father, whose hand my father--would feel himselfhonored--to press. "

Then the gentleman offered his hand to the charcoal-man, who shook itvigorously, and then, with a sudden push, he thrust his son into thearms of Carlo Nobis.

"Do me the favor to place them next each other, " said the gentleman tothe master. The master put Betti on Nobis's bench. When they wereseated, the father of Nobis bowed and went away.

The charcoal-man remained standing there in thought for several moments, gazing at the two boys side by side; then he approached the bench, andfixed upon Nobis a look expressive of affection and regret, as though hewere desirous of saying something to him, but he did not say anything;he stretched out his hand to bestow a caress upon him, but he did notdare, and merely stroked his brow with his large fingers. Then he madehis way to the door, and turning round for one last look, hedisappeared.

"Fix what you have just seen firmly in your minds, boys, " said themaster; "this is the finest lesson of the year. "

MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS.

Thursday, 10th.

The son of the charcoal-man had been a pupil of that schoolmistressDelcati who had come to see my brother when he was ill, and who had madeus laugh by telling us how, two years ago, the mother of this boy hadbrought to her house a big apronful of charcoal, out of gratitude forher having given the medal to her son; and the poor woman had persisted, and had not been willing to carry the coal home again, and had wept whenshe was obliged to go away with her apron quite full. And she told us, also, of another good woman, who had brought her a very heavy bunch offlowers, inside of which there was a little hoard of soldi. We had beengreatly diverted in listening to her, and so my brother had swallowedhis medicine, which he had not been willing to do before. How muchpatience is necessary with those boys of the lower first, all toothless, like old men, who cannot pronounce their r's and s's; and one coughs, and another has the nosebleed, and another loses his shoes under thebench, and another bellows because he has pricked himself with his pen, and another one cries because he has bought copy-book No. 2 instead ofNo. 1. Fifty in a class, who know nothing, with those flabby littlehands, and all of them must be taught to write; they carry in theirpockets bits of licorice, buttons, phial corks, pounded brick, --allsorts of little things, and the teacher has to search them; but theyconceal these objects even in their shoes. And they are not attentive: afly enters through the window, and throws them all into confusion; andin summer they bring grass into school, and horn-bugs, which fly roundin circles or fall into the inkstand, and then streak the copy-books allover with ink. The schoolmistress has to play mother to all of them, tohelp them dress themselves, bandage up their pricked fingers, pick uptheir caps when they drop them, watch to see that they do not exchangecoats, and that they do not indulge in cat-calls and shrieks. Poorschoolmistresses! And then the mothers come to complain: "How comes it, signorina, that my boy has lost his pen? How does it happen that minelearns nothing? Why is not my boy mentioned honorably, when he knows somuch? Why don't you have that nail which tore my Piero's trousers, takenout of the bench?"

Sometimes my brother's teacher gets into a rage with the boys; and whenshe can resist no longer, she bites her finger, to keep herself fromdealing a blow; she loses patience, and then she repents, and caressesthe child whom she has scolded; she sends a little rogue out of school, and then swallows her tears, and flies into a rage with parents who makethe little ones fast by way of punishment. Schoolmistress Delcati isyoung and tall, well-dressed, brown of complexion, and restless; shedoes everything vivaciously, as though on springs, is affected by a meretrifle, and at such times speaks with great tenderness.

"But the children become attached to you, surely, " my mother said toher.

"Many do, " she replied; "but at the end of the year the majority of thempay no further heed to us. When they are with the masters, they arealmost ashamed of having been with us--with a woman teacher. After twoyears of cares, after having loved a child so much, it makes us feel sadto part from him; but we say to ourselves, 'Oh, I am sure of that one;he is fond of me. ' But the vacation over, he comes back to school. I runto meet him; 'Oh, my child, my child!' And he turns his head away. " Herethe teacher interrupted herself. "But you will not do so, little one?"she said, raising her humid eyes, and kissing my brother. "You will notturn aside your head, will you? You will not deny your poor friend?"

MY MOTHER.

Thursday, November 10th.

In the presence of your brother's teacher you failed in respect to your mother! Let this never happen again, my Enrico, never again! Your irreverent word pierced my heart like a point of steel. I thought of your mother when, years ago, she bent the whole of one night over your little bed, measuring your breathing, weeping blood in her anguish, and with her teeth chattering with terror, because she thought that she had lost you, and I feared that she would lose her reason; and at this thought I felt a sentiment of horror at you. You, to offend your mother! your mother, who would give a year of happiness to spare you one hour of pain, who would beg for you, who would allow herself to be killed to save your life! Listen, Enrico. Fix this thought well in your mind. Reflect that you are destined to experience many terrible days in the course of your life: the most terrible will be that on which you lose your mother. A thousand times, Enrico, after you are a man, strong, and inured to all fates, you will invoke her, oppressed with an intense desire to hear her voice, if but for a moment, and to see once more her open arms, into which you can throw yourself sobbing, like a poor child bereft of comfort and protection. How you will then recall every bitterness that you have caused her, and with what remorse you will pay for all, unhappy wretch! Hope for no peace in your life, if you have caused your mother grief. You will repent, you will beg her forgiveness, you will venerate her memory--in vain; conscience will give you no rest; that sweet and gentle image will always wear for you an expression of sadness and of reproach which will put your soul to torture. Oh, Enrico, beware; this is the most sacred of human affections; unhappy he who tramples it under foot. The assassin who respects his mother has still something honest and noble in his heart; the most glorious of men who grieves and offends her is but a vile creature. Never again let a harsh word issue from your lips, for the being who gave you life. And if one should ever escape you, let it not be the fear of your father, but let it be the impulse of your soul, which casts you at her feet, to beseech her that she will cancel from your brow, with the kiss of forgiveness, the stain of ingratitude. I love you, my son; you are the dearest hope of my life; but I would rather see you dead than ungrateful to your mother. Go away, for a little space; offer me no more of your caresses; I should not be able to return them from my heart.

THY FATHER.

MY COMPANION CORETTI.

Sunday, 13th.

My father forgave me; but I remained rather sad and then my mother sentme, with the porter's big son, to take a walk on the Corso. Half-waydown the Corso, as we were passing a cart which was standing in front ofa shop, I heard some one call me by name: I turned round; it wasCoretti, my schoolmate, with chocolate-colored clothes and his catskincap, all in a perspiration, but merry, with a big load of wood on hisshoulders. A man who was standing in the cart was handing him an armfulof wood at a time, which he took and carried into his father's shop, where he piled it up in the greatest haste.

"What are you doing, Coretti?" I asked him.

"Don't you see?" he answered, reaching out his arms to receive the load;"I am reviewing my lesson. "

I laughed; but he seemed to be serious, and, having grasped the armfulof wood, he began to repeat as he ran, "_The conjugation of theverb--consists in its variations according to number--according tonumber and person--_"

And then, throwing down the wood and piling it, "_according to thetime--according to the time to which the action refers. _"

And turning to the cart for another armful, "_according to the mode inwhich the action is enunciated. _"

It was our grammar lesson for the following day. "What would you have medo?" he said. "I am putting my time to use. My father has gone off withthe man on business; my mother is ill. It falls to me to do theunloading. In the meantime, I am going over my grammar lesson. It is adifficult lesson to-day; I cannot succeed in getting it into myhead. --My father said that he would be here at seven o'clock to give youyour money, " he said to the man with the cart.

The cart drove off. "Come into the shop a minute, " Coretti said to me. Iwent in. It was a large apartment, full of piles of wood and fagots, with a steelyard on one side.

"This is a busy day, I can assure you, " resumed Coretti; "I have to domy work by fits and starts. I was writing my phrases, when somecustomers came in. I went to writing again, and behold, that cartarrived. I have already made two trips to the wood market in the PiazzaVenezia this morning. My legs are so tired that I cannot stand, and myhands are all swollen. I should be in a pretty pickle if I had to draw!"And as he spoke he set about sweeping up the dry leaves and the strawwhich covered the brick-paved floor.

"But where do you do your work, Coretti?" I inquired.

"Not here, certainly, " he replied. "Come and see"; and he led me into alittle room behind the shop, which serves as a kitchen and dining-room, with a table in one corner, on which there were books and copy-books, and work which had been begun. "Here it is, " he said; "I left the secondanswer unfinished: _with which shoes are made, and belts_. Now I willadd, _and valises_. " And, taking his pen, he began to write in his finehand.

"Is there any one here?" sounded a call from the shop at that moment. Itwas a woman who had come to buy some little fagots.

"Here I am!" replied Coretti; and he sprang out, weighed the fagots, took the money, ran to a corner to enter the sale in a shabby oldaccount-book, and returned to his work, saying, "Let's see if I canfinish that sentence. " And he wrote, _travelling-bags, and knapsacks forsoldiers_. "Oh, my poor coffee is boiling over!" he exclaimed, and ranto the stove to take the coffee-pot from the fire. "It is coffee formamma, " he said; "I had to learn how to make it. Wait a while, and wewill carry it to her; you'll see what pleasure it will give her. She hasbeen in bed a whole week. --Conjugation of the verb! I always scald myfingers with this coffee-pot. What is there that I can add after thesoldiers' knapsacks? Something more is needed, and I can think ofnothing. Come to mamma. "

He opened a door, and we entered another small room: there Coretti'smother lay in a big bed, with a white kerchief wound round her head.

"Ah, brave little master!" said the woman to me; "you have come to visitthe sick, have you not?"

Meanwhile, Coretti was arranging the pillows behind his mother's back, readjusting the bedclothes, brightening up the fire, and driving the catoff the chest of drawers.

"Do you want anything else, mamma?" he asked, as he took the cup fromher. "Have you taken the two spoonfuls of syrup? When it is all gone, Iwill make a trip to the apothecary's. The wood is unloaded. At fouro'clock I will put the meat on the stove, as you told me; and when thebutter-woman passes, I will give her those eight soldi. Everything willgo on well; so don't give it a thought. "

"Thanks, my son!" replied the woman. "Go, my poor boy!--he thinks ofeverything. "

She insisted that I should take a lump of sugar; and then Coretti showedme a little picture, --the photograph portrait of his father dressed as asoldier, with the medal for bravery which he had won in 1866, in thetroop of Prince Umberto: he had the same face as his son, with the samevivacious eyes and his merry smile.

We went back to the kitchen. "I have found the thing, " said Coretti; andhe added on his copy-book, _horse-trappings are also made of it_. "Therest I will do this evening; I shall sit up later. How happy you are, tohave time to study and to go to walk, too!" And still gay and active, here-entered the shop, and began to place pieces of wood on the horse andto saw them, saying: "This is gymnastics; it is quite different fromthe _throw your arms forwards_. I want my father to find all this woodsawed when he gets home; how glad he will be! The worst part of it isthat after sawing I make T's and L's which look like snakes, so theteacher says. What am I to do? I will tell him that I have to move myarms about. The important thing is to have mamma get well quickly. Sheis better to-day, thank Heaven! I will study my grammar to-morrowmorning at cock-crow. Oh, here's the cart with logs! To work!"

A small cart laden with logs halted in front of the shop. Coretti ranout to speak to the man, then returned: "I cannot keep your company anylonger now, " he said; "farewell until to-morrow. You did right to comeand hunt me up. A pleasant walk to you! happy fellow!"

And pressing my hand, he ran to take the first log, and began once moreto trot back and forth between the cart and the shop, with a face asfresh as a rose beneath his catskin cap, and so alert that it was apleasure to see him.

"Happy fellow!" he had said to me. Ah, no, Coretti, no; you are thehappier, because you study and work too; because you are of use to yourfather and your mother; because you are better--a hundred timesbetter--and more courageous than I, my dear schoolmate.

THE HEAD-MASTER.

Friday, 18th.

Coretti was pleased this morning, because his master of the secondclass, Coatti, a big man, with a huge head of curly hair, a great blackbeard, big dark eyes, and a voice like a cannon, had come to assist inthe work of the monthly examination. He is always threatening the boysthat he will break them in pieces and carry them by the nape of the neckto the qu�stor, and he makes all sorts of frightful faces; but he neverpunishes any one, but always smiles the while behind his beard, so thatno one can see it. There are eight masters in all, including Coatti, anda little, beardless assistant, who looks like a boy. There is one masterof the fourth class, who is lame and always wrapped up in a big woollenscarf, and who is always suffering from pains which he contracted whenhe was a teacher in the country, in a damp school, where the walls weredripping with moisture. Another of the teachers of the fourth is old andperfectly white-haired, and has been a teacher of the blind. There isone well-dressed master, with eye-glasses, and a blond mustache, who iscalled the _little lawyer_, because, while he was teaching, he studiedlaw and took his diploma; and he is also making a book to teach how towrite letters. On the other hand, the one who teaches gymnastics is of asoldierly type, and was with Garibaldi, and has on his neck a scar froma sabre wound received at the battle of Milazzo. Then there is thehead-master, who is tall and bald, and wears gold spectacles, with agray beard that flows down upon his breast; he dresses entirely inblack, and is always buttoned up to the chin. He is so kind to the boys, that when they enter the director's room, all in a tremble, because theyhave been summoned to receive a reproof, he does not scold them, buttakes them by the hand, and tells them so many reasons why they oughtnot to behave so, and why they should be sorry, and promise to be good, and he speaks in such a kind manner, and in so gentle a voice, that theyall come out with red eyes, more confused than if they had beenpunished. Poor head-master! he is always the first at his post in themorning, waiting for the scholars and lending an ear to the parents; andwhen the other masters are already on their way home, he is stillhovering about the school, and looking out that the boys do not getunder the carriage-wheels, or hang about the streets to stand on theirheads, or fill their bags with sand or stones; and the moment he makeshis appearance at a corner, so tall and black, flocks of boys scamperoff in all directions, abandoning their games of coppers and marbles, and he threatens them from afar with his forefinger, with his sad andloving air. No one has ever seen him smile, my mother says, since thedeath of his son, who was a volunteer in the army: he always keeps thelatter's portrait before his eyes, on a little table in thehead-master's room. He wanted to go away after this misfortune; heprepared his application for retirement to the Municipal Council, andkept it always on his table, putting off sending it from day to day, because it grieved him to leave the boys. But the other day he seemedundecided; and my father, who was in the director's room with him, wasjust saying to him, "What a shame it is that you are going away, SignorDirector!" when a man entered for the purpose of inscribing the name ofa boy who was to be transferred from another schoolhouse to ours, because he had changed his residence. At the sight of this boy, thehead-master made a gesture of astonishment, gazed at him for a while, gazed at the portrait that he keeps on his little table, and then staredat the boy again, as he drew him between his knees, and made him hold uphis head. This boy resembled his dead son. The head-master said, "It isall right, " wrote down his name, dismissed the father and son, andremained absorbed in thought. "What a pity that you are going away!"repeated my father. And then the head-master took up his application forretirement, tore it in two, and said, "I shall remain. "

THE SOLDIERS.

Tuesday, 22d.

His son had been a volunteer in the army when he died: this is thereason why the head-master always goes to the Corso to see the soldierspass, when we come out of school. Yesterday a regiment of infantry waspassing, and fifty boys began to dance around the band, singing andbeating time with their rulers on their bags and portfolios. We werestanding in a group on the sidewalk, watching them: Garrone, squeezedinto his clothes, which were too tight for him, was biting at a largepiece of bread; Votini, the well-dressed boy, who always wears Florenceplush; Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, with his father's jacket;and the Calabrian; and the "little mason"; and Crossi, with his redhead; and Franti, with his bold face; and Robetti, too, the son of theartillery captain, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, and whonow walks on crutches. Franti burst into a derisive laugh, in the faceof a soldier who was limping. But all at once he felt a man's hand onhis shoulder: he turned round; it was the head-master. "Take care, " saidthe master to him; "jeering at a soldier when he is in the ranks, whenhe can neither avenge himself nor reply, is like insulting a man who isbound: it is baseness. "

Franti disappeared. The soldiers were marching by fours, all perspiringand covered with dust, and their guns were gleaming in the sun. Thehead-master said:--

"You ought to feel kindly towards soldiers, boys. They are ourdefenders, who would go to be killed for our sakes, if a foreign armywere to menace our country to-morrow. They are boys too; they are notmany years older than you; and they, too, go to school; and there arepoor men and gentlemen among them, just as there are among you, and theycome from every part of Italy. See if you cannot recognize them by theirfaces; Sicilians are passing, and Sardinians, and Neapolitans, andLombards. This is an old regiment, one of those which fought in 1848. They are not the same soldiers, but the flag is still the same. How manyhave already died for our country around that banner twenty years beforeyou were born!"

"Here it is!" said Garrone. And in fact, not far off, the flag wasvisible, advancing, above the heads of the soldiers.

"Do one thing, my sons, " said the head-master; "make your scholar'ssalute, with your hand to your brow, when the tricolor passes. "

The flag, borne by an officer, passed before us, all tattered and faded, and with the medals attached to the staff. We put our hands to ourforeheads, all together. The officer looked at us with a smile, andreturned our salute with his hand.

"Bravi, boys!" said some one behind us. We turned to look; it was an oldman who wore in his button-hole the blue ribbon of the Crimeancampaign--a pensioned officer. "Bravi!" he said; "you have done a finedeed. "

In the meantime, the band of the regiment had made a turn at the end ofthe Corso, surrounded by a throng of boys, and a hundred merry shoutsaccompanied the blasts of the trumpets, like a war-song.

"Bravi!" repeated the old officer, as he gazed upon us; "he who respectsthe flag when he is little will know how to defend it when he is grownup. "

NELLI'S PROTECTOR.

Wednesday, 23d.

Nelli, too, poor little hunchback! was looking at the soldiersyesterday, but with an air as though he were thinking, "I can never be asoldier!" He is good, and he studies; but he is so puny and wan, and hebreathes with difficulty. He always wears a long apron of shining blackcloth. His mother is a little blond woman who dresses in black, andalways comes to get him at the end of school, so that he may not comeout in the confusion with the others, and she caresses him. At firstmany of the boys ridiculed him, and thumped him on the back with theirbags, because he is so unfortunate as to be a hunchback; but he neveroffered any resistance, and never said anything to his mother, in ordernot to give her the pain of knowing that her son was the laughing-stockof his companions: they derided him, and he held his peace and wept, with his head laid against the bench.

But one morning Garrone jumped up and said, "The first person whotouches Nelli will get such a box on the ear from me that he will spinround three times!"

Franti paid no attention to him; the box on the ear was delivered: thefellow spun round three times, and from that time forth no one evertouched Nelli again. The master placed Garrone near him, on the samebench. They have become friends. Nelli has grown very fond of Garrone. As soon as he enters the schoolroom he looks to see if Garrone is there. He never goes away without saying, "Good by, Garrone, " and Garrone doesthe same with him.

When Nelli drops a pen or a book under the bench, Garrone stoopsquickly, to prevent his stooping and tiring himself, and hands him hisbook or his pen, and then he helps him to put his things in his bag andto twist himself into his coat. For this Nelli loves him, and gazes athim constantly; and when the master praises Garrone he is pleased, asthough he had been praised himself. Nelli must at last have told hismother all about the ridicule of the early days, and what they made himsuffer; and about the comrade who defended him, and how he had grownfond of the latter; for this is what happened this morning. The masterhad sent me to carry to the director, half an hour before the close ofschool, a programme of the lesson, and I entered the office at the samemoment with a small blond woman dressed in black, the mother of Nelli, who said, "Signor Director, is there in the class with my son a boynamed Garrone?"

"Yes, " replied the head-master.

"Will you have the goodness to let him come here for a moment, as I havea word to say to him?"

The head-master called the beadle and sent him to the school, and aftera minute Garrone appeared on the threshold, with his big, close-croppedhead, in perfect amazement. No sooner did she catch sight of him thanthe woman flew to meet him, threw her arms on his shoulders, and kissedhim a great many times on the head, saying:--

"You are Garrone, the friend of my little son, the protector of my poorchild; it is you, my dear, brave boy; it is you!" Then she searchedhastily in all her pockets, and in her purse, and finding nothing, shedetached a chain from her neck, with a small cross, and put it onGarrone's neck, underneath his necktie, and said to him:--

"Take it! wear it in memory of me, my dear boy; in memory of Nelli'smother, who thanks and blesses you. "

THE HEAD OF THE CLASS.

Friday, 25th.

Garrone attracts the love of all; Derossi, the admiration. He has takenthe first medal; he will always be the first, and this year also; no onecan compete with him; all recognize his superiority in all points. He isthe first in arithmetic, in grammar, in composition, in drawing; heunderstands everything on the instant; he has a marvellous memory; hesucceeds in everything without effort; it seems as though study wereplay to him. The teacher said to him yesterday:--

"You have received great gifts from God; all you have to do is not tosquander them. " He is, moreover, tall and handsome, with a great crownof golden curls; he is so nimble that he can leap over a bench byresting one hand on it; and he already understands fencing. He is twelveyears old, and the son of a merchant; he is always dressed in blue, withgilt buttons; he is always lively, merry, gracious to all, and helps allhe can in examinations; and no one has ever dared to do anythingdisagreeable to him, or to say a rough word to him. Nobis and Frantialone look askance at him, and Votini darts envy from his eyes; but hedoes not even perceive it. All smile at him, and take his hand or hisarm, when he goes about, in his graceful way, to collect the work. Hegives away illustrated papers, drawings, everything that is given him athome; he has made a little geographical chart of Calabria for theCalabrian lad; and he gives everything with a smile, without paying anyheed to it, like a grand gentleman, and without favoritism for any one. It is impossible not to envy him, not to feel smaller than he ineverything. Ah! I, too, envy him, like Votini. And I feel a bitterness, almost a certain scorn, for him, sometimes, when I am striving toaccomplish my work at home, and think that he has already finished his, at this same moment, extremely well, and without fatigue. But then, whenI return to school, and behold him so handsome, so smiling andtriumphant, and hear how frankly and confidently he replies to themaster's questions, and how courteous he is, and how the others all likehim, then all bitterness, all scorn, departs from my heart, and I amashamed of having experienced these sentiments. I should like to bealways near him at such times; I should like to be able to do all myschool tasks with him: his presence, his voice, inspire me with courage, with a will to work, with cheerfulness and pleasure.

The teacher has given him the monthly story, which will be readto-morrow, to copy, --_The Little Vidette of Lombardy_. He copied it thismorning, and was so much affected by that heroic deed, that his face wasall aflame, his eyes humid, and his lips trembling; and I gazed at him:how handsome and noble he was! With what pleasure would I not have saidfrankly to his face: "Derossi, you are worth more than I in everything!You are a man in comparison with me! I respect you and I admire you!"

THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBARDY.

(_Monthly Story. _)

Saturday, 26th.

In 1859, during the war for the liberation of Lombardy, a few days afterthe battle of Solfarino and San Martino, won by the French and Italiansover the Austrians, on a beautiful morning in the month of June, alittle band of cavalry of Saluzzo was proceeding at a slow pace along aretired path, in the direction of the enemy, and exploring the countryattentively. The troop was commanded by an officer and a sergeant, andall were gazing into the distance ahead of them, with eyes fixed, silent, and prepared at any moment to see the uniforms of the enemy'sadvance-posts gleam white before them through the trees. In this orderthey arrived at a rustic cabin, surrounded by ash-trees, in front ofwhich stood a solitary boy, about twelve years old, who was removing thebark from a small branch with a knife, in order to make himself a stickof it. From one window of the little house floated a large tricoloredflag; there was no one inside: the peasants had fled, after hanging outthe flag, for fear of the Austrians. As soon as the lad saw the cavalry, he flung aside his stick and raised his cap. He was a handsome boy, witha bold face and large blue eyes and long golden hair: he was in hisshirt-sleeves and his breast was bare.

"What are you doing here?" the officer asked him, reining in his horse. "Why did you not flee with your family?"

"I have no family, " replied the boy. "I am a foundling. I do a littlework for everybody. I remained here to see the war. "


"Have you seen any Austrians pass?"

"No; not for these three days. "

The officer paused a while in thought; then he leaped from his horse, and leaving his soldiers there, with their faces turned towards the foe, he entered the house and mounted to the roof. The house was low; fromthe roof only a small tract of country was visible. "It will benecessary to climb the trees, " said the officer, and descended. Just infront of the garden plot rose a very lofty and slender ash-tree, whichwas rocking its crest in the azure. The officer stood a brief space inthought, gazing now at the tree, and again at the soldiers; then, all ofa sudden, he asked the lad:--

"Is your sight good, you monkey?"

"Mine?" replied the boy. "I can spy a young sparrow a mile away. "

"Are you good for a climb to the top of this tree?"

"To the top of this tree? I? I'll be up there in half a minute. "

"And will you be able to tell me what you see up there--if there areAustrian soldiers in that direction, clouds of dust, gleaming guns, horses?"

"Certainly I shall. "

"What do you demand for this service?"

"What do I demand?" said the lad, smiling. "Nothing. A fine thing, indeed! And then--if it were for the _Germans_, I wouldn't do it on anyterms; but for our men! I am a Lombard!"

"Good! Then up with you. "

"Wait a moment, until I take off my shoes. "

He pulled off his shoes, tightened the girth of his trousers, flung hiscap on the grass, and clasped the trunk of the ash.

"Take care, now!" exclaimed the officer, making a movement to hold himback, as though seized with a sudden terror.

The boy turned to look at him, with his handsome blue eyes, as thoughinterrogating him.

"No matter, " said the officer; "up with you. "

Up went the lad like a cat.

"Keep watch ahead!" shouted the officer to the soldiers.

In a few moments the boy was at the top of the tree, twined around thetrunk, with his legs among the leaves, but his body displayed to view, and the sun beating down on his blond head, which seemed to be of gold. The officer could hardly see him, so small did he seem up there.

"Look straight ahead and far away!" shouted the officer.

The lad, in order to see better, removed his right hand from the tree, and shaded his eyes with it.

"What do you see?" asked the officer.

The boy inclined his head towards him, and making a speaking-trumpet ofhis hand, replied, "Two men on horseback, on the white road. "

"At what distance from here?"

"Half a mile. "

"Are they moving?"

"They are standing still. "

"What else do you see?" asked the officer, after a momentary silence. "Look to the right. " The boy looked to the right.

Then he said: "Near the cemetery, among the trees, there is somethingglittering. It seems to be bayonets. "

"Do you see men?"

"No. They must be concealed in the grain. "

At that moment a sharp whiz of a bullet passed high up in the air, anddied away in the distance, behind the house.

"Come down, my lad!" shouted the officer. "They have seen you. I don'twant anything more. Come down. "

"I'm not afraid, " replied the boy.

"Come down!" repeated the officer. "What else do you see to the left?"

"To the left?"

"Yes, to the left. "

The lad turned his head to the left: at that moment, another whistle, more acute and lower than the first, cut the air. The boy was thoroughlyaroused. "Deuce take them!" he exclaimed. "They actually are aiming atme!" The bullet had passed at a short distance from him.

"Down!" shouted the officer, imperious and irritated.

"I'll come down presently, " replied the boy. "But the tree shelters me. Don't fear. You want to know what there is on the left?"

"Yes, on the left, " answered the officer; "but come down. "

"On the left, " shouted the lad, thrusting his body out in thatdirection, "yonder, where there is a chapel, I think I see--"

A third fierce whistle passed through the air, and almostinstantaneously the boy was seen to descend, catching for a moment atthe trunk and branches, and then falling headlong with arms outspread.

"Curse it!" exclaimed the officer, running up.

The boy landed on the ground, upon his back, and remained stretched outthere, with arms outspread and supine; a stream of blood flowed from hisbreast, on the left. The sergeant and two soldiers leaped from theirhorses; the officer bent over and opened his shirt: the ball had enteredhis left lung. "He is dead!" exclaimed the officer.

"No, he still lives!" replied the sergeant. --"Ah, poor boy! brave boy!"cried the officer. "Courage, courage!" But while he was saying"courage, " he was pressing his handkerchief on the wound. The boy rolledhis eyes wildly and dropped his head back. He was dead. The officerturned pale and stood for a moment gazing at him; then he laid him downcarefully on his cloak upon the grass; then rose and stood looking athim; the sergeant and two soldiers also stood motionless, gazing uponhim: the rest were facing in the direction of the enemy.

"Poor boy!" repeated the officer. "Poor, brave boy!"

Then he approached the house, removed the tricolor from the window, andspread it in guise of a funeral pall over the little dead boy, leavinghis face uncovered. The sergeant collected the dead boy's shoes, cap, his little stick, and his knife, and placed them beside him.

They stood for a few moments longer in silence; then the officer turnedto the sergeant and said to him, "We will send the ambulance for him: hedied as a soldier; the soldiers shall bury him. " Having said this, hewafted a kiss with his hand to the dead boy, and shouted "To horse!"All sprang into the saddle, the troop drew together and resumed itsroad.

And a few hours later the little dead boy received the honors of war.

At sunset the whole line of the Italian advance-posts marched forwardtowards the foe, and along the same road which had been traversed in themorning by the detachment of cavalry, there proceeded, in two files, aheavy battalion of sharpshooters, who, a few days before, had valiantlywatered the hill of San Martino with blood. The news of the boy's deathhad already spread among the soldiers before they left the encampment. The path, flanked by a rivulet, ran a few paces distant from the house. When the first officers of the battalion caught sight of the little bodystretched at the foot of the ash-tree and covered with the tricoloredbanner, they made the salute to it with their swords, and one of thembent over the bank of the streamlet, which was covered with flowers atthat spot, plucked a couple of blossoms and threw them on it. Then allthe sharpshooters, as they passed, plucked flowers and threw them on thebody. In a few minutes the boy was covered with flowers, and officersand soldiers all saluted him as they passed by: "Bravo, little Lombard!""Farewell, my lad!" "I salute thee, gold locks!" "Hurrah!" "Glory!""Farewell!" One officer tossed him his medal for valor; another went andkissed his brow. And flowers continued to rain down on his bare feet, onhis blood-stained breast, on his golden head. And there he lay asleep onthe grass, enveloped in his flag, with a white and almost smiling face, poor boy! as though he heard these salutes and was glad that he hadgiven his life for his Lombardy.

THE POOR.

Tuesday, 29th.

To give one's life for one's country as the Lombard boy did, is a great virtue; but you must not neglect the lesser virtues, my son. This morning as you walked in front of me, when we were returning from school, you passed near a poor woman who was holding between her knees a thin, pale child, and who asked alms of you. You looked at her and gave her nothing, and yet you had some coppers in your pocket. Listen, my son. Do not accustom yourself to pass indifferently before misery which stretches out its hand to you and far less before a mother who asks a copper for her child. Reflect that the child may be hungry; think of the agony of that poor woman. Picture to yourself the sob of despair of your mother, if she were some day forced to say, "Enrico, I cannot give you any bread even to-day!" When I give a soldo to a beggar, and he says to me, "God preserve your health, and the health of all belonging to you!" you cannot understand the sweetness which these words produce in my heart, the gratitude that I feel for that poor man. It seems to me certain that such a good wish must keep one in good health for a long time, and I return home content, and think, "Oh, that poor man has returned to me very much more than I gave him!" Well, let me sometimes feel that good wish called forth, merited by you; draw a soldo from your little purse now and then, and let it fall into the hand of a blind man without means of subsistence, of a mother without bread, of a child without a mother. The poor love the alms of boys, because it does not humiliate them, and because boys, who stand in need of everything, resemble themselves: you see that there are always poor people around the schoolhouses. The alms of a man is an act of charity; but that of a child is at one and the same time an act of charity and a caress--do you understand? It is as though a soldo and a flower fell from your hand together. Reflect that you lack nothing, and that they lack everything, that while you aspire to be happy, they are content simply with not dying. Reflect, that it is a horror, in the midst of so many palaces, along the streets thronged with carriages, and children clad in velvet, that there should be women and children who have nothing to eat. To have nothing to eat! O God! Boys like you, as good as you, as intelligent as you, who, in the midst of a great city, have nothing to eat, like wild beasts lost in a desert! Oh, never again, Enrico, pass a mother who is begging, without placing a soldo in her hand!

THY FATHER.

DECEMBER.

THE TRADER.

Thursday, 1st.

MY father wishes me to have some one of my companions come to the houseevery holiday, or that I should go to see one of them, in order that Imay gradually become friends with all of them. Sunday I shall go to walkwith Votini, the well-dressed boy who is always polishing himself up, and who is so envious of Derossi. In the meantime, Garoffi came to thehouse to-day, --that long, lank boy, with the nose like an owl's beak, and small, knavish eyes, which seem to be ferreting everywhere. He isthe son of a grocer; he is an eccentric fellow; he is always countingthe soldi that he has in his pocket; he reckons them on his fingersvery, very rapidly, and goes through some process of multiplicationwithout any tables; and he hoards his money, and already has a book inthe Scholars' Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo, I am positive; andif he drops a centesimo under the benches, he is capable of hunting forit for a week. He does as magpies do, so Derossi says. Everything thathe finds--worn-out pens, postage-stamps that have been used, pins, candle-ends--he picks up. He has been collecting postage-stamps for morethan two years now; and he already has hundreds of them from everycountry, in a large album, which he will sell to a bookseller later on, when he has got it quite full. Meanwhile, the bookseller gives him hiscopy-books gratis, because he takes a great many boys to the shop. Inschool, he is always bartering; he effects sales of little articlesevery day, and lotteries and exchanges; then he regrets the exchange, and wants his stuff back; he buys for two and gets rid of it for four;he plays at pitch-penny, and never loses; he sells old newspapers overagain to the tobacconist; and he keeps a little blank-book, in which hesets down his transactions, which is completely filled with sums andsubtractions. At school he studies nothing but arithmetic; and if hedesires the medal, it is only that he may have a free entrance into thepuppet-show. But he pleases me; he amuses me. We played at keeping amarket, with weights and scales. He knows the exact price of everything;he understands weighing, and makes handsome paper horns, likeshopkeepers, with great expedition. He declares that as soon as he hasfinished school he shall set up in business--in a new business which hehas invented himself. He was very much pleased when I gave him someforeign postage-stamps; and he informed me exactly how each one sold forcollections. My father pretended to be reading the newspaper; but helistened to him, and was greatly diverted. His pockets are bulging, fullof his little wares; and he covers them up with a long black cloak, andalways appears thoughtful and preoccupied with business, like amerchant. But the thing that he has nearest his heart is his collectionof postage-stamps. This is his treasure; and he always speaks of it asthough he were going to get a fortune out of it. His companions accusehim of miserliness and usury. I do not know: I like him; he teaches mea great many things; he seems a man to me. Coretti, the son of thewood-merchant, says that he would not give him his postage-stamps tosave his mother's life. My father does not believe it.

"Wait a little before you condemn him, " he said to me; "he has thispassion, but he has heart as well. "

VANITY.

Monday, 5th.

Yesterday I went to take a walk along the Rivoli road with Votini andhis father. As we were passing through the Via Dora Grossa we sawStardi, the boy who kicks disturbers, standing stiffly in front of thewindow of a book-shop, with his eyes fixed on a geographical map; and noone knows how long he had been there, because he studies even in thestreet. He barely returned our salute, the rude fellow! Votini was welldressed--even too much so. He had on morocco boots embroidered in red, an embroidered coat, small silken frogs, a white beaver hat, and awatch; and he strutted. But his vanity was destined to come to a bad endon this occasion. After having run a tolerably long distance up theRivoli road, leaving his father, who was walking slowly, a long way inthe rear, we halted at a stone seat, beside a modestly clad boy, whoappeared to be weary, and was meditating, with drooping head. A man, whomust have been his father, was walking to and fro under the trees, reading the newspaper. We sat down. Votini placed himself between me andthe boy. All at once he recollected that he was well dressed, and wantedto make his neighbor admire and envy him.

[Illustration: "STOP THAT, YOU LITTLE RASCALS!"--Page 60. ]

He lifted one foot, and said to me, "Have you seen my officer's boots?"He said this in order to make the other boy look at them; but the latterpaid no attention to them.

Then he dropped his foot, and showed me his silk frogs, glancing askanceat the boy the while, and said that these frogs did not please him, andthat he wanted to have them changed to silver buttons; but the boy didnot look at the frogs either.

Then Votini fell to twirling his very handsome white castor hat on thetip of his forefinger; but the boy--and it seemed as though he did it onpurpose--did not deign even a glance at the hat.

Votini, who began to become irritated, drew out his watch, opened it, and showed me the wheels; but the boy did not turn his head. "Is it ofsilver gilt?" I asked him.

"No, " he replied; "it is gold. "

"But not entirely of gold, " I said; "there must be some silver with it. "

"Why, no!" he retorted; and, in order to compel the boy to look, he heldthe watch before his face, and said to him, "Say, look here! isn't ittrue that it is entirely of gold?"

The boy replied curtly, "I don't know. "

"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Votini, full of wrath, "what pride!"

As he was saying this, his father came up, and heard him; he lookedsteadily at the lad for a moment, then said sharply to his son, "Holdyour tongue!" and, bending down to his ear, he added, "he is blind!"

Votini sprang to his feet, with a shudder, and stared the boy in theface: the latter's eyeballs were glassy, without expression, withoutsight.

Votini stood humbled, --speechless, --with his eyes fixed on the ground. At length he stammered, "I am sorry; I did not know. "

But the blind boy, who had understood it all, said, with a kind andmelancholy smile, "Oh, it's no matter!"

Well, he is vain; but Votini has not at all a bad heart. He neverlaughed again during the whole of the walk.

THE FIRST SNOW-STORM.

Saturday, 10th.

Farewell, walks to Rivoli! Here is the beautiful friend of the boys!Here is the first snow! Ever since yesterday evening it has been fallingin thick flakes as large as gillyflowers. It was a pleasure this morningat school to see it beat against the panes and pile up on thewindow-sills; even the master watched it, and rubbed his hands; and allwere glad, when they thought of making snowballs, and of the ice whichwill come later, and of the hearth at home. Stardi, entirely absorbed inhis lessons, and with his fists pressed to his temples, was the only onewho paid no attention to it. What beauty, what a celebration there waswhen we left school! All danced down the streets, shouting and tossingtheir arms, catching up handfuls of snow, and dashing about in it, likepoodles in water. The umbrellas of the parents, who were waiting forthem outside, were all white; the policeman's helmet was white; all oursatchels were white in a few moments. Every one appeared to be besidehimself with joy--even Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, that paleboy who never laughs; and Robetti, the lad who saved the little childfrom the omnibus, poor fellow! he jumped about on his crutches. TheCalabrian, who had never touched snow, made himself a little ball of it, and began to eat it, as though it had been a peach; Crossi, the son ofthe vegetable-vendor, filled his satchel with it; and the little masonmade us burst with laughter, when my father invited him to come to ourhouse to-morrow. He had his mouth full of snow, and, not daring eitherto spit it out or to swallow it, he stood there choking and staring atus, and made no answer. Even the schoolmistress came out of school on arun, laughing; and my mistress of the first upper class, poor littlething! ran through the drizzling snow, covering her face with her greenveil, and coughing; and meanwhile, hundreds of girls from theneighboring schoolhouse passed by, screaming and frolicking on thatwhite carpet; and the masters and the beadles and the policemen shouted, "Home! home!" swallowing flakes of snow, and whitening their moustachesand beards. But they, too, laughed at this wild hilarity of thescholars, as they celebrated the winter.

You hail the arrival of winter; but there are boys who have neither clothes nor shoes nor fire. There are thousands of them, who descend to their villages, over a long road, carrying in hands bleeding from chilblains a bit of wood to warm the schoolroom. There are hundreds of schools almost buried in the snow, bare and dismal as caves, where the boys suffocate with smoke or chatter their teeth with cold as they gaze in terror at the white flakes which descend unceasingly, which pile up without cessation on their distant cabins threatened by avalanches. You rejoice in the winter, boys. Think of the thousands of creatures to whom winter brings misery and death.

THY FATHER.

THE LITTLE MASON.

Sunday, 11th.

The little mason came to-day, in a hunting-jacket, entirely dressed inthe cast-off clothes of his father, which were still white with lime andplaster. My father was even more anxious than I that he should come. Howmuch pleasure he gives us! No sooner had he entered than he pulled offhis ragged cap, which was all soaked with snow, and thrust it into oneof his pockets; then he advanced with his listless gait, like a wearyworkman, turning his face, as smooth as an apple, with its ball-likenose, from side to side; and when he entered the dining-room, he cast aglance round at the furniture and fixed his eyes on a small picture ofRigoletto, a hunchbacked jester, and made a "hare's face. "

It is impossible to refrain from laughing when one sees him make thathare's face. We went to playing with bits of wood: he possesses anextraordinary skill at making towers and bridges, which seem to stand asthough by a miracle, and he works at it quite seriously, with thepatience of a man. Between one tower and another he told me about hisfamily: they live in a garret; his father goes to the evening school tolearn to read, and his mother is a washerwoman. And they must love him, of course, for he is clad like a poor boy, but he is well protected fromthe cold, with neatly mended clothes, and with his necktie nicely tiedby his mother's hands. His father, he told me, is a fine man, --a giant, who has trouble in getting through doors, but he is kind, and alwayscalls his son "hare's face": the son, on the contrary, is rather small.

At four o'clock we lunched on bread and goat's-milk cheese, as we sat onthe sofa; and when we rose, I do not know why, but my father did notwish me to brush off the back, which the little mason had spotted withwhite, from his jacket: he restrained my hand, and then rubbed it offhimself on the sly. While we were playing, the little mason lost abutton from his hunting-jacket, and my mother sewed it on, and he grewquite red, and began to watch her sew, in perfect amazement andconfusion, holding his breath the while. Then we gave him some albums ofcaricatures to look at, and he, without being aware of it himself, imitated the grimaces of the faces there so well, that even my fatherlaughed. He was so much pleased when he went away that he forgot to puton his tattered cap; and when we reached the landing, he made a hare'sface at me once more in sign of his gratitude. His name is AntonioRabucco, and he is eight years and eight months old.

Do you know, my son, why I did not wish you to wipe off the sofa? Because to wipe it while your companion was looking on would have been almost the same as administering a reproof to him for having soiled it. And this was not well, in the first place, because he did not do it intentionally, and in the next, because he did it with the clothes of his father, who had covered them with plaster while at work; and what is contracted while at work is not dirt; it is dust, lime, varnish, whatever you like, but it is not dirt. Labor does not engender dirt. Never say of a laborer coming from his work, "He is filthy. " You should say, "He has on his garments the signs, the traces, of his toil. " Remember this. And you must love the little mason, first, because he is your comrade; and next, because he is the son of a workingman.

THY FATHER.

A SNOWBALL.

Friday, 16th.

It is still snow, snow. A shameful thing happened in connection with thesnow this morning when we came out of school. A flock of boys had nosooner got into the Corso than they began to throw balls of that waterysnow which makes missiles as solid and heavy as stones. Many personswere passing along the sidewalks. A gentleman called out, "Stop that, you little rascals!" and just at that moment a sharp cry rose fromanother part of the street, and we saw an old man who had lost his hatand was staggering about, covering his face with his hands, and besidehim a boy who was shouting, "Help! help!"

People instantly ran from all directions. He had been struck in the eyewith a ball. All the boys dispersed, fleeing like arrows. I was standingin front of the bookseller's shop, into which my father had gone, and Isaw several of my companions approaching at a run, mingling with othersnear me, and pretending to be engaged in staring at the windows: therewas Garrone, with his penny roll in his pocket, as usual; Coretti, thelittle mason; and Garoffi, the boy with the postage-stamps. In themeantime a crowd had formed around the old man, and a policeman andothers were running to and fro, threatening and demanding: "Who was it?Who did it? Was it you? Tell me who did it!" and they looked at theboys' hands to see whether they were wet with snow.

Garoffi was standing beside me. I perceived that he was trembling allover, and that his face was as white as that of a corpse. "Who was it?Who did it?" the crowd continued to cry.

Then I overheard Garrone say in a low voice to Garoffi, "Come, go andpresent yourself; it would be cowardly to allow any one else to bearrested. "

"But I did not do it on purpose, " replied Garoffi, trembling like aleaf.

"No matter; do your duty, " repeated Garrone.

"But I have not the courage. "

"Take courage, then; I will accompany you. "

And the policeman and the other people were crying more loudly thanever: "Who was it? Who did it? One of his glasses has been driven intohis eye! He has been blinded! The ruffians!"

I thought that Garoffi would fall to the earth. "Come, " said Garrone, resolutely, "I will defend you;" and grasping him by the arm, he thrusthim forward, supporting him as though he had been a sick man. The peoplesaw, and instantly understood, and several persons ran up with theirfists raised; but Garrone thrust himself between, crying:--

"Do ten men of you set on one boy?"

Then they ceased, and a policeman seized Garoffi by the hand and ledhim, pushing aside the crowd as he went, to a pastry-cook's shop, wherethe wounded man had been carried. On catching sight of him, I suddenlyrecognized him as the old employee who lives on the fourth floor of ourhouse with his grandnephew. He was stretched out on a chair, with ahandkerchief over his eyes.

"I did not do it intentionally!" sobbed Garoffi, half dead with terror;"I did not do it intentionally!"

Two or three persons thrust him violently into the shop, crying, "Yourface to the earth! Beg his pardon!" and they threw him to the ground. But all at once two vigorous arms set him on his feet again, and aresolute voice said:--

"No, gentlemen!" It was our head-master, who had seen it all. "Since hehas had the courage to present himself, " he added, "no one has the rightto humiliate him. " All stood silent. "Ask his forgiveness, " said thehead-master to Garoffi. Garoffi, bursting into tears, embraced the oldman's knees, and the latter, having felt for the boy's head with hishand, caressed his hair. Then all said:--

"Go away, boy! go, return home. "

And my father drew me out of the crowd, and said to me as we passedalong the street, "Enrico, would you have had the courage, under similarcircumstances, to do your duty, --to go and confess your fault?"

I told him that I should. And he said, "Give me your word, as a lad ofheart and honor, that you would do it. " "I give thee my word, fathermine!"

THE MISTRESSES.

Saturday, 17th.

Garoffi was thoroughly terrified to-day, in the expectation of a severepunishment from the teacher; but the master did not make his appearance;and as the assistant was also missing, Signora Cromi, the oldest of theschoolmistresses, came to teach the school; she has two grown-upchildren, and she has taught several women to read and write, who nowcome to accompany their sons to the Baretti schoolhouse.

She was sad to-day, because one of her sons is ill. No sooner had theycaught sight of her, than they began to make an uproar. But she said, ina slow and tranquil tone, "Respect my white hair; I am not only aschool-teacher, I am also a mother"; and then no one dared to speakagain, in spite of that brazen face of Franti, who contented himselfwith jeering at her on the sly.

Signora Delcati, my brother's teacher, was sent to take charge ofSignora Cromi's class, and to Signora Delcati's was sent the teacher whois called "the little nun, " because she always dresses in dark colors, with a black apron, and has a small white face, hair that is alwayssmooth, very bright eyes, and a delicate voice, that seems to be forevermurmuring prayers. And it is incomprehensible, my mother says; she is sogentle and timid, with that thread of a voice, which is always even, which is hardly audible, and she never speaks loud nor flies into apassion; but, nevertheless, she keeps the boys so quiet that you cannothear them, and the most roguish bow their heads when she merelyadmonishes them with her finger, and her school seems like a church; andit is for this reason, also, that she is called "the little nun. "

But there is another one who pleases me, --the young mistress of thefirst lower, No. 3, that young girl with the rosy face, who has twopretty dimples in her cheeks, and who wears a large red feather on herlittle bonnet, and a small cross of yellow glass on her neck. She isalways cheerful, and keeps her class cheerful; she is always calling outwith that silvery voice of hers, which makes her seem to be singing, andtapping her little rod on the table, and clapping her hands to imposesilence; then, when they come out of school, she runs after one andanother like a child, to bring them back into line: she pulls up thecape of one, and buttons the coat of another, so that they may not takecold; she follows them even into the street, in order that they may notfall to quarrelling; she beseeches the parents not to whip them at home;she brings lozenges to those who have coughs; she lends her muff tothose who are cold; and she is continually tormented by the smallestchildren, who caress her and demand kisses, and pull at her veil and hermantle; but she lets them do it, and kisses them all with a smile, andreturns home all rumpled and with her throat all bare, panting andhappy, with her beautiful dimples and her red feather. She is also thegirls' drawing-teacher, and she supports her mother and a brother by herown labor.

IN THE HOUSE OF THE WOUNDED MAN.

Sunday, 18th.

The grandnephew of the old employee who was struck in the eye byGaroffi's snowball is with the schoolmistress who has the red feather:we saw him to-day in the house of his uncle, who treats him like a son. I had finished writing out the monthly story for the coming week, --_TheLittle Florentine Scribe_, --which the master had given to me to copy;and my father said to me:--

"Let us go up to the fourth floor, and see how that old gentleman's eyeis. "

We entered a room which was almost dark, where the old man was sittingup in bed, with a great many pillows behind his shoulders; by thebedside sat his wife, and in one corner his nephew was amusing himself. The old man's eye was bandaged. He was very glad to see my father; hemade us sit down, and said that he was better, that his eye was not onlynot ruined, but that he should be quite well again in a few days.

"It was an accident, " he added. "I regret the terror which it must havecaused that poor boy. " Then he talked to us about the doctor, whom heexpected every moment to attend him. Just then the door-bell rang.

"There is the doctor, " said his wife.

The door opened--and whom did I see? Garoffi, in his long cloak, standing, with bowed head, on the threshold, and without the courage toenter.

"Who is it?" asked the sick man.

"It is the boy who threw the snowball, " said my father. And then the oldman said:--

"Oh, my poor boy! come here; you have come to inquire after the woundedman, have you not? But he is better; be at ease; he is better and almostwell. Come here. "

Garoffi, who did not perceive us in his confusion, approached the bed, forcing himself not to cry; and the old man caressed him, but could notspeak.

"Thanks, " said the old man; "go and tell your father and mother that allis going well, and that they are not to think any more about it. "

But Garoffi did not move, and seemed to have something to say which hedared not utter.

"What have you to say to me? What is it that you want?"

"I!--Nothing. "

"Well, good by, until we meet again, my boy; go with your heart inpeace. "

Garoffi went as far as the door; but there he halted, turned to thenephew, who was following him, and gazed curiously at him. All at oncehe pulled some object from beneath his cloak, put it in the boy's hand, and whispered hastily to him, "It is for you, " and away he went like aflash.

The boy carried the object to his uncle; we saw that on it was written, _I give you this_; we looked inside, and uttered an exclamation ofsurprise. It was the famous album, with his collection ofpostage-stamps, which poor Garoffi had brought, the collection of whichhe was always talking, upon which he had founded so many hopes, andwhich had cost him so much trouble; it was his treasure, poor boy! itwas the half of his very blood, which he had presented in exchange forhis pardon.

THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE.

(_Monthly Story. _)

He was in the fourth elementary class. He was a graceful Florentine ladof twelve, with black hair and a white face, the eldest son of anemployee on the railway, who, having a large family and but small pay, lived in straitened circumstances. His father loved him and wastolerably kind and indulgent to him--indulgent in everything except inthat which referred to school: on this point he required a great deal, and showed himself severe, because his son was obliged to attain such arank as would enable him to soon obtain a place and help his family; andin order to accomplish anything quickly, it was necessary that he shouldwork a great deal in a very short time. And although the lad studied, his father was always exhorting him to study more.

His father was advanced in years, and too much toil had aged him beforehis time. Nevertheless, in order to provide for the necessities of hisfamily, in addition to the toil which his occupation imposed upon him, he obtained special work here and there as a copyist, and passed a goodpart of the night at his writing-table. Lately, he had undertaken, inbehalf of a house which published journals and books in parts, to writeupon the parcels the names and addresses of their subscribers, and heearned three lire[1] for every five hundred of these paper wrappers, written in large and regular characters. But this work wearied him, andhe often complained of it to his family at dinner.

[1] Sixty cents.

"My eyes are giving out, " he said; "this night work is killing me. " Oneday his son said to him, "Let me work instead of you, papa; you knowthat I can write like you, and fairly well. " But the father answered:--

"No, my son, you must study; your school is a much more important thingthan my wrappers; I feel remorse at robbing you of a single hour; Ithank you, but I will not have it; do not mention it to me again. "

The son knew that it was useless to insist on such a matter with hisfather, and he did not persist; but this is what he did. He knew thatexactly at midnight his father stopped writing, and quitted his workroomto go to his bedroom; he had heard him several times: as soon as thetwelve strokes of the clock had sounded, he had heard the sound of achair drawn back, and the slow step of his father. One night he waiteduntil the latter was in bed, then dressed himself very, very softly, andfelt his way to the little workroom, lighted the petroleum lamp again, seated himself at the writing-table, where lay a pile of white wrappersand the list of addresses, and began to write, imitating exactly hisfather's handwriting. And he wrote with a will, gladly, a little infear, and the wrappers piled up, and from time to time he dropped thepen to rub his hands, and then began again with increased alacrity, listening and smiling. He wrote a hundred and sixty--one lira! Then hestopped, placed the pen where he had found it, extinguished the light, and went back to bed on tiptoe.

At noon that day his father sat down to the table in a good humor. Hehad perceived nothing. He performed the work mechanically, measuring itby the hour, and thinking of something else, and only counted thewrappers he had written on the following day. He seated himself at thetable in a fine humor, and slapping his son on one shoulder, he said tohim:--

"Eh, Giulio! Your father is even a better workman than you thought. Intwo hours I did a good third more work than usual last night. My hand isstill nimble, and my eyes still do their duty. " And Giulio, silent butcontent, said to himself, "Poor daddy, besides the money, I am givinghim some satisfaction in the thought that he has grown young again. Well, courage!"

Encouraged by these good results, when night came and twelve o'clockstruck, he rose once more, and set to work. And this he did for severalnights. And his father noticed nothing; only once, at supper, he utteredthis exclamation, "It is strange how much oil has been used in thishouse lately!" This was a shock to Giulio; but the conversation ceasedthere, and the nocturnal labor proceeded.

However, by dint of thus breaking his sleep every night, Giulio did notget sufficient rest: he rose in the morning fatigued, and when he wasdoing his school work in the evening, he had difficulty in keeping hiseyes open. One evening, for the first time in his life, he fell asleepover his copy-book.


"Courage! courage!" cried his father, clapping his hands; "to work!"

He shook himself and set to work again. But the next evening, and on thedays following, the same thing occurred, and worse: he dozed over hisbooks, he rose later than usual, he studied his lessons in a languidway, he seemed disgusted with study. His father began to observe him, then to reflect seriously, and at last to reprove him. He should neverhave done it!

"Giulio, " he said to him one morning, "you put me quite beside myself;you are no longer as you used to be. I don't like it. Take care; all thehopes of your family rest on you. I am dissatisfied; do you understand?"

At this reproof, the first severe one, in truth, which he had everreceived, the boy grew troubled.

"Yes, " he said to himself, "it is true; it cannot go on so; this deceitmust come to an end. "

But at dinner, on the evening of that very same day, his father saidwith much cheerfulness, "Do you know that this month I have earnedthirty-two lire more at addressing those wrappers than last month!" andso saying, he drew from under the table a paper package of sweets whichhe had bought, that he might celebrate with his children thisextraordinary profit, and they all hailed it with clapping of hands. Then Giulio took heart again, courage again, and said in his heart, "No, poor papa, I will not cease to deceive you; I will make greater effortsto work during the day, but I shall continue to work at night for youand for the rest. " And his father added, "Thirty-two lire more! I amsatisfied. But that boy there, " pointing at Giulio, "is the one whodispleases me. " And Giulio received the reprimand in silence, forcingback two tears which tried to flow; but at the same time he felt a greatpleasure in his heart.

And he continued to work by main force; but fatigue added to fatiguerendered it ever more difficult for him to resist. Thus things went onfor two months. The father continued to reproach his son, and to gaze athim with eyes which grew constantly more wrathful. One day he went tomake inquiries of the teacher, and the teacher said to him: "Yes, hegets along, he gets along, because he is intelligent; but he no longerhas the good will which he had at first. He is drowsy, he yawns, hismind is distracted. He writes short compositions, scribbled down in allhaste, in bad chirography. Oh, he could do a great deal, a great dealmore. "

That evening the father took the son aside, and spoke to him words whichwere graver than any the latter had ever heard. "Giulio, you see how Itoil, how I am wearing out my life, for the family. You do not second myefforts. You have no heart for me, nor for your brothers, nor for yourmother!"

"Ah no! don't say that, father!" cried the son, bursting into tears, andopening his mouth to confess all. But his father interrupted him, saying:--

"You are aware of the condition of the family; you know that good willand sacrifices on the part of all are necessary. I myself, as you see, have had to double my work. I counted on a gift of a hundred lire fromthe railway company this month, and this morning I have learned that Ishall receive nothing!"

At this information, Giulio repressed the confession which was on thepoint of escaping from his soul, and repeated resolutely to himself:"No, papa, I shall tell you nothing; I shall guard my secret for thesake of being able to work for you; I will recompense you in another wayfor the sorrow which I occasion you; I will study enough at school towin promotion; the important point is to help you to earn our living, and to relieve you of the fatigue which is killing you. "

And so he went on, and two months more passed, of labor by night andweakness by day, of desperate efforts on the part of the son, and ofbitter reproaches on the part of the father. But the worst of it was, that the latter grew gradually colder towards the boy, only addressedhim rarely, as though he had been a recreant son, of whom there wasnothing any longer to be expected, and almost avoided meeting hisglance. And Giulio perceived this and suffered from it, and when hisfather's back was turned, he threw him a furtive kiss, stretching forthhis face with a sentiment of sad and dutiful tenderness; and betweensorrow and fatigue, he grew thin and pale, and he was constrained tostill further neglect his studies. And he understood well that theremust be an end to it some day, and every evening he said to himself, "Iwill not get up to-night"; but when the clock struck twelve, at themoment when he should have vigorously reaffirmed his resolution, he feltremorse: it seemed to him, that by remaining in bed he should be failingin a duty, and robbing his father and the family of a lira. And he rose, thinking that some night his father would wake up and discover him, orthat he would discover the deception by accident, by counting thewrappers twice; and then all would come to a natural end, without anyact of his will, which he did not feel the courage to exert. And thus hewent on.

But one evening at dinner his father spoke a word which was decisive sofar as he was concerned. His mother looked at him, and as it seemed toher that he was more ill and weak than usual, she said to him, "Giulio, you are ill. " And then, turning to his father with anxiety: "Giulio isill. See how pale he is Giulio, my dear, how do you feel?"

His father gave a hasty glance, and said: "It is his bad conscience thatproduces his bad health. He was not thus when he was a studious scholarand a loving son. "

"But he is ill!" exclaimed the mother.

"I don't care anything about him any longer!" replied the father.

This remark was like a stab in the heart to the poor boy. Ah! he carednothing any more. His father, who once trembled at the mere sound of acough from him! He no longer loved him; there was no longer any doubt;he was dead in his father's heart. "Ah, no! my father, " said the boy tohimself, his heart oppressed with anguish, "now all is over indeed; Icannot live without your affection; I must have it all back. I will tellyou all; I will deceive you no longer. I will study as of old, come whatwill, if you will only love me once more, my poor father! Oh, this timeI am quite sure of my resolution!"

Nevertheless he rose that night again, by force of habit more thananything else; and when he was once up, he wanted to go and salute andsee once more, for the last time, in the quiet of the night, that littlechamber where he toiled so much in secret with his heart full ofsatisfaction and tenderness. And when he beheld again that little tablewith the lamp lighted and those white wrappers on which he was nevermore to write those names of towns and persons, which he had come toknow by heart, he was seized with a great sadness, and with an impetuousmovement he grasped the pen to recommence his accustomed toil. But inreaching out his hand he struck a book, and the book fell. The bloodrushed to his heart. What if his father had waked! Certainly he wouldnot have discovered him in the commission of a bad deed: he had himselfdecided to tell him all, and yet--the sound of that step approaching inthe darkness, --the discovery at that hour, in that silence, --his mother, who would be awakened and alarmed, --and the thought, which had occurredto him for the first time, that his father might feel humiliated in hispresence on thus discovering all;--all this terrified him almost. Hebent his ear, with suspended breath. He heard no sound. He laid his earto the lock of the door behind him--nothing. The whole house was asleep. His father had not heard. He recovered his composure, and he set himselfagain to his writing, and wrapper was piled on wrapper. He heard theregular tread of the policeman below in the deserted street; then therumble of a carriage which gradually died away; then, after an interval, the rattle of a file of carts, which passed slowly by; then a profoundsilence, broken from time to time by the distant barking of a dog. Andhe wrote on and on: and meanwhile his father was behind him. He hadrisen on hearing the fall of the book, and had remained waiting for along time: the rattle of the carts had drowned the noise of hisfootsteps and the creaking of the door-casing; and he was there, withhis white head bent over Giulio's little black head, and he had seen thepen flying over the wrappers, and in an instant he had divined all, remembered all, understood all, and a despairing penitence, but at thesame time an immense tenderness, had taken possession of his mind andhad held him nailed to the spot suffocating behind his child. SuddenlyGiulio uttered a piercing shriek: two arms had pressed his headconvulsively.

"Oh, papa, papa! forgive me, forgive me!" he cried, recognizing hisparent by his weeping.

"Do you forgive me!" replied his father, sobbing, and covering his browwith kisses. "I have understood all, I know all; it is I, it is I whoask your pardon, my blessed little creature; come, come with me!" and hepushed or rather carried him to the bedside of his mother, who wasawake, and throwing him into her arms, he said:--

"Kiss this little angel of a son, who has not slept for three months, but has been toiling for me, while I was saddening his heart, and he wasearning our bread!" The mother pressed him to her breast and held himthere, without the power to speak; at last she said: "Go to sleep atonce, my baby, go to sleep and rest. --Carry him to bed. "

The father took him from her arms, carried him to his room, and laid himin his bed, still breathing hard and caressing him, and arranged hispillows and coverlets for him.

"Thanks, papa, " the child kept repeating; "thanks; but go to bedyourself now; I am content; go to bed, papa. "

But his father wanted to see him fall asleep; so he sat down beside thebed, took his hand, and said to him, "Sleep, sleep, my little son!" andGiulio, being weak, fell asleep at last, and slumbered many hours, enjoying, for the first time in many months, a tranquil sleep, enlivenedby pleasant dreams; and as he opened his eyes, when the sun had alreadybeen shining for a tolerably long time, he first felt, and then saw, close to his breast, and resting upon the edge of the little bed, thewhite head of his father, who had passed the night thus, and who wasstill asleep, with his brow against his son's heart.

WILL.

Wednesday, 28th.

There is Stardi in my school, who would have the force to do what thelittle Florentine did. This morning two events occurred at the school:Garoffi, wild with delight, because his album had been returned to him, with the addition of three postage-stamps of the Republic of Guatemala, which he had been seeking for three months; and Stardi, who took thesecond medal; Stardi the next in the class after Derossi! All wereamazed at it. Who could ever have foretold it, when, in October, hisfather brought him to school bundled up in that big green coat, and saidto the master, in presence of every one:--

"You must have a great deal of patience with him, because he is veryhard of understanding!"

Every one credited him with a wooden head from the very beginning. Buthe said, "I will burst or I will succeed, " and he set to work doggedly, to studying day and night, at home, at school, while walking, with setteeth and clenched fists, patient as an ox, obstinate as a mule; andthus, by dint of trampling on every one, disregarding mockery, anddealing kicks to disturbers, this big thick-head passed in advance ofthe rest. He understood not the first thing of arithmetic, he filled hiscompositions with absurdities, he never succeeded in retaining a phrasein his mind; and now he solves problems, writes correctly, and sings hislessons like a song. And his iron will can be divined from the seeinghow he is made, so very thickset and squat, with a square head and noneck, with short, thick hands, and coarse voice. He studies even onscraps of newspaper, and on theatre bills, and every time that he hasten soldi, he buys a book; he has already collected a little library, and in a moment of good humor he allowed the promise to slip from hismouth that he would take me home and show it to me. He speaks to no one, he plays with no one, he is always on hand, on his bench, with his fistspressed to his temples, firm as a rock, listening to the teacher. How hemust have toiled, poor Stardi! The master said to him this morning, although he was impatient and in a bad humor, when he bestowed themedals:--

"Bravo, Stardi! he who endures, conquers. " But the latter did not appearin the least puffed up with pride--he did not smile; and no sooner hadhe returned to his seat, with the medal, than he planted his fists onhis temples again, and became more motionless and more attentive thanbefore. But the finest thing happened when he went out of school; forhis father, a blood-letter, as big and squat as himself, with a hugeface and a huge voice, was there waiting for him. He had not expectedthis medal, and he was not willing to believe in it, so that it wasnecessary for the master to reassure him, and then he began to laughheartily, and tapped his son on the back of the neck, sayingenergetically, "Bravo! good! my dear pumpkin; you'll do!" and he staredat him, astonished and smiling. And all the boys around him smiled too, except Stardi. He was already ruminating the lesson for to-morrowmorning in that huge head of his.

GRATITUDE.

Saturday, 31st.

Your comrade Stardi never complains of his teacher; I am sure of that. "The master was in a bad temper, was impatient, "--you say it in a tone of resentment. Think an instant how often you give way to acts of impatience, and towards whom? towards your father and your mother, towards whom your impatience is a crime. Your master has very good cause to be impatient at times! Reflect that he has been laboring for boys these many years, and that if he has found many affectionate and noble individuals among them, he has also found many ungrateful ones, who have abused his kindness and ignored his toils; and that, between you all, you cause him far more bitterness than satisfaction. Reflect, that the most holy man on earth, if placed in his position, would allow himself to be conquered by wrath now and then. And then, if you only knew how often the teacher goes to give a lesson to a sick boy, all alone, because he is not ill enough to be excused from school and is impatient on account of his suffering, and is pained to see that the rest of you do not notice it, or abuse it! Respect, love, your master, my son. Love him, also, because your father loves and respects him; because he consecrates his life to the welfare of so many boys who will forget him; love him because he opens and enlightens your intelligence and educates your mind; because one of these days, when you have become a man, and when neither I nor he shall be in the world, his image will often present itself to your mind, side by side with mine, and then you will see certain expressions of sorrow and fatigue in his honest countenance to which you now pay no heed: you will recall them, and they will pain you, even after the lapse of thirty years; and you will feel ashamed, you will feel sad at not having loved him, at having behaved badly to him. Love your master; for he belongs to that vast family of fifty thousand elementary instructors, scattered throughout all Italy, who are the intellectual fathers of the millions of boys who are growing up with you; the laborers, hardly recognized and poorly recompensed, who are preparing in our country a people superior to those of the present. I am not content with the affection which you have for me, if you have it not also for all those who are doing you good, and among these, your master stands first, after your parents. Love him as you would love a brother of mine; love him when he caresses and when he reproves you; when he is just, and when he appears to you to be unjust; love him when he is amiable and gracious; and love him even more when you see him sad. Love him always. And always pronounce with reverence that name of "teacher, " which, after that of your father, is the noblest, the sweetest name which one man can apply to another man.

THY FATHER.

JANUARY.

THE ASSISTANT MASTER.

Wednesday, 4th.

MY father was right; the master was in a bad humor because he was notwell; for the last three days, in fact, the assistant has been coming inhis stead, --that little man, without a beard, who seems like a youth. Ashameful thing happened this morning. There had been an uproar on thefirst and second days, in the school, because the assistant is verypatient and does nothing but say, "Be quiet, be quiet, I beg of you. "

But this morning they passed all bounds. Such a noise arose, that hiswords were no longer audible, and he admonished and besought; but it wasa mere waste of breath. Twice the head-master appeared at the door andlooked in; but the moment he disappeared the murmur increased as in amarket. It was in vain that Derossi and Garrone turned round and madesigns to their comrades to be good, so that it was a shame. No one paidany heed to them. Stardi alone remained quiet, with his elbows on thebench, and his fists to his temples, meditating, perhaps, on his famouslibrary; and Garoffi, that boy with the hooked nose and thepostage-stamps, who was wholly occupied in making a catalogue of thesubscribers at two centesimi each, for a lottery for a pocket inkstand. The rest chattered and laughed, pounded on the points of pens fixed inthe benches, and snapped pellets of paper at each other with theelastics of their garters.

The assistant grasped now one, now another, by the arm, and shook him;and he placed one of them against the wall--time wasted. He no longerknew what to do, and he entreated them. "Why do you behave like this? Doyou wish me to punish you by force?" Then he thumped the little tablewith his fist, and shouted in a voice of wrath and lamentation, "Silence! silence! silence!" It was difficult to hear him. But theuproar continued to increase. Franti threw a paper dart at him, someuttered cat-calls, others thumped each other on the head; thehurly-burly was indescribable; when, all of a sudden, the beadle enteredand said:--

"Signor Master, the head-master has sent for you. " The master rose andwent out in haste, with a gesture of despair. Then the tumult began morevigorously than ever. But suddenly Garrone sprang up, his face allconvulsed, and his fists clenched, and shouted in a voice choked withrage:--

"Stop this! You are brutes! You take advantage of him because he iskind. If he were to bruise your bones for you, you would be as abject asdogs. You are a pack of cowards! The first one of you that jeers at himagain, I shall wait for outside, and I will break his teeth, --I swearit, --even under the very eyes of his father!"

All became silent. Ah, what a fine thing it was to see Garrone, with hiseyes darting flames! He seemed to be a furious young lion. He stared atthe most daring, one after the other, and all hung their heads. When theassistant re-entered, with red eyes, not a breath was audible. He stoodin amazement; then, catching sight of Garrone, who was still all fieryand trembling, he understood it all, and he said to him, with accents ofgreat affection, as he might have spoken to a brother, "I thank you, Garrone. "

STARDI'S LIBRARY.

I have been home with Stardi, who lives opposite the schoolhouse; and Ireally experienced a feeling of envy at the sight of his library. He isnot at all rich, and he cannot buy many books; but he preserves hisschoolbooks with great care, as well as those which his relatives givehim; and he lays aside every soldo that is given to him, and spends itat the bookseller's. In this way he has collected a little library; andwhen his father perceived that he had this passion, he bought him ahandsome bookcase of walnut wood, with a green curtain, and he has hadmost of his volumes bound for him in the colors that he likes. Thus whenhe draws a little cord, the green curtain runs aside, and three rows ofbooks of every color become visible, all ranged in order, and shining, with gilt titles on their backs, --books of tales, of travels, and ofpoetry; and some illustrated ones. And he understands how to combinecolors well: he places the white volumes next to the red ones, theyellow next the black, the blue beside the white, so that, viewed from adistance, they make a very fine appearance; and he amuses himself byvarying the combinations. He has made himself a catalogue. He is like alibrarian. He is always standing near his books, dusting them, turningover the leaves, examining the bindings: it is something to see the carewith which he opens them, with his big, stubby hands, and blows betweenthe pages: then they seem perfectly new again. I have worn out all ofmine. It is a festival for him to polish off every new book that hebuys, to put it in its place, and to pick it up again to take anotherlook at it from all sides, and to brood over it as a treasure. He showedme nothing else for a whole hour. His eyes were troubling him, becausehe had read too much. At a certain time his father, who is large andthickset like himself, with a big head like his, entered the room, andgave him two or three taps on the nape of the neck, saying with thathuge voice of his:--

"What do you think of him, eh? of this head of bronze? It is a stouthead, that will succeed in anything, I assure you!"

And Stardi half closed his eyes, under these rough caresses, like a bighunting-dog. I do not know, I did not dare to jest with him; it did notseem true to me, that he was only a year older than myself; and when hesaid to me, "Farewell until we meet again, " at the door, with that faceof his that always seems wrathful, I came very near replying to him, "Isalute you, sir, " as to a man. I told my father afterwards, at home: "Idon't understand it; Stardi has no natural talent, he has not finemanners, and his face is almost ridiculous; yet he suggests ideas tome. " And my father answered, "It is because he has character. " And Iadded, "During the hour that I spent with him he did not utter fiftywords, he did not show me a single plaything, he did not laugh once; yetI liked to go there. "

And my father answered, "That is because you esteem him. "

THE SON OF THE BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER.

Yes, but I also esteem Precossi; and to say that I esteem him is notenough, --Precossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger, --that thinlittle fellow, who has kind, melancholy eyes and a frightened air; whois so timid that he says to every one, "Excuse me"; who is alwayssickly, and who, nevertheless, studies so much. His father returns home, intoxicated with brandy, and beats him without the slightest reason inthe world, and flings his books and his copy-books in the air with abackward turn of his hand; and he comes to school with the black andblue marks on his face, and sometimes with his face all swollen, and hiseyes inflamed with much weeping. But never, never can he be made toacknowledge that his father beats him.

"Your father has been beating you, " his companions say to him; and heinstantly exclaims, "That is not true! it is not true!" for the sake ofnot dishonoring his father.

"You did not burn this leaf, " the teacher says to him, showing him hiswork, half burned.

"Yes, " he replies, in a trembling voice; "I let it fall on the fire. "

But we know very well, nevertheless, that his drunken father overturnedthe table and the light with a kick, while the boy was doing his work. He lives in a garret of our house, on another staircase. The portresstells my mother everything: my sister Silvia heard him screaming fromthe terrace one day, when his father had sent him headlong down stairs, because he had asked for a few soldi to buy a grammar. His fatherdrinks, but does not work, and his family suffers from hunger. How oftenPrecossi comes to school with an empty stomach and nibbles in secret ata roll which Garrone has given him, or at an apple brought to him by theschoolmistress with the red feather, who was his teacher in the firstlower class. But he never says, "I am hungry; my father does not give meanything to eat. " His father sometimes comes for him, when he chances tobe passing the schoolhouse, --pallid, unsteady on his legs, with a fierceface, and his hair over his eyes, and his cap awry; and the poor boytrembles all over when he catches sight of him in the street; but heimmediately runs to meet him, with a smile; and his father does notappear to see him, but seems to be thinking of something else. PoorPrecossi! He mends his torn copy-books, borrows books to study hislessons, fastens the fragments of his shirt together with pins; and itis a pity to see him performing his gymnastics, with those huge shoes inwhich he is fairly lost, in those trousers which drag on the ground, andthat jacket which is too long, and those huge sleeves turned back to thevery elbows. And he studies; he does his best; he would be one of thefirst, if he were able to work at home in peace. This morning he came toschool with the marks of finger-nails on one cheek, and they all beganto say to him:--

"It is your father, and you cannot deny it this time; it was your fatherwho did that to you. Tell the head-master about it, and he will have himcalled to account for it. "

But he sprang up, all flushed, with a voice trembling withindignation:--

"It's not true! it's not true! My father never beats me!"

But afterwards, during lesson time, his tears fell upon the bench, andwhen any one looked at him, he tried to smile, in order that he mightnot show it. Poor Precossi! To-morrow Derossi, Coretti, and Nelli arecoming to my house; I want to tell him to come also; and I want to havehim take luncheon with me: I want to treat him to books, and turn thehouse upside down to amuse him, and to fill his pockets with fruit, forthe sake of seeing him contented for once, poor Precossi! who is so goodand so courageous.

A FINE VISIT.

Thursday, 12th.

This has been one of the finest Thursdays of the year for me. At twoo'clock, precisely, Derossi and Coretti came to the house, with Nelli, the hunchback: Precossi was not permitted by his father to come. Derossiand Coretti were still laughing at their encounter with Crossi, the sonof the vegetable-seller, in the street, --the boy with the useless armand the red hair, --who was carrying a huge cabbage for sale, and withthe soldo which he was to receive for the cabbage he was to go and buy apen. He was perfectly happy because his father had written from Americathat they might expect him any day. Oh, the two beautiful hours that wepassed together! Derossi and Coretti are the two jolliest boys in theschool; my father fell in love with them. Coretti had on hischocolate-colored tights and his catskin cap. He is a lively imp, whowants to be always doing something, stirring up something, settingsomething in motion. He had already carried on his shoulders half acartload of wood, early that morning; nevertheless, he galloped allover the house, taking note of everything and talking incessantly, assprightly and nimble as a squirrel; and passing into the kitchen, heasked the cook how much we had to pay a myriagramme for wood, becausehis father sells it at forty-five centesimi. He is always talking of hisfather, of the time when he was a soldier in the 49th regiment, at thebattle of Custoza, where he served in the squadron of Prince Umberto;and he is so gentle in his manners! It makes no difference that he wasborn and brought up surrounded by wood: he has nobility in his blood, inhis heart, as my father says. And Derossi amused us greatly; he knowsgeography like a master: he shut his eyes and said:--

"There, I see the whole of Italy; the Apennines, which extend to theIonian Sea, the rivers flowing here and there, the white cities, thegulfs, the blue bays, the green islands;" and he repeated the namescorrectly in their order and very rapidly, as though he were readingthem on the map; and at the sight of him standing thus, with his headheld high, with all his golden curls, with his closed eyes, and alldressed in bright blue with gilt buttons, as straight and handsome as astatue, we were all filled with admiration. In one hour he had learnedby heart nearly three pages, which he is to recite the day afterto-morrow, for the anniversary of the funeral of King Vittorio. And evenNelli gazed at him in wonder and affection, as he rubbed the folds ofhis apron of black cloth, and smiled with his clear and mournful eyes. This visit gave me a great deal of pleasure; it left something likesparks in my mind and my heart. And it pleased me, too, when they wentaway, to see poor Nelli between the other two tall, strong fellows, whocarried him home on their arms, and made him laugh as I have never seenhim laugh before. On returning to the dining-room, I perceived that thepicture representing Rigoletto, the hunchbacked jester, was no longerthere. My father had taken it away in order that Nelli might not see it.

THE FUNERAL OF VITTORIO EMANUELE.

January, 17th.

To-day, at two o'clock, as soon as we entered the schoolroom, the mastercalled up Derossi, who went and took his place in front of the littletable facing us, and began to recite, in his vibrating tones, graduallyraising his limpid voice, and growing flushed in the face:--

"Four years ago, on this day, at this hour, there arrived in front ofthe Pantheon at Rome, the funeral car which bore the body of VittorioEmanuele II. , the first king of Italy, dead after a reign of twenty-nineyears, during which the great Italian fatherland, broken up into sevenstates, and oppressed by strangers and by tyrants, had been brought backto life in one single state, free and independent; after a reign oftwenty-nine years, which he had made illustrious and beneficent with hisvalor, with loyalty, with boldness amid perils, with wisdom amidtriumphs, with constancy amid misfortunes. The funeral car arrived, laden with wreaths, after having traversed Rome under a rain of flowers, amid the silence of an immense and sorrowing multitude, which hadassembled from every part of Italy; preceded by a legion of generals andby a throng of ministers and princes, followed by a retinue of crippledveterans, by a forest of banners, by the envoys of three hundred towns, by everything which represents the power and the glory of a people, itarrived before the august temple where the tomb awaited it. At thatmoment twelve cuirassiers removed the coffin from the car. At thatmoment Italy bade her last farewell to her dead king, to her old kingwhom she had loved so dearly, the last farewell to her soldier, to herfather, to the twenty-nine most fortunate and most blessed years in herhistory. It was a grand and solemn moment. The looks, the souls, of allwere quivering at the sight of that coffin and the darkened banners ofthe eighty regiments of the army of Italy, borne by eighty officers, drawn up in line on its passage: for Italy was there in those eightytokens, which recalled the thousands of dead, the torrents of blood, ourmost sacred glories, our most holy sacrifices, our most tremendousgriefs. The coffin, borne by the cuirassiers, passed, and then thebanners bent forward all together in salute, --the banners of the newregiments, the old, tattered banners of Goito, of Pastrengo, of SantaLucia, of Novara, of the Crimea, of Palestro, of San Martino, ofCastelfidardo; eighty black veils fell, a hundred medals clashed againstthe staves, and that sonorous and confused uproar, which stirred theblood of all, was like the sound of a thousand human voices saying alltogether, 'Farewell, good king, gallant king, loyal king! Thou wilt livein the heart of thy people as long as the sun shall shine over Italy. '

"After this, the banners rose heavenward once more, and King Vittorioentered into the immortal glory of the tomb. "

FRANTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL.

Saturday, 21st.

Only one boy was capable of laughing while Derossi was declaiming thefuneral oration of the king, and Franti laughed. I detest that fellow. He is wicked. When a father comes to the school to reprove his son, heenjoys it; when any one cries, he laughs. He trembles before Garrone, and he strikes the little mason because he is small; he torments Crossibecause he has a helpless arm; he ridicules Precossi, whom every onerespects; he even jeers at Robetti, that boy in the second grade whowalks on crutches, through having saved a child. He provokes those whoare weaker than himself, and when it comes to blows, he grows ferociousand tries to do harm. There is something beneath that low forehead, inthose turbid eyes, which he keeps nearly concealed under the visor ofhis small cap of waxed cloth, which inspires a shudder. He fears no one;he laughs in the master's face; he steals when he gets a chance; hedenies it with an impenetrable countenance; he is always engaged in aquarrel with some one; he brings big pins to school, to prick hisneighbors with; he tears the buttons from his own jackets and from thoseof others, and plays with them: his paper, books, and copy-books are allcrushed, torn, dirty; his ruler is jagged, his pens gnawed, his nailsbitten, his clothes covered with stains and rents which he has got inhis brawls. They say that his mother has fallen ill from the troublethat he causes her, and that his father has driven him from the housethree times; his mother comes every now and then to make inquiries, andshe always goes away in tears. He hates school, he hates hiscompanions, he hates the teacher. The master sometimes pretends not tosee his rascalities, and he behaves all the worse. He tried to get ahold on him by kind treatment, and the boy ridiculed him for it. He saidterrible things to him, and the boy covered his face with his hands, asthough he were crying; but he was laughing. He was suspended from schoolfor three days, and he returned more perverse and insolent than before. Derossi said to him one day, "Stop it! don't you see how much theteacher suffers?" and the other threatened to stick a nail into hisstomach. But this morning, at last, he got himself driven out like adog. While the master was giving to Garrone the rough draft of _TheSardinian Drummer-Boy_, the monthly story for January, to copy, he threwa petard on the floor, which exploded, making the schoolroom resound asfrom a discharge of musketry. The whole class was startled by it. Themaster sprang to his feet, and cried:--

"Franti, leave the school!"

The latter retorted, "It wasn't I;" but he laughed. The masterrepeated:--

"Go!"

"I won't stir, " he answered.

Then the master lost his temper, and flung himself upon him, seized himby the arms, and tore him from his seat. He resisted, ground his teeth, and made him carry him out by main force. The master bore him thus, heavy as he was, to the head-master, and then returned to the schoolroomalone and seated himself at his little table, with his head clutched inhis hands, gasping, and with an expression of such weariness and troublethat it was painful to look at him.

"After teaching school for thirty years!" he exclaimed sadly, shakinghis head. No one breathed. His hands were trembling with fury, and theperpendicular wrinkle that he has in the middle of his forehead was sodeep that it seemed like a wound. Poor master! All felt sorry for him. Derossi rose and said, "Signor Master, do not grieve. We love you. " Andthen he grew a little more tranquil, and said, "We will go on with thelesson, boys. "

THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY.

(_Monthly Story. _)

On the first day of the battle of Custoza, on the 24th of July, 1848, about sixty soldiers, belonging to an infantry regiment of our army, whohad been sent to an elevation to occupy an isolated house, suddenlyfound themselves assaulted by two companies of Austrian soldiers, who, showering them with bullets from various quarters, hardly gave them timeto take refuge in the house and to barricade the doors, after leavingseveral dead and wounded on the field. Having barred the doors, our menran in haste to the windows of the ground floor and the first story, andbegan to fire brisk discharges at their assailants, who, approachinggradually, ranged in a semicircle, made vigorous reply. The sixtyItalian soldiers were commanded by two non-commissioned officers and acaptain, a tall, dry, austere old man, with white hair and mustache; andwith them there was a Sardinian drummer-boy, a lad of a little overfourteen, who did not look twelve, small, with an olive-browncomplexion, and two small, deep, sparkling eyes. The captain directedthe defence from a room on the first floor, launching commands thatseemed like pistol-shots, and no sign of emotion was visible on his ironcountenance. The drummer-boy, a little pale, but firm on his legs, hadjumped upon a table, and was holding fast to the wall and stretching outhis neck in order to gaze out of the windows, and athwart the smoke onthe fields he saw the white uniforms of the Austrians, who were slowlyadvancing. The house was situated at the summit of a steep declivity, and on the side of the slope it had but one high window, correspondingto a chamber in the roof: therefore the Austrians did not threaten thehouse from that quarter, and the slope was free; the fire beat only uponthe front and the two ends.


But it was an infernal fire, a hailstorm of leaden bullets, which splitthe walls on the outside, ground the tiles to powder, and in theinterior cracked ceilings, furniture, window-frames, and door-frames, sending splinters of wood flying through the air, and clouds of plaster, and fragments of kitchen utensils and glass, whizzing, and rebounding, and breaking everything with a noise like the crushing of a skull. Fromtime to time one of the soldiers who were firing from the windows fellcrashing back to the floor, and was dragged to one side. Some staggeredfrom room to room, pressing their hands on their wounds. There wasalready one dead body in the kitchen, with its forehead cleft. Thesemicircle of the enemy was drawing together.

At a certain point the captain, hitherto impassive, was seen to make agesture of uneasiness, and to leave the room with huge strides, followedby a sergeant. Three minutes later the sergeant returned on a run, andsummoned the drummer-boy, making him a sign to follow. The lad followedhim at a quick pace up the wooden staircase, and entered with him intoa bare garret, where he saw the captain writing with a pencil on a sheetof paper, as he leaned against the little window; and on the floor athis feet lay the well-rope.

The captain folded the sheet of paper, and said sharply, as he fixed hiscold gray eyes, before which all the soldiers trembled, on the boy:--

"Drummer!"

The drummer-boy put his hand to his visor.

The captain said, "You have courage. "

The boy's eyes flashed.

"Yes, captain, " he replied.

"Look down there, " said the captain, pushing him to the window; "on theplain, near the houses of Villafranca, where there is a gleam ofbayonets. There stand our troops, motionless. You are to take thisbillet, tie yourself to the rope, descend from the window, get down thatslope in an instant, make your way across the fields, arrive at our men, and give the note to the first officer you see. Throw off your belt andknapsack. "

The drummer took off his belt and knapsack and thrust the note into hisbreast pocket; the sergeant flung the rope out of the window, and heldone end of it clutched fast in his hands; the captain helped the lad toclamber out of the small window, with his back turned to the landscape.

"Now look out, " he said; "the salvation of this detachment lies in yourcourage and in your legs. "

"Trust to me, Signor Captain, " replied the drummer-boy, as he lethimself down.

"Bend over on the slope, " said the captain, grasping the rope, with thesergeant.

"Never fear. "

"God aid you!"

In a few moments the drummer-boy was on the ground; the sergeant drew inthe rope and disappeared; the captain stepped impetuously in front ofthe window and saw the boy flying down the slope.

He was already hoping that he had succeeded in escaping unobserved, whenfive or six little puffs of powder, which rose from the earth in frontof and behind the lad, warned him that he had been espied by theAustrians, who were firing down upon him from the top of the elevation:these little clouds were thrown into the air by the bullets. But thedrummer continued to run at a headlong speed. All at once he fell to theearth. "He is killed!" roared the captain, biting his fist. But beforehe had uttered the word he saw the drummer spring up again. "Ah, only afall, " he said to himself, and drew a long breath. The drummer, in fact, set out again at full speed; but he limped. "He has turned his ankle, "thought the captain. Again several cloudlets of powder smoke rose hereand there about the lad, but ever more distant. He was safe. The captainuttered an exclamation of triumph. But he continued to follow him withhis eyes, trembling because it was an affair of minutes: if he did notarrive yonder in the shortest possible time with that billet, whichcalled for instant succor, either all his soldiers would be killed or heshould be obliged to surrender himself a prisoner with them.

The boy ran rapidly for a space, then relaxed his pace and limped, thenresumed his course, but grew constantly more fatigued, and every littlewhile he stumbled and paused.

"Perhaps a bullet has grazed him, " thought the captain, and he noted allhis movements, quivering with excitement; and he encouraged him, hespoke to him, as though he could hear him; he measured incessantly, witha flashing eye, the space intervening between the fleeing boy and thatgleam of arms which he could see in the distance on the plain amid thefields of grain gilded by the sun. And meanwhile he heard the whistleand the crash of the bullets in the rooms beneath, the imperious andangry shouts of the sergeants and the officers, the piercing laments ofthe wounded, the ruin of furniture, and the fall of rubbish.

"On! courage!" he shouted, following the far-off drummer with hisglance. "Forward! run! He halts, that cursed boy! Ah, he resumes hiscourse!"

An officer came panting to tell him that the enemy, without slackeningtheir fire, were flinging out a white flag to hint at a surrender. "Don't reply to them!" he cried, without detaching his eyes from theboy, who was already on the plain, but who was no longer running, andwho seemed to be dragging himself along with difficulty.

"Go! run!" said the captain, clenching his teeth and his fists; "letthem kill you; die, you rascal, but go!" Then he uttered a horribleoath. "Ah, the infamous poltroon! he has sat down!" In fact, the boy, whose head he had hitherto been able to see projecting above a field ofgrain, had disappeared, as though he had fallen; but, after the lapse ofa minute, his head came into sight again; finally, it was lost behindthe hedges, and the captain saw it no more.

Then he descended impetuously; the bullets were coming in a tempest; therooms were encumbered with the wounded, some of whom were whirling roundlike drunken men, and clutching at the furniture; the walls and floorwere bespattered with blood; corpses lay across the doorways; thelieutenant had had his arm shattered by a ball; smoke and clouds of dustenveloped everything.

"Courage!" shouted the captain. "Stand firm at your post! Succor is onthe way! Courage for a little while longer!"

The Austrians had approached still nearer: their contorted faces werealready visible through the smoke, and amid the crash of the firingtheir savage and offensive shouts were audible, as they uttered insults, suggested a surrender, and threatened slaughter. Some soldiers wereterrified, and withdrew from the windows; the sergeants drove themforward again. But the fire of the defence weakened; discouragement madeits appearance on all faces. It was not possible to protract theresistance longer. At a given moment the fire of the Austriansslackened, and a thundering voice shouted, first in German and then inItalian, "Surrender!"

"No!" howled the captain from a window.

And the firing recommenced more fast and furious on both sides. Moresoldiers fell. Already more than one window was without defenders. Thefatal moment was near at hand. The captain shouted through his teeth, ina strangled voice, "They are not coming! they are not coming!" andrushed wildly about, twisting his sword about in his convulsivelyclenched hand, and resolved to die; when a sergeant descending from thegarret, uttered a piercing shout, "They are coming!" "They are coming!"repeated the captain, with a cry of joy.

At that cry all, well and wounded, sergeants and officers, rushed to thewindows, and the resistance became fierce once more. A few moments latera sort of uncertainty was noticeable, and a beginning of disorder amongthe foe. Suddenly the captain hastily collected a little troop in theroom on the ground floor, in order to make a sortie with fixed bayonets. Then he flew up stairs. Scarcely had he arrived there when they heard ahasty trampling of feet, accompanied by a formidable hurrah, and sawfrom the windows the two-pointed hats of the Italian carabineersadvancing through the smoke, a squadron rushing forward at great speed, and a lightning flash of blades whirling in the air, as they fell onheads, on shoulders, and on backs. Then the troop darted out of thedoor, with bayonets lowered; the enemy wavered, were thrown intodisorder, and turned their backs; the field was left unincumbered, thehouse was free, and a little later two battalions of Italian infantryand two cannons occupied the eminence.

The captain, with the soldiers that remained to him, rejoined hisregiment, went on fighting, and was slightly wounded in the left hand bya bullet on the rebound, in the final assault with bayonets.

The day ended with the victory on our side.

But on the following day, the conflict having begun again, the Italianswere overpowered by the overwhelming numbers of the Austrians, in spiteof a valorous resistance, and on the morning of the 27th they sadlyretreated towards the Mincio.

The captain, although wounded, made the march on foot with his soldiers, weary and silent, and, arrived at the close of the day at Goito, on theMincio, he immediately sought out his lieutenant, who had been picked upwith his arm shattered, by our ambulance corps, and who must havearrived before him. He was directed to a church, where the fieldhospital had been installed in haste. Thither he betook himself. Thechurch was full of wounded men, ranged in two lines of beds, and onmattresses spread on the floor; two doctors and numerous assistants weregoing and coming, busily occupied; and suppressed cries and groans wereaudible.

No sooner had the captain entered than he halted and cast a glancearound, in search of his officer.

At that moment he heard himself called in a weak voice, --"SignorCaptain!" He turned round. It was his drummer-boy. He was lying on a cotbed, covered to the breast with a coarse window curtain, in red andwhite squares, with his arms on the outside, pale and thin, but witheyes which still sparkled like black gems.

"Are you here?" asked the captain, amazed, but still sharply. "Bravo!You did your duty. "

"I did all that I could, " replied the drummer-boy.

"Were you wounded?" said the captain, seeking with his eyes for hisofficer in the neighboring beds.

"What could one expect?" said the lad, who gained courage by speaking, expressing the lofty satisfaction of having been wounded for the firsttime, without which he would not have dared to open his mouth in thepresence of this captain; "I had a fine run, all bent over, but suddenlythey caught sight of me. I should have arrived twenty minutes earlier ifthey had not hit me. Luckily, I soon came across a captain of the staff, to whom I gave the note. But it was hard work to get down after thatcaress! I was dying of thirst. I was afraid that I should not get thereat all. I wept with rage at the thought that at every moment of delayanother man was setting out yonder for the other world. But enough! Idid what I could. I am content. But, with your permission, captain, youshould look to yourself: you are losing blood. "

Several drops of blood had in fact trickled down on the captain'sfingers from his imperfectly bandaged palm.

"Would you like to have me give the bandage a turn, captain? Hold ithere a minute. "

The captain held out his left hand, and stretched out his right to helpthe lad to loosen the knot and to tie it again; but no sooner had theboy raised himself from his pillow than he turned pale and was obligedto support his head once more.

"That will do, that will do, " said the captain, looking at him andwithdrawing his bandaged hand, which the other tried to retain. "Attendto your own affairs, instead of thinking of others, for things that arenot severe may become serious if they are neglected. "

The drummer-boy shook his head.

"But you, " said the captain, observing him attentively, "must have losta great deal of blood to be as weak as this. "

"Must have lost a great deal of blood!" replied the boy, with a smile. "Something else besides blood: look here. " And with one movement he drewaside the coverlet.

The captain started back a pace in horror.

The lad had but one leg. His left leg had been amputated above the knee;the stump was swathed in blood-stained cloths.

At that moment a small, plump, military surgeon passed, in hisshirt-sleeves. "Ah, captain, " he said, rapidly, nodding towards thedrummer, "this is an unfortunate case; there is a leg that might havebeen saved if he had not exerted himself in such a crazy manner--thatcursed inflammation! It had to be cut off away up here. Oh, but he's abrave lad. I can assure you! He never shed a tear, nor uttered a cry!He was proud of being an Italian boy, while I was performing theoperation, upon my word of honor. He comes of a good race, by Heavens!"And away he went, on a run.

The captain wrinkled his heavy white brows, gazed fixedly at thedrummer-boy, and spread the coverlet over him again, and slowly, then asthough unconsciously, and still gazing intently at him, he raised hishand to his head, and lifted his cap.

"Signor Captain!" exclaimed the boy in amazement. "What are you doing, captain? To me!"

And then that rough soldier, who had never said a gentle word to aninferior, replied in an indescribably sweet and affectionate voice, "Iam only a captain; you are a hero. "

Then he threw himself with wide-spread arms upon the drummer-boy, andkissed him three times upon the heart.

THE LOVE OF COUNTRY.

Tuesday, 24th.

Since the tale of the _Drummer-boy_ has touched your heart, it should be easy for you this morning to do your composition for examination--_Why you love Italy_--well. Why do I love Italy? Do not a hundred answers present themselves to you on the instant? I love Italy because my mother is an Italian; because the blood that flows in my veins is Italian; because the soil in which are buried the dead whom my mother mourns and whom my father venerates is Italian; because the town in which I was born, the language that I speak, the books that educate me, --because my brother, my sister, my comrades, the great people among whom I live, and the beautiful nature which surrounds me, and all that I see, that I love, that I study, that I admire, is Italian. Oh, you cannot feel that affection in its entirety! You will feel it when you become a man; when, returning from a long journey, after a prolonged absence, you step up in the morning to the bulwarks of the vessel and see on the distant horizon the lofty blue mountains of your country; you will feel it then in the impetuous flood of tenderness which will fill your eyes with tears and will wrest a cry from your heart. You will feel it in some great and distant city, in that impulse of the soul which will impel you from the strange throng towards a workingman from whom you have heard in passing a word in your own tongue. You will feel it in that sad and proud wrath which will drive the blood to your brow when you hear insults to your country from the mouth of a stranger. You will feel it in more proud and vigorous measure on the day when the menace of a hostile race shall call forth a tempest of fire upon your country, and when you shall behold arms raging on every side, youths thronging in legions, fathers kissing their children and saying, "Courage!" mothers bidding adieu to their young sons and crying, "Conquer!" You will feel it like a joy divine if you have the good fortune to behold the re-entrance to your town of the regiments, weary, ragged, with thinned ranks, yet terrible, with the splendor of victory in their eyes, and their banners torn by bullets, followed by a vast convoy of brave fellows, bearing their bandaged heads and their stumps of arms loftily, amid a wild throng, which covers them with flowers, with blessings, and with kisses. Then you will comprehend the love of country; then you will feel your country, Enrico. It is a grand and sacred thing. May I one day see you return in safety from a battle fought for her, safe, --you who are my flesh and soul; but if I should learn that you have preserved your life because you were concealed from death, your father, who welcomes you with a cry of joy when you return from school, will receive you with a sob of anguish, and I shall never be able to love you again, and I shall die with that dagger in my heart.

THY FATHER.

ENVY.

Wednesday, 25th.

The boy who wrote the best composition of all on our country wasDerossi, as usual. And Votini, who thought himself sure of the firstmedal--I like Votini well enough, although he is rather vain and doespolish himself up a trifle too much, --but it makes me scorn him, nowthat I am his neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is ofDerossi. He would like to vie with him; he studies hard, but he cannotdo it by any possibility, for the other is ten times as strong as he ison every point; and Votini rails at him. Carlo Nobis envies him also;but he has so much pride in his body that, purely from pride, he doesnot allow it to be perceived. Votini, on the other hand, betrayshimself: he complains of his difficulties at home, and says that themaster is unjust to him; and when Derossi replies so promptly and sowell to questions, as he always does, his face clouds over, he hangs hishead, pretends not to hear, or tries to laugh, but he laughs awkwardly. And thus every one knows about it, so that when the master praisesDerossi they all turn to look at Votini, who chews his venom, and thelittle mason makes a hare's face at him. To-day, for instance, he wasput to the torture. The head-master entered the school and announced theresult of the examination, --"Derossi ten tenths and the first medal. "

Votini gave a huge sneeze. The master looked at him: it was not hard tounderstand the matter. "Votini, " he said, "do not let the serpent ofenvy enter your body; it is a serpent which gnaws at the brain andcorrupts the heart. "

[Illustration: "THEN THE TROOP DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR. "--Page 97. ]

Every one stared at him except Derossi. Votini tried to make someanswer, but could not; he sat there as though turned to stone, and witha white face. Then, while the master was conducting the lesson, he beganto write in large characters on a sheet of paper, "_I am not envious ofthose who gain the first medal through favoritism and injustice. _" Itwas a note which he meant to send to Derossi. But, in the meantime, Iperceived that Derossi's neighbors were plotting among themselves, andwhispering in each other's ears, and one cut with penknife from paper abig medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. But Votini did notnotice this. The master went out for a few moments. All at onceDerossi's neighbors rose and left their seats, for the purpose of comingand solemnly presenting the paper medal to Votini. The whole class wasprepared for a scene. Votini had already begun to quiver all over. Derossi exclaimed:--

"Give that to me!"

"So much the better, " they replied; "you are the one who ought to carryit. "

Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. At that moment the masterreturned, and resumed the lesson. I kept my eye on Votini. He had turnedas red as a coal. He took his sheet of paper very, very quietly, asthough in absence of mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put itinto his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out under thebench. When school broke up, Votini, who was a little confused, let fallhis blotting-paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely picked it up, put it in his satchel, and helped him to buckle the straps. Votini darednot raise his eyes.

FRANTI'S MOTHER.

Saturday, 28th.

But Votini is incorrigible. Yesterday morning, during the lesson onreligion, in the presence of the head-master, the teacher asked Derossiif he knew by heart the two couplets in the reading-book, --

"Where'er I turn my gaze, 'tis Thee, great God, I see. "

Derossi said that he did not, and Votini suddenly exclaimed, "I knowthem!" with a smile, as though to pique Derossi. But he was piquedhimself, instead, for he could not recite the poetry, because Franti'smother suddenly flew into the schoolroom, breathless, with her gray hairdishevelled and all wet with snow, and pushing before her her son, whohad been suspended from school for a week. What a sad scene we weredoomed to witness! The poor woman flung herself almost on her kneesbefore the head-master, with clasped hands, and besought him:--

"Oh, Signor Director, do me the favor to put my boy back in school! Hehas been at home for three days. I have kept him hidden; but God havemercy on him, if his father finds out about this affair: he will murderhim! Have pity! I no longer know what to do! I entreat you with my wholesoul!"

The director tried to lead her out, but she resisted, still continuingto pray and to weep.

"Oh, if you only knew the trouble that this boy has caused me, you wouldhave compassion! Do me this favor! I hope that he will reform. I shallnot live long, Signor Director; I bear death within me; but I shouldlike to see him reformed before my death, because"--and she broke into apassion of weeping--"he is my son--I love him--I shall die in despair!Take him back once more, Signor Director, that a misfortune may nothappen in the family! Do it out of pity for a poor woman!" And shecovered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Franti stood impassive, and hung his head. The head-master looked athim, reflected a little, then said, "Franti, go to your place. "

Then the woman removed her hands from her face, quite comforted, andbegan to express thanks upon thanks, without giving the director achance to speak, and made her way towards the door, wiping her eyes, andsaying hastily: "I beg of you, my son. --May all have patience. --Thanks, Signor Director; you have performed a deed of mercy. --Be a goodboy. --Good day, boys. --Thanks, Signor Teacher; good by, and forgive apoor mother. " And after bestowing another supplicating glance at her sonfrom the door, she went away, pulling up the shawl which was trailingafter her, pale, bent, with a head which still trembled, and we heardher coughing all the way down the stairs. The head-master gazed intentlyat Franti, amid the silence of the class, and said to him in accents ofa kind to make him tremble:--

"Franti, you are killing your mother!"

We all turned to look at Franti; and that infamous boy smiled.

HOPE.

Sunday, 29th.

Very beautiful, Enrico, was the impetuosity with which you flung yourself on your mother's heart on your return from your lesson of religion. Yes, your master said grand and consoling things to you. God threw you in each other's arms; he will never part you. When I die, when your father dies, we shall not speak to each other these despairing words, "Mamma, papa, Enrico, I shall never see you again!" We shall see each other again in another life, where he who has suffered much in this life will receive compensation; where he who has loved much on earth will find again the souls whom he has loved, in a world without sin, without sorrow, and without death. But we must all render ourselves worthy of that other life. Reflect, my son. Every good action of yours, every impulse of affection for those who love you, every courteous act towards your companions, every noble thought of yours, is like a leap towards that other world. And every misfortune, also, serves to raise you towards that world; every sorrow, for every sorrow is the expiation of a sin, every tear blots out a stain. Make it your rule to become better and more loving every day than the day before. Say every morning, "To-day I will do something for which my conscience will praise me, and with which my father will be satisfied; something which will render me beloved by such or such a comrade, by my teacher, by my brother, or by others. " And beseech God to give you the strength to put your resolution into practice. "Lord, I wish to be good, noble, courageous, gentle, sincere; help me; grant that every night, when my mother gives me her last kiss, I may be able to say to her, 'You kiss this night a nobler and more worthy boy than you kissed last night. '" Keep always in your thoughts that other superhuman and blessed Enrico which you may be after this life. And pray. You cannot imagine the sweetness that you experience, --how much better a mother feels when she sees her child with hands clasped in prayer. When I behold you praying, it seems impossible to me that there should not be some one there gazing at you and listening to you. Then I believe more firmly that there is a supreme goodness and an infinite pity; I love you more, I work with more ardor, I endure with more force, I forgive with all my heart, and I think of death with serenity. O great and good God! To hear once more, after death, the voice of my mother, to meet my children again, to see my Enrico once more, my Enrico, blessed and immortal, and to clasp him in an embrace which shall nevermore be loosed, nevermore, nevermore to all eternity! Oh, pray! let us pray, let us love each other, let us be good, let us bear this celestial hope in our hearts and souls, my adored child!

THY MOTHER.

FEBRUARY.

A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED.

Saturday, 4th.

THIS morning the superintendent of the schools, a gentleman with a whitebeard, and dressed in black, came to bestow the medals. He entered withthe head-master a little before the close and seated himself beside theteacher. He questioned a few, then gave the first medal to Derossi, andbefore giving the second, he stood for a few moments listening to theteacher and the head-master, who were talking to him in a low voice. Allwere asking themselves, "To whom will he give the second?" Thesuperintendent said aloud:--

"Pupil Pietro Precossi has merited the second medal this week, --meritedit by his work at home, by his lessons, by his handwriting, by hisconduct in every way. " All turned to look at Precossi, and it wasevident that all took pleasure in it. Precossi rose in such confusionthat he did not know where he stood.

"Come here, " said the superintendent. Precossi sprang up from his seatand stepped up to the master's table. The superintendent lookedattentively at that little waxen face, at that puny body enveloped inturned and ill-fitting garments, at those kind, sad eyes, which avoidedhis, but which hinted at a story of suffering; then he said to him, in avoice full of affection, as he fastened the medal on his shoulder:--

"I give you the medal, Precossi. No one is more worthy to wear it thanyou. I bestow it not only on your intelligence and your good will; Ibestow it on your heart, I give it to your courage, to your character ofa brave and good son. Is it not true, " he added, turning to the class, "that he deserves it also on that score?"

"Yes, yes!" all answered, with one voice. Precossi made a movement ofthe throat as though he were swallowing something, and cast upon thebenches a very sweet look, which was expressive of immense gratitude.

"Go, my dear boy, " said the superintendent; "and may God protect you!"

It was the hour for dismissing the school. Our class got out before theothers. As soon as we were outside the door, whom should we espy there, in the large hall, just at the entrance? The father of Precossi, theblacksmith, pallid as was his wont, with fierce face, hair hanging overhis eyes, his cap awry, and unsteady on his legs. The teacher caughtsight of him instantly, and whispered to the superintendent. The lattersought out Precossi in haste, and taking him by the hand, he led him tohis father. The boy was trembling. The boy and the superintendentapproached; many boys collected around them.

"Is it true that you are the father of this lad?" demanded thesuperintendent of the blacksmith, with a cheerful air, as though theywere friends. And, without awaiting a reply:--

"I rejoice with you. Look: he has won the second medal over fifty-fourof his comrades. He has deserved it by his composition, his arithmetic, everything. He is a boy of great intelligence and good will, who willaccomplish great things; a fine boy, who possesses the affection andesteem of all. You may feel proud of him, I assure you. "

The blacksmith, who had stood there with open mouth listening to him, stared at the superintendent and the head-master, and then at his son, who was standing before him with downcast eyes and trembling; and asthough he had remembered and comprehended then, for the first time, allthat he had made the little fellow suffer, and all the goodness, theheroic constancy, with which the latter had borne it, he displayed inhis countenance a certain stupid wonder, then a sullen remorse, andfinally a sorrowful and impetuous tenderness, and with a rapid gesturehe caught the boy round the head and strained him to his breast. We allpassed before them. I invited him to come to the house on Thursday, withGarrone and Crossi; others saluted him; one bestowed a caress on him, another touched his medal, all said something to him; and his fatherstared at us in amazement, as he still held his son's head pressed tohis breast, while the boy sobbed.

GOOD RESOLUTIONS.

Sunday, 5th.

That medal given to Precossi has awakened a remorse in me. I have neverearned one yet! For some time past I have not been studying, and I amdiscontented with myself, and the teacher, my father and mother arediscontented with me. I no longer experience the pleasure in amusingmyself that I did formerly, when I worked with a will, and then sprangup from the table and ran to my games full of mirth, as though I hadnot played for a month. Neither do I sit down to the table with myfamily with the same contentment as of old. I have always a shadow in mysoul, an inward voice, that says to me continually, "It won't do; itwon't do. "

In the evening I see a great many boys pass through the square on theirreturn from work, in the midst of a group of workingmen, weary butmerry. They step briskly along, impatient to reach their homes andsuppers, and they talk loudly, laughing and slapping each other on theshoulder with hands blackened with coal, or whitened with plaster; and Ireflect that they have been working since daybreak up to this hour. Andwith them are also many others, who are still smaller, who have beenstanding all day on the summits of roofs, in front of ovens, amongmachines, and in the water, and underground, with nothing to eat but alittle bread; and I feel almost ashamed, I, who in all that time haveaccomplished nothing but scribble four small pages, and thatreluctantly. Ah, I am discontented, discontented! I see plainly that myfather is out of humor, and would like to tell me so; but he is sorry, and he is still waiting. My dear father, who works so hard! all isyours, all that I see around me in the house, all that I touch, all thatI wear and eat, all that affords me instruction and diversion, --all isthe fruit of your toil, and I do not work; all has cost you thought, privations, trouble, effort; and I make no effort. Ah, no; this is toounjust, and causes me too much pain. I will begin this very day; I willapply myself to my studies, like Stardi, with clenched fists and setteeth. I will set about it with all the strength of my will and myheart. I will conquer my drowsiness in the evening, I will come downpromptly in the morning, I will cudgel my brains without ceasing, Iwill chastise my laziness without mercy. I will toil, suffer, even tothe extent of making myself ill; but I will put a stop, once for all, tothis languishing and tiresome life, which is degrading me and causingsorrow to others. Courage! to work! To work with all my soul, and all mynerves! To work, which will restore to me sweet repose, pleasing games, cheerful meals! To work, which will give me back again the kindly smileof my teacher, the blessed kiss of my father!

THE ENGINE.

Friday, 10th.

Precossi came to our house to-day with Garrone. I do not think that twosons of princes would have been received with greater delight. This isthe first time that Garrone has been here, because he is rather shy, andthen he is ashamed to show himself because he is so large, and is stillin the third grade. We all went to open the door when they rang. Crossidid not come, because his father has at last arrived from America, afteran absence of seven years. My mother kissed Precossi at once. My fatherintroduced Garrone to her, saying:--

"Here he is. This lad is not only a good boy; he is a man of honor and agentleman. "

And the boy dropped his big, shaggy head, with a sly smile at me. Precossi had on his medal, and he was happy, because his father has goneto work again, and has not drunk anything for the last five days, wantshim to be always in the workshop to keep him company, and seems quiteanother man.

We began to play, and I brought out all my things. Precossi wasenchanted with my train of cars, with the engine that goes of itself onbeing wound up. He had never seen anything of the kind. He devoured thelittle red and yellow cars with his eyes. I gave him the key to playwith, and he knelt down to his amusement, and did not raise his headagain. I have never seen him so pleased. He kept saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, " to everything, and motioning to us with his hands, that weshould not stop the engine; and then he picked it up and replaced thecars with a thousand precautions, as though they had been made of glass. He was afraid of tarnishing them with his breath, and he polished themup again, examining them top and bottom, and smiling to himself. We allstood around him and gazed at him. We looked at that slender neck, thosepoor little ears, which I had seen bleeding one day, that jacket withthe sleeves turned up, from which projected two sickly little arms, which had been upraised to ward off blows from his face. Oh! at thatmoment I could have cast all my playthings and all my books at his feet, I could have torn the last morsel of bread from my lips to give to him, I could have divested myself of my clothing to clothe him, I could haveflung myself on my knees to kiss his hand. "I will at least give you thetrain, " I thought; but--was necessary to ask permission of my father. Atthat moment I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I looked; it waswritten in pencil by my father; it said:

"Your train pleases Precossi. He has no playthings. Does your heartsuggest nothing to you?"

Instantly I seized the engine and the cars in both hands, and placed thewhole in his arms, saying:--

"Take this; it is yours. "

He looked at me, and did not understand. "It is yours, " I said; "I giveit to you. "

Then he looked at my father and mother, in still greater astonishment, and asked me:--

"But why?"

My father said to him:--

"Enrico gives it to you because he is your friend, because he lovesyou--to celebrate your medal. "

Precossi asked timidly:--

"I may carry it away--home?"

"Of course!" we all responded. He was already at the door, but he darednot go out. He was happy! He begged our pardon with a mouth that smiledand quivered. Garrone helped him to wrap up the train in a handkerchief, and as he bent over, he made the things with which his pockets werefilled rattle.

"Some day, " said Precossi to me, "you shall come to the shop to see myfather at work. I will give you some nails. "

My mother put a little bunch of flowers into Garrone's buttonhole, forhim to carry to his mother in her name. Garrone said, "Thanks, " in hisbig voice, without raising his chin from his breast. But all his kindand noble soul shone in his eyes.

PRIDE.

Saturday, 11th.

The idea of Carlo Nobis rubbing off his sleeve affectedly, when Precossitouches him in passing! That fellow is pride incarnate because hisfather is a rich man. But Derossi's father is rich too. He would like tohave a bench to himself; he is afraid that the rest will soil it; helooks down on everybody and always has a scornful smile on his lips: woeto him who stumbles over his foot, when we go out in files two by two!For a mere trifle he flings an insulting word in your face, or a threatto get his father to come to the school. It is true that his father didgive him a good lesson when he called the little son of the charcoal-mana ragamuffin. I have never seen so disagreeable a schoolboy! No onespeaks to him, no one says good by to him when he goes out; there is noteven a dog who would give him a suggestion when he does not know hislesson. And he cannot endure any one, and he pretends to despise Derossimore than all, because he is the head boy; and Garrone, because he isbeloved by all. But Derossi pays no attention to him when he is by; andwhen the boys tell Garrone that Nobis has been speaking ill of him, hesays:--

"His pride is so senseless that it does not deserve even my passingnotice. "

But Coretti said to him one day, when he was smiling disdainfully at hiscatskin cap:--

"Go to Derossi for a while, and learn how to play the gentleman!"

Yesterday he complained to the master, because the Calabrian touched hisleg with his foot. The master asked the Calabrian:--

"Did you do it intentionally?"--"No, sir, " he replied, frankly. --"Youare too petulant, Nobis. "


And Nobis retorted, in his airy way, "I shall tell my father about it. "Then the teacher got angry.

"Your father will tell you that you are in the wrong, as he has on otheroccasions. And besides that, it is the teacher alone who has the rightto judge and punish in school. " Then he added pleasantly:--

"Come, Nobis, change your ways; be kind and courteous to your comrades. You see, we have here sons of workingmen and of gentlemen, of the richand the poor, and all love each other and treat each other likebrothers, as they are. Why do not you do like the rest? It would notcost you much to make every one like you, and you would be so muchhappier yourself, too!--Well, have you no reply to make me?"

Nobis, who had listened to him with his customary scornful smile, answered coldly:--

"No, sir. "

"Sit down, " said the master to him. "I am sorry for you. You are aheartless boy. "

This seemed to be the end of it all; but the little mason, who sits onthe front bench, turned his round face towards Nobis, who sits on theback bench, and made such a fine and ridiculous hare's face at him, thatthe whole class burst into a shout of laughter. The master reproved him;but he was obliged to put his hand over his own mouth to conceal asmile. And even Nobis laughed, but not in a pleasant way.

THE WOUNDS OF LABOR.

Monday, 15th.

Nobis can be paired off with Franti: neither of them was affected thismorning in the presence of the terrible sight which passed before theireyes. On coming out of school, I was standing with my father and lookingat some big rogues of the second grade, who had thrown themselves ontheir knees and were wiping off the ice with their cloaks and caps, inorder to make slides more quickly, when we saw a crowd of people appearat the end of the street, walking hurriedly, all serious and seeminglyterrified, and conversing in low tones. In the midst of them were threepolicemen, and behind the policemen two men carrying a litter. Boyshastened up from all quarters. The crowd advanced towards us. On thelitter was stretched a man, pale as a corpse, with his head resting onone shoulder, and his hair tumbled and stained with blood, for he hadbeen losing blood through the mouth and ears; and beside the litterwalked a woman with a baby in her arms, who seemed crazy, and whoshrieked from time to time, "He is dead! He is dead! He is dead!"

Behind the woman came a boy who had a portfolio under his arm and whowas sobbing.

"What has happened?" asked my father. A neighbor replied, that the manwas a mason who had fallen from the fourth story while at work. Thebearers of the litter halted for a moment. Many turned away their facesin horror. I saw the schoolmistress of the red feather supporting mymistress of the upper first, who was almost in a swoon. At the samemoment I felt a touch on the elbow; it was the little mason, who wasghastly white and trembling from head to foot. He was certainly thinkingof his father. I was thinking of him, too. I, at least, am at peace inmy mind while I am in school: I know that my father is at home, seatedat his table, far removed from all danger; but how many of my companionsthink that their fathers are at work on a very high bridge or close tothe wheels of a machine, and that a movement, a single false step, maycost them their lives! They are like so many sons of soldiers who havefathers in the battle. The little mason gazed and gazed, and trembledmore and more, and my father noticed it and said:--

"Go home, my boy; go at once to your father, and you will find him safeand tranquil; go!"

The little mason went off, turning round at every step. And in themeanwhile the crowd had begun to move again, and the woman to shriek ina way that rent the heart, "He is dead! He is dead! He is dead!"

"No, no; he is not dead, " people on all sides said to her. But she paidno heed to them, and tore her hair. Then I heard an indignant voice say, "You are laughing!" and at the same moment I saw a bearded man staringin Franti's face. Then the man knocked his cap to the ground with hisstick, saying:--

"Uncover your head, you wicked boy, when a man wounded by labor ispassing by!"

The crowd had already passed, and a long streak of blood was visible inthe middle of the street.

THE PRISONER.

Friday, 17th.

Ah, this is certainly the strangest event of the whole year! Yesterdaymorning my father took me to the suburbs of Moncalieri, to look at avilla which he thought of hiring for the coming summer, because we shallnot go to Chieri again this year, and it turned out that the person whohad the keys was a teacher who acts as secretary to the owner. He showedus the house, and then he took us to his own room, where he gave ussomething to drink. On his table, among the glasses, there was a woodeninkstand, of a conical form, carved in a singular manner. Perceivingthat my father was looking at it, the teacher said:--

"That inkstand is very precious to me: if you only knew, sir, thehistory of that inkstand!" And he told it.

Years ago he was a teacher at Turin, and all one winter he went to givelessons to the prisoners in the judicial prison. He gave the lessons inthe chapel of the prison, which is a circular building, and all aroundit, on the high, bare walls, are a great many little square windows, covered with two cross-bars of iron, each one of which corresponds to avery small cell inside. He gave his lessons as he paced about the dark, cold chapel, and his scholars stood at the holes, with their copy-booksresting against the gratings, showing nothing in the shadow but wan, frowning faces, gray and ragged beards, staring eyes of murderers andthieves. Among the rest there was one, No. 78, who was more attentivethan all the others, and who studied a great deal, and gazed at histeacher with eyes full of respect and gratitude. He was a young man, with a black beard, more unfortunate than wicked, a cabinet-maker who, in a fit of rage, had flung a plane at his master, who had beenpersecuting him for some time, and had inflicted a mortal wound on hishead: for this he had been condemned to several years of seclusion. Inthree months he had learned to read and write, and he read constantly, and the more he learned, the better he seemed to become, and the moreremorseful for his crime. One day, at the conclusion of the lesson, hemade a sign to the teacher that he should come near to his littlewindow, and he announced to him that he was to leave Turin on thefollowing day, to go and expiate his crime in the prison at Venice; andas he bade him farewell, he begged in a humble and much moved voice, that he might be allowed to touch the master's hand. The master offeredhim his hand, and he kissed it; then he said:--

"Thanks! thanks!" and disappeared. The master drew back his hand; it wasbathed with tears. After that he did not see the man again.

Six years passed. "I was thinking of anything except that unfortunateman, " said the teacher, "when, the other morning, I saw a stranger cometo the house, a man with a large black beard already sprinkled withgray, and badly dressed, who said to me: 'Are you the teacher So-and-So, sir?' 'Who are you?' I asked him. 'I am prisoner No. 78, ' he replied;'you taught me to read and write six years ago; if you recollect, yougave me your hand at the last lesson; I have now expiated my crime, andI have come hither--to beg you to do me the favor to accept a memento ofme, a poor little thing which I made in prison. Will you accept it inmemory of me, Signor Master?'

"I stood there speechless. He thought that I did not wish to take it, and he looked at me as much as to say, 'So six years of suffering arenot sufficient to cleanse my hands!' but with so poignant an expressionof pain did he gaze at me, that I instantly extended my hand and tookthe little object. This is it. "

We looked attentively at the inkstand: it seemed to have been carvedwith the point of a nail, and with, great patience; on its top wascarved a pen lying across a copy-book, and around it was written: "_Tomy teacher. A memento of No. 78. Six years!_" And below, in smallletters, "_Study and hope. _"

The master said nothing more; we went away. But all the way fromMoncalieri to Turin I could not get that prisoner, standing at hislittle window, that farewell to his master, that poor inkstand made inprison, which told so much, out of my head; and I dreamed of them allnight, and was still thinking of them this morning--far enough fromimagining the surprise which awaited me at school! No sooner had I takenmy new seat, beside Derossi, and written my problem in arithmetic forthe monthly examination, than I told my companion the story of theprisoner and the inkstand, and how the inkstand was made, with the penacross the copy-book, and the inscription around it, "Six years!"Derossi sprang up at these words, and began to look first at me and thenat Crossi, the son of the vegetable-vender, who sat on the bench infront, with his back turned to us, wholly absorbed on his problem.

"Hush!" he said; then, in a low voice, catching me by the arm, "don'tyou know that Crossi spoke to me day before yesterday of having caught aglimpse; of an inkstand in the hands of his father, who has returnedfrom America; a conical inkstand, made by hand, with a copy-book and apen, --that is the one; six years! He said that his father was inAmerica; instead of that he was in prison: Crossi was a little boy atthe time of the crime; he does not remember it; his mother has deceivedhim; he knows nothing; let not a syllable of this escape!"

I remained speechless, with my eyes fixed on Crossi. Then Derossi solvedhis problem, and passed it under the bench to Crossi; he gave him asheet of paper; he took out of his hands the monthly story, _Daddy'sNurse_, which the teacher had given him to copy out, in order that hemight copy it in his stead; he gave him pens, and stroked his shoulder, and made me promise on my honor that I would say nothing to any one; andwhen we left school, he said hastily to me:--

"His father came to get him yesterday; he will be here again thismorning: do as I do. "

We emerged into the street; Crossi's father was there, a little to oneside: a man with a black beard sprinkled with gray, badly dressed, witha colorless and thoughtful face. Derossi shook Crossi's hand, in a wayto attract attention, and said to him in a loud tone, "Farewell until wemeet again, Crossi, "--and passed his hand under his chin. I did thesame. But as he did so, Derossi turned crimson, and so did I; andCrossi's father gazed attentively at us, with a kindly glance; butthrough it shone an expression of uneasiness and suspicion which madeour hearts grow cold.

DADDY'S NURSE.

(_Monthly Story. _)

One morning, on a rainy day in March, a lad dressed like a country boy, all muddy and saturated with water, with a bundle of clothes under hisarm, presented himself to the porter of the great hospital at Naples, and, presenting a letter, asked for his father. He had a fine oval face, of a pale brown hue, thoughtful eyes, and two thick lips, always halfopen, which displayed extremely white teeth. He came from a village inthe neighborhood of Naples. His father, who had left home a yearpreviously to seek work in France, had returned to Italy, and had landeda few days before at Naples, where, having fallen suddenly ill, he hadhardly time to write a line to announce his arrival to his family, andto say that he was going to the hospital. His wife, in despair at thisnews, and unable to leave home because she had a sick child, and a babyat the breast, had sent her eldest son to Naples, with a few soldi, tohelp his father--his _daddy_, as they called him: the boy had walked tenmiles.

The porter, after glancing at the letter, called a nurse and told him toconduct the lad to his father.

"What father?" inquired the nurse.

The boy, trembling with terror, lest he should hear bad news, gave thename.

The nurse did not recall such a name.

"An old laborer, arrived from abroad?" he asked.

"Yes, a laborer, " replied the lad, still more uneasy; "not so very old. Yes, arrived from abroad. "

"When did he enter the hospital?" asked the nurse.

The lad glanced at his letter; "Five days ago, I think. "

The nurse stood a while in thought; then, as though suddenly recallinghim; "Ah!" he said, "the furthest bed in the fourth ward. "

"Is he very ill? How is he?" inquired the boy, anxiously.

The nurse looked at him, without replying. Then he said, "Come with me. "

They ascended two flights of stairs, walked to the end of a longcorridor, and found themselves facing the open door of a large hall, wherein two rows of beds were arranged. "Come, " repeated the nurse, entering. The boy plucked up his courage, and followed him, castingterrified glances to right and left, on the pale, emaciated faces of thesick people, some of whom had their eyes closed, and seemed to be dead, while others were staring into the air, with their eyes wide open andfixed, as though frightened. Some were moaning like children. The bigroom was dark, the air was impregnated with an acute odor of medicines. Two sisters of charity were going about with phials in their hands.

Arrived at the extremity of the great room, the nurse halted at the headof a bed, drew aside the curtains, and said, "Here is your father. "

The boy burst into tears, and letting fall his bundle, he dropped hishead on the sick man's shoulder, clasping with one hand the arm whichwas lying motionless on the coverlet. The sick man did not move.

The boy rose to his feet, and looked at his father, and broke into afresh fit of weeping. Then the sick man gave a long look at him, andseemed to recognize him; but his lips did not move. Poor daddy, how hewas changed! The son would never have recognized him. His hair hadturned white, his beard had grown, his face was swollen, of a dull redhue, with the skin tightly drawn and shining; his eyes were diminishedin size, his lips very thick, his whole countenance altered. There wasno longer anything natural about him but his forehead and the arch ofhis eyebrows. He breathed with difficulty.

"Daddy! daddy!" said the boy, "it is I; don't you know me? I am Cicillo, your own Cicillo, who has come from the country: mamma has sent me. Takea good look at me; don't you know me? Say one word to me. "

But the sick man, after having looked attentively at him, closed hiseyes.

"Daddy! daddy! What is the matter with you? I am your little son--yourown Cicillo. "

The sick man made no movement, and continued to breathe painfully.

Then the lad, still weeping, took a chair, seated himself and waited, without taking his eyes from his father's face. "A doctor will surelycome to pay him a visit, " he thought; "he will tell me something. " Andhe became immersed in sad thoughts, recalling many things about his kindfather, the day of parting, when he said the last good by to him onboard the ship, the hopes which his family had founded on his journey, the desolation of his mother on the arrival of the letter; and hethought of death: he beheld his father dead, his mother dressed inblack, the family in misery. And he remained a long time thus. A lighthand touched him on the shoulder, and he started up: it was a nun.

"What is the matter with my father?" he asked her quickly.

"Is he your father?" said the sister gently.

"Yes, he is my father; I have come. What ails him?"

"Courage, my boy, " replied the sister; "the doctor will be here soonnow. " And she went away without saying anything more.

Half an hour later he heard the sound of a bell, and he saw the doctorenter at the further end of the hall, accompanied by an assistant; thesister and a nurse followed him. They began the visit, pausing at everybed. This time of waiting seemed an eternity to the lad, and his anxietyincreased at every step of the doctor. At length they arrived at thenext bed. The doctor was an old man, tall and stooping, with a graveface. Before he left the next bed the boy rose to his feet, and when heapproached he began to cry.

The doctor looked at him.

"He is the sick man's son, " said the sister; "he arrived this morningfrom the country. "

The doctor placed one hand on his shoulder; then bent over the sick man, felt his pulse, touched his forehead, and asked a few questions of thesister, who replied, "There is nothing new. " Then he thought for a whileand said, "Continue the present treatment. "

Then the boy plucked up courage, and asked in a tearful voice, "What isthe matter with my father?"

"Take courage, my boy, " replied the doctor, laying his hand on hisshoulder once more; "he has erysipelas in his face. It is a seriouscase, but there is still hope. Help him. Your presence may do him agreat deal of good. "

"But he does not know me!" exclaimed the boy in a tone of affliction.

"He will recognize you--to-morrow perhaps. Let us hope for the best andkeep up our courage. "

The boy would have liked to ask some more questions, but he did notdare. The doctor passed on. And then he began his life of nurse. As hecould do nothing else, he arranged the coverlets of the sick man, touched his hand every now and then, drove away the flies, bent over himat every groan, and when the sister brought him something to drink, hetook the glass or the spoon from her hand, and administered it in herstead. The sick man looked at him occasionally, but he gave no sign ofrecognition. However, his glance rested longer on the lad each time, especially when the latter put his handkerchief to his eyes.

Thus passed the first day. At night the boy slept on two chairs, in acorner of the ward, and in the morning he resumed his work of mercy. That day it seemed as though the eyes of the sick man revealed a dawningof consciousness. At the sound of the boy's caressing voice a vagueexpression of gratitude seemed to gleam for an instant in his pupils, and once he moved his lips a little, as though he wanted to saysomething. After each brief nap he seemed, on opening his eyes, to seekhis little nurse. The doctor, who had passed twice, thought he noted aslight improvement. Towards evening, on putting the cup to his lips, thelad fancied that he perceived a very faint smile glide across theswollen lips. Then he began to take comfort and to hope; and with thehope of being understood, confusedly at least, he talked to him--talkedto him at great length--of his mother, of his little sisters, of his ownreturn home, and he exhorted him to courage with warm and loving words. And although he often doubted whether he was heard, he still talked; forit seemed to him that even if he did not understand him, the sick manlistened with a certain pleasure to his voice, --to that unaccustomedintonation of affection and sorrow. And in this manner passed the secondday, and the third, and the fourth, with vicissitudes of slightimprovements and unexpected changes for the worse; and the boy was soabsorbed in all his cares, that he hardly nibbled a bit of bread andcheese twice a day, when the sister brought it to him, and hardly sawwhat was going on around him, --the dying patients, the sudden running upof the sisters at night, the moans and despairing gestures ofvisitors, --all those doleful and lugubrious scenes of hospital life, which on any other occasion would have disconcerted and alarmed him. Hours, days, passed, and still he was there with his daddy; watchful, wistful, trembling at every sigh and at every look, agitated incessantlybetween a hope which relieved his mind and a discouragement which frozehis heart.

On the fifth day the sick man suddenly grew worse. The doctor, on beinginterrogated, shook his head, as much as to say that all was over, andthe boy flung himself on a chair and burst out sobbing. But one thingcomforted him. In spite of the fact that he was worse, the sick manseemed to be slowly regaining a little intelligence. He stared at thelad with increasing intentness, and, with an expression which grew insweetness, would take his drink and medicine from no one but him, andmade strenuous efforts with his lips with greater frequency, as thoughhe were trying to pronounce some word; and he did it so plainlysometimes that his son grasped his arm violently, inspired by a suddenhope, and said to him in a tone which was almost that of joy, "Courage, courage, daddy; you will get well, we will go away from here, we willreturn home with mamma; courage, for a little while longer!"

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and just when the boy hadabandoned himself to one of these outbursts of tenderness and hope, whena sound of footsteps became audible outside the nearest door in theward, and then a strong voice uttering two words only, --"Farewell, sister!"--which made him spring to his feet, with a cry repressed in histhroat.

At that moment there entered the ward a man with a thick bandage on hishand, followed by a sister.

The boy uttered a sharp cry, and stood rooted to the spot.

The man turned round, looked at him for a moment, and uttered a cry inhis turn, --"Cicillo!"--and darted towards him.

The boy fell into his father's arms, choking with emotion.

The sister, the nurse, and the assistant ran up, and stood there inamazement.

The boy could not recover his voice.

"Oh, my Cicillo!" exclaimed the father, after bestowing an attentivelook on the sick man, as he kissed the boy repeatedly. "Cicillo, my son, how is this? They took you to the bedside of another man. And there wasI, in despair at not seeing you after mamma had written, 'I have senthim. ' Poor Cicillo! How many days have you been here? How did thismistake occur? I have come out of it easily! I have a good constitution, you know! And how is mamma? And Concettella? And the little baby--howare they all? I am leaving the hospital now. Come, then. Oh, Lord God!Who would have thought it!"

The boy tried to interpolate a few words, to tell the news of thefamily. "Oh how happy I am!" he stammered. "How happy I am! Whatterrible days I have passed!" And he could not finish kissing hisfather.

But he did not stir.

"Come, " said his father; "we can get home this evening. " And he drew thelad towards him. The boy turned to look at his patient.

"Well, are you coming or not?" his father demanded, in amazement.

The boy cast yet another glance at the sick man, who opened his eyes atthat moment and gazed intently at him.

Then a flood of words poured from his very soul. "No, daddy;wait--here--I can't. Here is this old man. I have been here for fivedays. He gazes at me incessantly. I thought he was you. I love himdearly. He looks at me; I give him his drink; he wants me always besidehim; he is very ill now. Have patience; I have not the courage--I don'tknow--it pains me too much; I will return home to-morrow; let me stayhere a little longer; I don't at all like to leave him. See how he looksat me! I don't know who he is, but he wants me; he will die alone: letme stay here, dear daddy!"

"Bravo, little fellow!" exclaimed the attendant.

The father stood in perplexity, staring at the boy; then he looked atthe sick man. "Who is he?" he inquired.

"A countryman, like yourself, " replied the attendant, "just arrived fromabroad, and who entered the hospital on the very day that you enteredit. He was out of his senses when they brought him here, and could notspeak. Perhaps he has a family far away, and sons. He probably thinksthat your son is one of his. "

The sick man was still looking at the boy.

The father said to Cicillo, "Stay. "

"He will not have to stay much longer, " murmured the attendant.

"Stay, " repeated his father: "you have heart. I will go homeimmediately, to relieve mamma's distress. Here is a scudo for yourexpenses. Good by, my brave little son, until we meet!"

He embraced him, looked at him intently, kissed him again on the brow, and went away.

The boy returned to his post at the bedside, and the sick man appearedconsoled. And Cicillo began again to play the nurse, no longer weeping, but with the same eagerness, the same patience, as before; he againbegan to give the man his drink, to arrange his bedclothes, to caresshis hand, to speak softly to him, to exhort him to courage. He attendedhim all that day, all that night; he remained beside him all thefollowing day. But the sick man continued to grow constantly worse; hisface turned a purple color, his breathing grew heavier, his agitationincreased, inarticulate cries escaped his lips, the inflammation becameexcessive. On his evening visit, the doctor said that he would not livethrough the night. And then Cicillo redoubled his cares, and never tookhis eyes from him for a minute. The sick man gazed and gazed at him, andkept moving his lips from time to time, with great effort, as though hewanted to say something, and an expression of extraordinary tendernesspassed over his eyes now and then, as they continued to grow smaller andmore dim. And that night the boy watched with him until he saw the firstrays of dawn gleam white through the windows, and the sister appeared. The sister approached the bed, cast a glance at the patient, and thenwent away with rapid steps. A few moments later she reappeared with theassistant doctor, and with a nurse, who carried a lantern.

"He is at his last gasp, " said the doctor.

The boy clasped the sick man's hand. The latter opened his eyes, gazedat him, and closed them once more.

At that moment the lad fancied that he felt his hand pressed. "Hepressed my hand!" he exclaimed.

The doctor bent over the patient for an instant, then straightenedhimself up.

The sister detached a crucifix from the wall.

"He is dead!" cried the boy.

"Go, my son, " said the doctor: "your work of mercy is finished. Go, andmay fortune attend you! for you deserve it. God will protect you. Farewell!"

The sister, who had stepped aside for a moment, returned with a littlebunch of violets which she had taken from a glass on the window-sill, and handed them to the boy, saying:--

"I have nothing else to give you. Take these in memory of the hospital. "

"Thanks, " returned the boy, taking the bunch of flowers with one handand drying his eyes with the other; "but I have such a long distance togo on foot--I shall spoil them. " And separating the violets, hescattered them over the bed, saying: "I leave them as a memento for mypoor dead man. Thanks, sister! thanks, doctor!" Then, turning to thedead man, "Farewell--" And while he sought a name to give him, the sweetname which he had applied to him for five days recurred to hislips, --"Farewell, poor daddy!"

So saying, he took his little bundle of clothes under his arm, and, exhausted with fatigue, he walked slowly away. The day was dawning.

THE WORKSHOP.

Saturday, 18th.

Precossi came last night to remind me that I was to go and see hisworkshop, which is down the street, and this morning when I went outwith my father, I got him to take me there for a moment. As weapproached the shop, Garoffi issued from it on a run, with a package inhis hand, and making his big cloak, with which he covers up hismerchandise, flutter. Ah! now I know where he goes to pilfer ironfilings, which he sells for old papers, that barterer of a Garoffi! Whenwe arrived in front of the door, we saw Precossi seated on a littlepile of bricks, engaged in studying his lesson, with his book resting onhis knees. He rose quickly and invited us to enter. It was a largeapartment, full of coal-dust, bristling with hammers, pincers, bars, andold iron of every description; and in one corner burned a fire in asmall furnace, where puffed a pair of bellows worked by a boy. Precossi, the father, was standing near the anvil, and a young man was holding abar of iron in the fire.

"Ah! here he is, " said the smith, as soon as he caught sight of us, andhe lifted his cap, "the nice boy who gives away railway trains! He hascome to see me work a little, has he not? I shall be at your service ina moment. " And as he said it, he smiled; and he no longer had theferocious face, the malevolent eyes of former days. The young man handedhim a long bar of iron heated red-hot on one end, and the smith placedit on the anvil. He was making one of those curved bars for the rail ofterrace balustrades. He raised a large hammer and began to beat it, pushing the heated part now here, now there, between one point of theanvil and the middle, and turning it about in various ways; and it was amarvel to see how the iron curved beneath the rapid and accurate blowsof the hammer, and twisted, and gradually assumed the graceful form of aleaf torn from a flower, like a pipe of dough which he had modelled withhis hands. And meanwhile his son watched us with a certain air of pride, as much as to say, "See how my father works!"

"Do you see how it is done, little master?" the blacksmith asked me, when he had finished, holding out the bar, which looked like a bishop'scrosier. Then he laid it aside, and thrust another into the fire.

"That was very well made, indeed, " my father said to him. And he added, "So you are working--eh! You have returned to good habits?"

"Yes, I have returned, " replied the workman, wiping away theperspiration, and reddening a little. "And do you know who has made mereturn to them?" My father pretended not to understand. "This braveboy, " said the blacksmith, indicating his son with his finger; "thatbrave boy there, who studied and did honor to his father, while hisfather rioted, and treated him like a dog. When I saw that medal--Ah!thou little lad of mine, no bigger than a soldo[1] of cheese, comehither, that I may take a good look at thy phiz!"

[1] The twentieth part of a cubit; Florentine measure.

The boy ran to him instantly; the smith took him and set him directly onthe anvil, holding him under the arms, and said to him:--

"Polish off the frontispiece of this big beast of a daddy of yours alittle!"

And then Precossi covered his father's black face with kisses, until hewas all black himself.

"That's as it should be, " said the smith, and he set him on the groundagain.

"That really is as it should be, Precossi!" exclaimed my father, delighted. And bidding the smith and his son good day, he led me away. As I was going out, little Precossi said to me, "Excuse me, " and thrusta little packet of nails into my pocket. I invited him to come and viewthe Carnival from my house.

"You gave him your railway train, " my father said to me in the street;"but if it had been made of gold and filled with pearls, it would stillhave been but a petty gift to that sainted son, who has reformed hisfather's heart. "

THE LITTLE HARLEQUIN.

Monday, 20th.

The whole city is in a tumult over the Carnival, which is nearing itsclose. In every square rise booths of mountebanks and jesters; and wehave under our windows a circus-tent, in which a little Venetiancompany, with five horses, is giving a show. The circus is in the centreof the square; and in one corner there are three very large vans inwhich the mountebanks sleep and dress themselves, --three small houses onwheels, with their tiny windows, and a chimney in each of them, whichsmokes continually; and between window and window the baby'sswaddling-bands are stretched. There is one woman who is nursing achild, who prepares the food, and dances on the tight-rope. Poor people!The word _mountebank_ is spoken as though it were an insult; but theyearn their living honestly, nevertheless, by amusing all the world--andhow they work! All day long they run back and forth between thecircus-tent and the vans, in tights, in all this cold; they snatch amouthful or two in haste, standing, between two performances; andsometimes, when they get their tent full, a wind arises, wrenches awaythe ropes and extinguishes the lights, and then good by to the show!They are obliged to return the money, and to work the entire night atrepairing their booth. There are two lads who work; and my fatherrecognized the smallest one as he was traversing the square; and he isthe son of the proprietor, the same one whom we saw perform tricks onhorseback last year in a circus on the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. And hehas grown; he must be eight years old: he is a handsome boy, with around and roguish face, with so many black curls that they escape fromhis pointed cap. He is dressed up like a harlequin, decked out in a sortof sack, with sleeves of white, embroidered with black, and his slippersare of cloth. He is a merry little imp. He charms every one. He doeseverything. We see him early in the morning, wrapped in a shawl, carrying milk to his wooden house; then he goes to get the horses at theboarding-stable on the Via Bertola. He holds the tiny baby in his arms;he transports hoops, trestles, rails, ropes; he cleans the vans, lightsthe fire, and in his leisure moments he always hangs about his mother. My father is always watching him from the window, and does nothing buttalk about him and his family, who have the air of nice people, and ofbeing fond of their children.

One evening we went to the circus: it was cold; there was hardly any onethere; but the little harlequin exerted himself greatly to cheer thosefew people: he executed precarious leaps; he caught hold of the horses'tails; he walked with his legs in the air, all alone; he sang, alwayswith a smile constantly on his handsome little brown face. And hisfather, who had on a red vest and white trousers, with tall boots, and awhip in his hand, watched him: but it was melancholy. My father tookpity on him, and spoke of him on the following day to Delis the painter, who came to see us. These poor people were killing themselves with hardwork, and their affairs were going so badly! The little boy pleased himso much! What could be done for them? The painter had an idea.

"Write a fine article for the _Gazette_, " he said: "you know how towrite well: relate the miraculous things which the little harlequindoes, and I will take his portrait for you. Everybody reads the_Gazette_, and people will flock thither for once. "

And thus they did. My father wrote a fine article, full of jests, whichtold all that we had observed from the window, and inspired a desire tosee and caress the little artist; and the painter sketched a littleportrait which was graceful and a good likeness, and which was publishedon Saturday evening. And behold! at the Sunday performance a great crowdrushed to the circus. The announcement was made: _Performance for theBenefit of the Little Harlequin_, as he was styled in the _Gazette_. Thecircus was crammed; many of the spectators held the _Gazette_ in theirhands, and showed it to the little harlequin, who laughed and ran fromone to another, perfectly delighted. The proprietor was delighted also. Just fancy! Not a single newspaper had ever done him such an honor, andthe money-box was filled. My father sat beside me. Among the spectatorswe found persons of our acquaintance. Near the entrance for the horsesstood the teacher of gymnastics--the one who has been with Garibaldi;and opposite us, in the second row, was the little mason, with hislittle round face, seated beside his gigantic father; and no sooner didhe catch sight of me than he made a hare's face at me. A little furtheron I espied Garoffi, who was counting the spectators, and calculated onhis fingers how much money the company had taken in. On one of thechairs in the first row, not far from us, there was also poor Robetti, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, with his crutches betweenhis knees, pressed close to the side of his father, the artillerycaptain, who kept one hand on his shoulder. The performance began. Thelittle harlequin accomplished wonders on his horse, on the trapeze, onthe tight-rope; and every time that he jumped down, every one clappedtheir hands, and many pulled his curls. Then several others, rope-dancers, jugglers, and riders, clad in tights, and sparkling withsilver, went through their exercises; but when the boy was notperforming, the audience seemed to grow weary. At a certain point I sawthe teacher of gymnastics, who held his post at the entrance for thehorses, whisper in the ear of the proprietor of the circus, and thelatter instantly glanced around, as though in search of some one. Hisglance rested on us. My father perceived it, and understood that theteacher had revealed that he was the author of the article, and in orderto escape being thanked, he hastily retreated, saying to me:--

"Remain, Enrico; I will wait for you outside. "

After exchanging a few words with his father, the little harlequin wentthrough still another trick: erect upon a galloping horse, he appearedin four characters--as a pilgrim, a sailor, a soldier, and an acrobat;and every time that he passed near me, he looked at me. And when hedismounted, he began to make the tour of the circus, with hisharlequin's cap in his hand, and everybody threw soldi or sugar-plumsinto it. I had two soldi ready; but when he got in front of me, insteadof offering his cap, he drew it back, gave me a look and passed on. Iwas mortified. Why had he offered me that affront?


The performance came to an end; the proprietor thanked the audience; andall the people rose also, and thronged to the doors. I was confused bythe crowd, and was on the point of going out, when I felt a touch on myhand. I turned round: it was the little harlequin, with his tiny brownface and his black curls, who was smiling at me; he had his hands fullof sugar-plums. Then I understood.

"Will you accept these sugar-plums from the little harlequin?" said heto me, in his dialect.

I nodded, and took three or four.

"Then, " he added, "please accept a kiss also. "

"Give me two, " I answered; and held up my face to him. He rubbed off hisfloury face with his hand, put his arm round my neck, and planted twokisses on my cheek, saying:--

"There! take one of them to your father. "

THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL.

Tuesday, 21st.

What a sad scene was that which we witnessed to-day at the procession ofthe masks! It ended well; but it might have resulted in a greatmisfortune. In the San Carlo Square, all decorated with red, white, andyellow festoons, a vast multitude had assembled; masks of every hue wereflitting about; cars, gilded and adorned, in the shape of pavilions;little theatres, barks filled with harlequins and warriors, cooks, sailors, and shepherdesses; there was such a confusion that one knew notwhere to look; a tremendous clash of trumpets, horns, and cymbalslacerated the ears; and the masks on the chariots drank and sang, asthey apostrophized the people in the streets and at the windows, whoretorted at the top of their lungs, and hurled oranges and sugar-plumsat each other vigorously; and above the chariots and the throng, as faras the eye could reach, one could see banners fluttering, helmetsgleaming, plumes waving, gigantic pasteboard heads moving, hugehead-dresses, enormous trumpets, fantastic arms, little drums, castanets, red caps, and bottles;--all the world seemed to have gonemad. When our carriage entered the square, a magnificent chariot wasdriving in front of us, drawn by four horses covered with trappingsembroidered in gold, and all wreathed in artificial roses, upon whichthere were fourteen or fifteen gentlemen masquerading as gentlemen atthe court of France, all glittering with silk, with huge white wigs, aplumed hat, under the arm a small-sword, and a tuft of ribbons and laceson the breast. They were very gorgeous. They were singing a Frenchcanzonette in concert and throwing sweetmeats to the people, and thepeople clapped their hands and shouted. Suddenly, on our left, we saw aman lift a child of five or six above the heads of the crowd, --a poorlittle creature, who wept piteously, and flung her arms about as thoughin a fit of convulsions. The man made his way to the gentlemen'schariot; one of the latter bent down, and the other said aloud:--

"Take this child; she has lost her mother in the crowd; hold her in yourarms; the mother may not be far off, and she will catch sight of her:there is no other way. "

The gentleman took the child in his arms: all the rest stopped singing;the child screamed and struggled; the gentleman removed his mask; thechariot continued to move slowly onwards. Meanwhile, as we wereafterwards informed, at the opposite extremity of the square a poorwoman, half crazed with despair, was forcing her way through the crowd, by dint of shoves and elbowing, and shrieking:--

"Maria! Maria! Maria! I have lost my little daughter! She has beenstolen from me! They have suffocated my child!" And for a quarter of anhour she raved and expressed her despair in this manner, straying now alittle way in this direction, and then a little way in that, crushed bythe throng through which she strove to force her way.

The gentleman on the car was meanwhile holding the child pressed againstthe ribbons and laces on his breast, casting glances over the square, and trying to calm the poor creature, who covered her face with herhands, not knowing where she was, and sobbed as though she would breakher heart. The gentleman was touched: it was evident that these screamswent to his soul. All the others offered the child oranges andsugar-plums; but she repulsed them all, and grew constantly moreconvulsed and frightened.

"Find her mother!" shouted the gentleman to the crowd; "seek hermother!" And every one turned to the right and the left; but the motherwas not to be found. Finally, a few paces from the place where the ViaRoma enters the square, a woman was seen to rush towards the chariot. Ah, I shall never forget that! She no longer seemed a human creature:her hair was streaming, her face distorted, her garments torn; shehurled herself forward with a rattle in her throat, --one knew notwhether to attribute it to either joy, anguish, or rage, --and darted outher hands like two claws to snatch her child. The chariot halted.

"Here she is, " said the gentleman, reaching out the child after kissingit; and he placed her in her mother's arms, who pressed her to herbreast like a fury. But one of the tiny hands rested a second longer inthe hands of the gentleman; and the latter, pulling off of his righthand a gold ring set with a large diamond, and slipping it with a rapidmovement upon the finger of the little girl, said:--

"Take this; it shall be your marriage dowry. "

The mother stood rooted to the spot, as though enchanted; the crowdbroke into applause; the gentleman put on his mask again, his companionsresumed their song, and the chariot started on again slowly, amid atempest of hand-clapping and hurrahs.

THE BLIND BOYS.

Thursday, 24th.

The master is very ill, and they have sent in his stead the master ofthe fourth grade, who has been a teacher in the Institute for the Blind. He is the oldest of all the instructors, with hair so white that itlooks like a wig made of cotton, and he speaks in a peculiar manner, asthough he were chanting a melancholy song; but he does it well, and heknows a great deal. No sooner had he entered the schoolroom than, catching sight of a boy with a bandage on his eye, he approached thebench, and asked him what was the matter.

"Take care of your eyes, my boy, " he said to him. And then Derossi askedhim:--

"Is it true, sir, that you have been a teacher of the blind?"

"Yes, for several years, " he replied. And Derossi said, in a low tone, "Tell us something about it. "

The master went and seated himself at his table.

Coretti said aloud, "The Institute for the Blind is in the Via Nizza. "

"You say blind--blind, " said the master, "as you would say poor or ill, or I know not what. But do you thoroughly comprehend the significance ofthat word? Reflect a little. Blind! Never to see anything! Not to beable to distinguish the day from night; to see neither the sky, nor sun, nor your parents, nor anything of what is around you, and which youtouch; to be immersed in a perpetual obscurity, and as though buried inthe bowels of the earth! Make a little effort to close your eyes, and tothink of being obliged to remain forever thus; you will suddenly beoverwhelmed by a mental agony, by terror; it will seem to you impossibleto resist, that you must burst into a scream, that you must go mad ordie. But, poor boys! when you enter the Institute of the Blind for thefirst time, during their recreation hour, and hear them playing onviolins and flutes in all directions, and talking loudly and laughing, ascending and descending the stairs at a rapid pace, and wanderingfreely through the corridors and dormitories, you would never pronouncethese unfortunates to be the unfortunates that they are. It is necessaryto observe them closely. There are lads of sixteen or eighteen, robustand cheerful, who bear their blindness with a certain ease, almost withhardihood; but you understand from a certain proud, resentful expressionof countenance that they must have suffered tremendously before theybecame resigned to this misfortune.

"There are others, with sweet and pallid faces, on which a profoundresignation is visible; but they are sad, and one understands that theymust still weep at times in secret. Ah, my sons! reflect that some ofthem have lost their sight in a few days, some after years of martyrdomand many terrible chirurgical operations, and that many were bornso, --born into a night that has no dawn for them, that they enteredinto the world as into an immense tomb, and that they do not know whatthe human countenance is like. Picture to yourself how they must havesuffered, and how they must still suffer, when they think thusconfusedly of the tremendous difference between themselves and those whosee, and ask themselves, 'Why this difference, if we are not to blame?'

"I who have spent many years among them, when I recall that class, allthose eyes forever sealed, all those pupils without sight and withoutlife, and then look at the rest of you, it seems impossible to me thatyou should not all be happy. Think of it! there are about twenty-sixthousand blind persons in Italy! Twenty-six thousand persons who do notsee the light--do you understand? An army which would employ four hoursin marching past our windows. "

The master paused. Not a breath was audible in all the school. Derossiasked if it were true that the blind have a finer sense of feeling thanthe rest of us.

The master said: "It is true. All the other senses are finer in them, because, since they must replace, among them, that of sight, they aremore and better exercised than they are in the case of those who see. Inthe morning, in the dormitory, one asks another, 'Is the sun shining?'and the one who is the most alert in dressing runs instantly into theyard, and flourishes his hands in the air, to find out whether there isany warmth of the sun perceptible, and then he runs to communicate thegood news, 'The sun is shining!' From the voice of a person they obtainan idea of his height. We judge of a man's soul by his eyes; they, byhis voice. They remember intonations and accents for years. Theyperceive if there is more than one person in a room, even if only onespeaks, and the rest remain motionless. They know by their touch whethera spoon is more or less polished. Little girls distinguish dyed woolsfrom that which is of the natural color. As they walk two and two alongthe streets, they recognize nearly all the shops by their odors, eventhose in which we perceive no odor. They spin top, and by listening toits humming they go straight to it and pick it up without any mistake. They trundle hoop, play at ninepins, jump the rope, build little housesof stones, pick violets as though they saw them, make mats and baskets, weaving together straw of various colors rapidly and well--to such adegree is their sense of touch skilled. The sense of touch is theirsight. One of their greatest pleasures is to handle, to grasp, to guessthe forms of things by feeling them. It is affecting to see them whenthey are taken to the Industrial Museum, where they are allowed tohandle whatever they please, and to observe with what eagerness theyfling themselves on geometrical bodies, on little models of houses, oninstruments; with what joy they feel over and rub and turn everythingabout in their hands, in order to see how it is made. They call this_seeing_!"

Garoffi interrupted the teacher to inquire if it was true that blindboys learn to reckon better than others.

The master replied: "It is true. They learn to reckon and to write. Theyhave books made on purpose for them, with raised characters; they passtheir fingers over these, recognize the letters and pronounce the words. They read rapidly; and you should see them blush, poor little things, when they make a mistake. And they write, too, without ink. They writeon a thick and hard sort of paper with a metal bodkin, which makes agreat many little hollows, grouped according to a special alphabet;these little punctures stand out in relief on the other side of thepaper, so that by turning the paper over and drawing their fingersacross these projections, they can read what they have written, and alsothe writing of others; and thus they write compositions: and they writeletters to each other. They write numbers in the same way, and they makecalculations; and they calculate mentally with an incredible facility, since their minds are not diverted by the sight of surrounding objects, as ours are. And if you could see how passionately fond they are ofreading, how attentive they are, how well they remember everything, howthey discuss among themselves, even the little ones, of things connectedwith history and language, as they sit four or five on the same bench, without turning to each other, and converse, the first with the third, the second with the fourth, in a loud voice and all together, withoutlosing a single word, so acute and prompt is their hearing.

"And they attach more importance to the examinations than you do, Iassure you, and they are fonder of their teachers. They recognize theirteacher by his step and his odor; they perceive whether he is in a goodor bad humor, whether he is well or ill, simply by the sound of a singleword of his. They want the teacher to touch them when he encourages andpraises them, and they feel of his hand and his arms in order to expresstheir gratitude. And they love each other and are good comrades to eachother. In play time they are always together, according to their wont. In the girls' school, for instance, they form into groups according tothe instrument on which they play, --violinists, pianists, andflute-players, --and they never separate. When they have become attachedto any one, it is difficult for them to break it off. They take muchcomfort in friendship. They judge correctly among themselves. They havea clear and profound idea of good and evil. No one grows so enthusiasticas they over the narration of a generous action, of a grand deed. "

Votini inquired if they played well.

"They are ardently fond of music, " replied the master. "It is theirdelight: music is their life. Little blind children, when they firstenter the Institute, are capable of standing three hours perfectlymotionless, to listen to playing. They learn easily; they play withfire. When the teacher tells one of them that he has not a talent formusic, he feels very sorrowful, but he sets to studying desperately. Ah!if you could hear the music there, if you could see them when they areplaying, with their heads thrown back a smile on their lips, their facesaflame, trembling with emotion, in ecstasies at listening to thatharmony which replies to them in the obscurity which envelops them, youwould feel what a divine consolation is music! And they shout for joy, they beam with happiness when a teacher says to them, "You will becomean artist. " The one who is first in music, who succeeds the best on theviolin or piano, is like a king to them; they love, they venerate him. If a quarrel arises between two of them, they go to him; if two friendsfall out, it is he who reconciles them. The smallest pupils, whom heteaches to play, regard him as a father. Then all go to bid him goodnight before retiring to bed. And they talk constantly of music. Theyare already in bed, late at night, wearied by study and work, and halfasleep, and still they are discussing, in a low tone, operas, masters, instruments, and orchestras. It is so great a punishment for them to bedeprived of the reading, or lesson in music, it causes them such sorrowthat one hardly ever has the courage to punish them in that way. Thatwhich the light is to our eyes, music is to their hearts. "

Derossi asked whether we could not go to see them.

"Yes, " replied the teacher; "but you boys must not go there now. Youshall go there later on, when you are in a condition to appreciate thewhole extent of this misfortune, and to feel all the compassion which itmerits. It is a sad sight, my boys. You will sometimes see there boysseated in front of an open window, enjoying the fresh air, withimmovable countenances, which seem to be gazing at the wide greenexpanse and the beautiful blue mountains which you can see; and when youremember that they see nothing--that they will never see anything--ofthat vast loveliness, your soul is oppressed, as though you hadyourselves become blind at that moment. And then there are those whowere born blind, who, as they have never seen the world, do not complainbecause they do not possess the image of anything, and who, therefore, arouse less compassion. But there are lads who have been blind but a fewmonths, who still recall everything, who thoroughly understand all thatthey have lost; and these have, in addition, the grief of feeling theirminds obscured, the dearest images grow a little more dim in their mindsday by day, of feeling the persons whom they have loved the most die outof their memories. One of these boys said to me one day, withinexpressible sadness, 'I should like to have my sight again, only for amoment, in order to see mamma's face once more, for I no longerremember it!' And when their mothers come to see them, the boys placetheir hands on her face; they feel her over thoroughly from brow tochin, and her ears, to see how they are made, and they can hardlypersuade themselves that they cannot see her, and they call her by namemany times, to beseech her that she will allow them, that she will makethem see her just once. How many, even hard-hearted men, go away intears! And when you do go out, your case seems to you to be theexception, and the power to see people, houses, and the sky a hardlydeserved privilege. Oh! there is not one of you, I am sure, who, onemerging thence, would not feel disposed to deprive himself of a portionof his own sight, in order to bestow a gleam at least upon all thosepoor children, for whom the sun has no light, for whom a mother has noface!"

THE SICK MASTER.

Saturday, 25th.

Yesterday afternoon, on coming out of school, I went to pay a visit tomy sick master. He made himself ill by overworking. Five hours ofteaching a day, then an hour of gymnastics, then two hours more ofevening school, which is equivalent to saying but little sleep, gettinghis food by snatches, and working breathlessly from morning till night. He has ruined his health. That is what my mother says. My mother waswaiting for me at the big door; I came out alone, and on the stairs Imet the teacher with the black beard--Coatti, --the one who frightensevery one and punishes no one. He stared at me with wide-open eyes, andmade his voice like that of a lion, in jest, but without laughing. Iwas still laughing when I pulled the bell on the fourth floor; but Iceased very suddenly when the servant let me into a wretched, half-lighted room, where my teacher was in bed. He was lying in a littleiron bed. His beard was long. He put one hand to his brow in order tosee better, and exclaimed in his affectionate voice:--

"Oh, Enrico!"

I approached the bed; he laid one hand on my shoulder and said:--

"Good, my boy. You have done well to come and see your poor teacher. Iam reduced to a sad state, as you see, my dear Enrico. And how fares theschool? How are your comrades getting along? All well, eh? Even withoutme? You do very well without your old master, do you not?"

I was on the point of saying "no"; he interrupted me.

"Come, come, I know that you do not hate me!" and he heaved a sigh.

I glanced at some photographs fastened to the wall.

"Do you see?" he said to me. "All of them are of boys who gave me theirphotographs more than twenty years ago. They were good boys. These aremy souvenirs. When I die, my last glance will be at them; at thoseroguish urchins among whom my life has been passed. You will give meyour portrait, also, will you not, when you have finished the elementarycourse?" Then he took an orange from his nightstand, and put it in myhand.

"I have nothing else to give you, " he said; "it is the gift of a sickman. "

I looked at it, and my heart was sad; I know not why.

"Attend to me, " he began again. "I hope to get over this; but if Ishould not recover, see that you strengthen yourself in arithmetic, which is your weak point; make an effort. It is merely a question of afirst effort: because sometimes there is no lack of aptitude; there ismerely an absence of a fixed purpose--of stability, as it is called. "

But in the meantime he was breathing hard; and it was evident that hewas suffering.

"I am feverish, " he sighed; "I am half gone; I beseech you, therefore, apply yourself to arithmetic, to problems. If you don't succeed atfirst, rest a little and begin afresh. And press forward, but quietlywithout fagging yourself, without straining your mind. Go! My respectsto your mamma. And do not mount these stairs again. We shall see eachother again in school. And if we do not, you must now and then call tomind your master of the third grade, who was fond of you. "

I felt inclined to cry at these words.

"Bend down your head, " he said to me.

I bent my head to his pillow; he kissed my hair. Then he said to me, "Go!" and turned his face towards the wall. And I flew down the stairs;for I longed to embrace my mother.

THE STREET.

Saturday, 25th.

I was watching you from the window this afternoon, when you were on your way home from the master's; you came in collision with a woman. Take more heed to your manner of walking in the street. There are duties to be fulfilled even there. If you keep your steps and gestures within bounds in a private house, why should you not do the same in the street, which is everybody's house. Remember this, Enrico. Every time that you meet a feeble old man, a poor person, a woman with a child in her arms, a cripple with his crutches, a man bending beneath a burden, a family dressed in mourning, make way for them respectfully. We must respect age, misery, maternal love, infirmity, labor, death. Whenever you see a person on the point of being run down by a vehicle, drag him away, if it is a child; warn him, if he is a man; always ask what ails the child who is crying all alone; pick up the aged man's cane, when he lets it fall. If two boys are fighting, separate them; if it is two men, go away: do not look on a scene of brutal violence, which offends and hardens the heart. And when a man passes, bound, and walking between a couple of policemen, do not add your curiosity to the cruel curiosity of the crowd; he may be innocent. Cease to talk with your companion, and to smile, when you meet a hospital litter, which is, perhaps, bearing a dying person, or a funeral procession; for one may issue from your own home on the morrow. Look with reverence upon all boys from the asylums, who walk two and two, --the blind, the dumb, those afflicted with the rickets, orphans, abandoned children; reflect that it is misfortune and human charity which is passing by. Always pretend not to notice any one who has a repulsive or laughter-provoking deformity. Always extinguish every match that you find in your path; for it may cost some one his life. Always answer a passer-by who asks you the way, with politeness. Do not look at any one and laugh; do not run without necessity; do not shout. Respect the street. The education of a people is judged first of all by their behavior on the street. Where you find offences in the streets, there you will find offences in the houses. And study the streets; study the city in which you live. If you were to be hurled far away from it to-morrow, you would be glad to have it clearly present in your memory, to be able to traverse it all again in memory. Your own city, and your little country--that which has been for so many years your world; where you took your first steps at your mother's side; where you experienced your first emotions, opened your mind to its first ideas; found your first friends. It has been a mother to you: it has taught you, loved you, protected you. Study it in its streets and in its people, and love it; and when you hear it insulted, defend it.

THY FATHER.

MARCH

THE EVENING SCHOOLS.

Thursday, 2d.

LAST night my father took me to see the evening schools in our Barettischoolhouse, which were all lighted up already, and where the workingmenwere already beginning to enter. On our arrival we found the head-masterand the other masters in a great rage, because a little while before theglass in one window had been broken by a stone. The beadle had dartedforth and seized a boy by the hair, who was passing; but thereupon, Stardi, who lives in the house opposite, had presented himself, andsaid:--

"This is not the right one; I saw it with my own eyes; it was Franti whothrew it; and he said to me, 'Woe to you if you tell of me!' but I amnot afraid. "

Then the head-master declared that Franti should be expelled for good. In the meantime I was watching the workingmen enter by twos and threes;and more than two hundred had already entered. I have never seenanything so fine as the evening school. There were boys of twelve andupwards; bearded men who were on their way from their work, carryingtheir books and copy-books; there were carpenters, engineers with blackfaces, masons with hands white with plaster, bakers' boys with theirhair full of flour; and there was perceptible the odor of varnish, hides, fish, oil, --odors of all the various trades. There also entered asquad of artillery workmen, dressed like soldiers and headed by acorporal. They all filed briskly to their benches, removed the boardunderneath, on which we put our feet, and immediately bent their headsover their work.

Some stepped up to the teachers to ask explanations, with their opencopy-books in their hands. I caught sight of that young and well-dressedmaster "the little lawyer, " who had three or four workingmen clusteredround his table, and was making corrections with his pen; and also thelame one, who was laughing with a dyer who had brought him a copy-bookall adorned with red and blue dyes. My master, who had recovered, andwho will return to school to-morrow, was there also. The doors of theschoolroom were open. I was amazed, when the lessons began, to see howattentive they all were, and how they kept their eyes fixed on theirwork. Yet the greater part of them, so the head-master said, for fear ofbeing late, had not even been home to eat a mouthful of supper, and theywere hungry.

But the younger ones, after half an hour of school, were falling off thebenches with sleep; one even went fast asleep with his head on thebench, and the master waked him up by poking his ear with a pen. But thegrown-up men did nothing of the sort; they kept awake, and listened, with their mouths wide open, to the lesson, without even winking; and itmade a deep impression on me to see all those bearded men on ourbenches. We also ascended to the story floor above, and I ran to thedoor of my schoolroom and saw in my seat a man with a big mustache and abandaged hand, who might have injured himself while at work about somemachine; but he was trying to write, though very, very slowly.

But what pleased me most was to behold in the seat of the little mason, on the very same bench and in the very same corner, his father, themason, as huge as a giant, who sat there all coiled up into a narrowspace, with his chin on his fists and his eyes on his book, so absorbedthat he hardly breathed. And there was no chance about it, for it was hehimself who said to the head-master the first evening he came to theschool:--

"Signor Director, do me the favor to place me in the seat of 'my hare'sface. '" For he always calls his son so.

My father kept me there until the end, and in the street we saw manywomen with children in their arms, waiting for their husbands; and atthe entrance a change was effected: the husbands took the children intheir arms, and the women made them surrender their books andcopy-books; and in this wise they proceeded to their homes. For severalminutes the street was filled with people and with noise. Then all grewsilent, and all we could see was the tall and weary form of thehead-master disappearing in the distance.

THE FIGHT.

Sunday, 5th.

It was what might have been expected. Franti, on being expelled by thehead-master, wanted to revenge himself on Stardi, and he waited forStardi at a corner, when he came out of school, and when the latter waspassing with his sister, whom he escorts every day from an institutionin the Via Dora Grossa. My sister Silvia, on emerging from herschoolhouse, witnessed the whole affair, and came home thoroughlyterrified. This is what took place. Franti, with his cap of waxed clothcanted over one ear, ran up on tiptoe behind Stardi, and in order toprovoke him, gave a tug at his sister's braid of hair, --a tug so violentthat it almost threw the girl flat on her back on the ground. The littlegirl uttered a cry; her brother whirled round; Franti, who is muchtaller and stronger than Stardi, thought:--

"He'll not utter a word, or I'll break his skin for him!"

But Stardi never paused to reflect, and small and ill-made as he is, heflung himself with one bound on that big fellow, and began to belaborhim with his fists. He could not hold his own, however, and he got morethan he gave. There was no one in the street but girls, so there was noone who could separate them. Franti flung him on the ground; but theother instantly got up, and then down he went on his back again, andFranti pounded away as though upon a door: in an instant he had tornaway half an ear, and bruised one eye, and drawn blood from the other'snose. But Stardi was tenacious; he roared:--

"You may kill me, but I'll make you pay for it!" And down went Franti, kicking and cuffing, and Stardi under him, butting and lungeing out withhis heels. A woman shrieked from a window, "Good for the little one!"Others said, "It is a boy defending his sister; courage! give it to himwell!" And they screamed at Franti, "You overbearing brute! you coward!"But Franti had grown ferocious; he held out his leg; Stardi tripped andfell, and Franti on top of him.

"Surrender!"--"No!"--"Surrender!"--"No!" and in a flash Stardi recoveredhis feet, clasped Franti by the body, and, with one furious effort, hurled him on the pavement, and fell upon him with one knee on hisbreast.

"Ah, the infamous fellow! he has a knife!" shouted a man, rushing up todisarm Franti.

But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had already grasped Franti's armwith both hands, and bestowed on the fist such a bite that the knifefell from it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had run up in themeantime, who separated them and set them on their feet. Franti took tohis heels in a sorry plight, and Stardi stood still, with his face allscratched, and a black eye, --but triumphant, --beside his weeping sister, while some of the girls collected the books and copy-books which werestrewn over the street.

"Bravo, little fellow!" said the bystanders; "he defended his sister!"

But Stardi, who was thinking more of his satchel than of his victory, instantly set to examining the books and copy-books, one by one, to seewhether anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them off with hissleeve, scrutinized his pen, put everything back in its place, and then, tranquil and serious as usual, he said to his sister, "Let us go homequickly, for I have a problem to solve. "

THE BOYS' PARENTS.

Monday, 6th.

This morning big Stardi, the father, came to wait for his son, fearinglest he should again encounter Franti. But they say that Franti will notbe seen again, because he will be put in the penitentiary.

There were a great many parents there this morning. Among the rest therewas the retail wood-dealer, the father of Coretti, the perfect image ofhis son, slender, brisk, with his mustache brought to a point, and aribbon of two colors in the button-hole of his jacket. I know nearly allthe parents of the boys, through constantly seeing them there. There isone crooked grandmother, with her white cap, who comes four times a day, whether it rains or snows or storms, to accompany and to get her littlegrandson, of the upper primary; and she takes off his little cloak andputs it on for him, adjusts his necktie, brushes off the dust, polisheshim up, and takes care of the copy-books. It is evident that she has noother thought, that she sees nothing in the world more beautiful. Thecaptain of artillery also comes frequently, the father of Robetti, thelad with the crutches, who saved a child from the omnibus, and as allhis son's companions bestow a caress on him in passing, he returns acaress or a salute to every one, and he never forgets any one; he bendsover all, and the poorer and more badly dressed they are, the morepleased he seems to be, and he thanks them.

At times, however, sad sights are to be seen. A gentleman who had notcome for a month because one of his sons had died, and who had sent amaidservant for the other, on returning yesterday and beholding theclass, the comrades of his little dead boy, retired into a corner andburst into sobs, with both hands before his face, and the head-mastertook him by the arm and led him to his office.

There are fathers and mothers who know all their sons' companions byname. There are girls from the neighboring schoolhouse, and scholars inthe gymnasium, who come to wait for their brothers. There is one oldgentleman who was a colonel formerly, and who, when a boy drops acopy-book or a pen, picks it up for him. There are also to be seenwell-dressed men, who discuss school matters with others, who havekerchiefs on their heads, and baskets on their arm, and who say:--

"Oh! the problem has been a difficult one this time. "--"That grammarlesson will never come to an end this morning!"

And when there is a sick boy in the class, they all know it; when a sickboy is convalescent, they all rejoice. And this morning there were eightor ten gentlemen and workingmen standing around Crossi's mother, thevegetable-vender, making inquiries about a poor baby in my brother'sclass, who lives in her court, and who is in danger of his life. Theschool seems to make them all equals and friends.

NUMBER 78.

Wednesday, 8th.

I witnessed a touching scene yesterday afternoon. For several days, every time that the vegetable-vender has passed Derossi she has gazedand gazed at him with an expression of great affection; for Derossi, since he made the discovery about that inkstand and prisoner Number 78, has acquired a love for her son, Crossi, the red-haired boy with theuseless arm; and he helps him to do his work in school, suggests answersto him, gives him paper, pens, and pencils; in short, he behaves to himlike a brother, as though to compensate him for his father's misfortune, which has affected him, although he does not know it.

The vegetable-vender had been gazing at Derossi for several days, andshe seemed loath to take her eyes from him, for she is a good woman wholives only for her son; and Derossi, who assists him and makes himappear well, Derossi, who is a gentleman and the head of the school, seems to her a king, a saint. She continued to stare at him, and seemeddesirous of saying something to him, yet ashamed to do it. But at last, yesterday morning, she took courage, stopped him in front of a gate, andsaid to him:--

"I beg a thousand pardons, little master! Will you, who are so kind tomy son, and so fond of him, do me the favor to accept this littlememento from a poor mother?" and she pulled out of her vegetable-basketa little pasteboard box of white and gold.

Derossi flushed up all over, and refused, saying with decision:--

"Give it to your son; I will accept nothing. "

The woman was mortified, and stammered an excuse:--

"I had no idea of offending you. It is only caramels. "

But Derossi said "no, " again, and shook his head. Then she timidlylifted from her basket a bunch of radishes, and said:--

"Accept these at least, --they are fresh, --and carry them to your mamma. "

Derossi smiled, and said:--

"No, thanks: I don't want anything; I shall always do all that I can forCrossi, but I cannot accept anything. I thank you all the same. "

"But you are not at all offended?" asked the woman, anxiously.

Derossi said "No, no!" smiled, and went off, while she exclaimed, ingreat delight:--

"Oh, what a good boy! I have never seen so fine and handsome a boy ashe!"

And that appeared to be the end of it. But in the afternoon, at fouro'clock, instead of Crossi's mother, his father approached, with thatgaunt and melancholy face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the wayin which he looked at the latter I instantly understood that hesuspected Derossi of knowing his secret. He looked at him intently, andsaid in his sorrowful, affectionate voice:--

"You are fond of my son. Why do you like him so much?"

Derossi's face turned the color of fire. He would have liked to say: "Iam fond of him because he has been unfortunate; because you, his father, have been more unfortunate than guilty, and have nobly expiated yourcrime, and are a man of heart. " But he had not the courage to say it, for at bottom he still felt fear and almost loathing in the presence ofthis man who had shed another's blood, and had been six years in prison. But the latter divined it all, and lowering his voice, he said inDerossi's ear, almost trembling the while:--


"You love the son; but you do not hate, do not wholly despise thefather, do you?"

"Ah, no, no! Quite the reverse!" exclaimed Derossi, with a soulfulimpulse. And then the man made an impetuous movement, as though to throwone arm round his neck; but he dared not, and instead he took one of thelad's golden curls between two of his fingers, smoothed it out, andreleased it; then he placed his hand on his mouth and kissed his palm, gazing at Derossi with moist eyes, as though to say that this kiss wasfor him. Then he took his son by the hand, and went away at a rapidpace.

A LITTLE DEAD BOY.

Monday, 13th.

The little boy who lived in the vegetable-vender's court, the one whobelonged to the upper primary, and was the companion of my brother, isdead. Schoolmistress Delcati came in great affliction, on Saturdayafternoon, to inform the master of it; and instantly Garrone and Corettivolunteered to carry the coffin. He was a fine little lad. He had wonthe medal last week. He was fond of my brother, and he had presented himwith a broken money-box. My mother always caressed him when she met him. He wore a cap with two stripes of red cloth. His father is a porter onthe railway. Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, at half-past four o'clock, wewent to his house, to accompany him to the church.

They live on the ground floor. Many boys of the upper primary, withtheir mothers, all holding candles, and five or six teachers and severalneighbors were already collected in the courtyard. The mistress with thered feather and Signora Delcati had gone inside, and through an openwindow we beheld them weeping. We could hear the mother of the childsobbing loudly. Two ladies, mothers of two school companions of the deadchild, had brought two garlands of flowers.

Exactly at five o'clock we set out. In front went a boy carrying across, then a priest, then the coffin, --a very, very small coffin, poorchild!--covered with a black cloth, and round it were wound the garlandsof flowers brought by the two ladies. On the black cloth, on one side, were fastened the medal and honorable mentions which the little boy hadwon in the course of the year. Garrone, Coretti, and two boys from thecourtyard bore the coffin. Behind the coffin, first came SignoraDelcati, who wept as though the little dead boy were her own; behind herthe other schoolmistresses; and behind the mistresses, the boys, amongwhom were some very little ones, who carried bunches of violets in onehand, and who stared in amazement at the bier, while their other handwas held by their mothers, who carried candles. I heard one of them say, "And shall I not see him at school again?"

When the coffin emerged from the court, a despairing cry was heard fromthe window. It was the child's mother; but they made her draw back intothe room immediately. On arriving in the street, we met the boys from acollege, who were passing in double file, and on catching sight of thecoffin with the medal and the schoolmistresses, they all pulled offtheir hats.

Poor little boy! he went to sleep forever with his medal. We shall neversee his red cap again. He was in perfect health; in four days he wasdead. On the last day he made an effort to rise and do his little taskin nomenclature, and he insisted on keeping his medal on his bed forfear it would be taken from him. No one will ever take it from youagain, poor boy! Farewell, farewell! We shall always remember thee atthe Baretti School! Sleep in peace, dear little boy!

THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH.

To-day has been more cheerful than yesterday. The thirteenth of March!The eve of the distribution of prizes at the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, the greatest and most beautiful festival of the whole year! But thistime the boys who are to go upon the stage and present the certificatesof the prizes to the gentlemen who are to bestow them are not to betaken at haphazard. The head-master came in this morning, at the closeof school, and said:--

"Good news, boys!" Then he called, "Coraci!" the Calabrian. TheCalabrian rose. "Would you like to be one of those to carry thecertificates of the prizes to the authorities in the theatre to-morrow?"The Calabrian answered that he should.

"That is well, " said the head-master; "then there will also be arepresentative of Calabria there; and that will be a fine thing. Themunicipal authorities are desirous that this year the ten or twelve ladswho hand the prizes should be from all parts of Italy, and selected fromall the public school buildings. We have twenty buildings, with fiveannexes--seven thousand pupils. Among such a multitude there has been nodifficulty in finding one boy for each region of Italy. Tworepresentatives of the Islands were found in the Torquato Tassoschoolhouse, a Sardinian, and a Sicilian; the Boncompagni Schoolfurnished a little Florentine, the son of a wood-carver; there is aRoman, a native of Rome, in the Tommaseo building; several Venetians, Lombards, and natives of Romagna have been found; the Monviso Schoolgives us a Neapolitan, the son of an officer; we furnish a Genoese and aCalabrian, --you, Coraci, --with the Piemontese: that will make twelve. Does not this strike you as nice? It will be your brothers from allquarters of Italy who will give you your prizes. Look out! the wholetwelve will appear on the stage together. Receive them with heartyapplause. They are only boys, but they represent the country just asthough they were men. A small tricolored flag is the symbol of Italy asmuch as a huge banner, is it not?

"Applaud them warmly, then. Let it be seen that your little hearts areall aglow, that your souls of ten years grow enthusiastic in thepresence of the sacred image of your fatherland. "

Having spoken thus, he went away, and the master said, with a smile, "So, Coraci, you are to be the deputy from Calabria. "

And then all clapped their hands and laughed; and when we got into thestreet, we surrounded Coraci, seized him by the legs, lifted him onhigh, and set out to carry him in triumph, shouting, "Hurrah for theDeputy of Calabria!" by way of making a noise, of course; and not injest, but quite the contrary, for the sake of making a celebration forhim, and with a good will, for he is a boy who pleases every one; and hesmiled. And thus we bore him as far as the corner, where we ran into agentleman with a black beard, who began to laugh. The Calabrian said, "That is my father. " And then the boys placed his son in his arms andran away in all directions.

THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES.

March 14th.

Towards two o'clock the vast theatre was crowded, --pit, gallery, boxes, stage, all were thronged; thousands of faces, --boys, gentlemen, teachers, workingmen, women of the people, babies. There was a moving ofheads and hands, a flutter of feathers, ribbons, and curls, and loud andmerry murmur which inspired cheerfulness. The theatre was all decoratedwith festoons of white, red, and green cloth. In the pit two littlestairways had been erected: one on the right, which the winners ofprizes were to ascend in order to reach the stage; the other, on theleft, which they were to descend after receiving their prizes. On thefront of the platform there was a row of red chairs; and from the backof the one in the centre hung two laurel crowns. At the back of thestage was a trophy of flags; on one side stood a small green table, andupon it lay all the certificates of premiums, tied with tricoloredribbons. The band of music was stationed in the pit, under the stage;the schoolmasters and mistresses filled all one side of the firstbalcony, which had been reserved for them; the benches and passages ofthe pit were crammed with hundreds of boys, who were to sing, and whohad written music in their hands. At the back and all about, masters andmistresses could be seen going to and fro, arranging the prize scholarsin lines; and it was full of parents who were giving a last touch totheir hair and the last pull to their neckties.

[Illustration: "HURRAH FOR THE DEPUTY OF CALABRIA!"--Page 166. ]

No sooner had I entered my box with my family than I perceived in theopposite box the young mistress with the red feather, who was smilingand showing all the pretty dimples in her cheeks, and with her mybrother's teacher and "the little nun, " dressed wholly in black, and mykind mistress of the upper first; but she was so pale, poor thing! andcoughed so hard, that she could be heard all over the theatre. In thepit I instantly espied Garrone's dear, big face and the little blondhead of Nelli, who was clinging close to the other's shoulder. A littlefurther on I saw Garoffi, with his owl's-beak nose, who was making greatefforts to collect the printed catalogues of the prize-winners; and healready had a large bundle of them which he could put to some use in hisbartering--we shall find out what it is to-morrow. Near the door was thewood-seller with his wife, --both dressed in festive attire, --togetherwith their boy, who has a third prize in the second grade. I was amazedat no longer beholding the catskin cap and the chocolate-colored tights:on this occasion he was dressed like a little gentleman. In one balconyI caught a momentary glimpse of Votini, with a large lace collar; thenhe disappeared. In a proscenium box, filled with people, was theartillery captain, the father of Robetti, the boy with the crutches whosaved the child from the omnibus.

On the stroke of two the band struck up, and at the same moment themayor, the prefect, the judge, the _provveditore_, and many othergentlemen, all dressed in black, mounted the stairs on the right, andseated themselves on the red chairs at the front of the platform. Theband ceased playing. The director of singing in the schools advancedwith a _baton_ in his hand. At a signal from him all the boys in the pitrose to their feet; at another sign they began to sing. There were sevenhundred singing a very beautiful song, --seven hundred boys' voicessinging together; how beautiful! All listened motionless: it was a slow, sweet, limpid song which seemed like a church chant. When they ceased, every one applauded; then they all became very still. The distributionof the prizes was about to begin. My little master of the second grade, with his red head and his quick eyes, who was to read the names of theprize-winners, had already advanced to the front of the stage. Theentrance of the twelve boys who were to present the certificates waswhat they were waiting for. The newspapers had already stated thatthere would be boys from all the provinces of Italy. Every one knew it, and was watching for them and gazing curiously towards the spot wherethey were to enter, and the mayor and the other gentlemen gazed also, and the whole theatre was silent.

All at once the whole twelve arrived on the stage at a run, and remainedstanding there in line, with a smile. The whole theatre, three thousandpersons, sprang up simultaneously, breaking into applause which soundedlike a clap of thunder. The boys stood for a moment as thoughdisconcerted. "Behold Italy!" said a voice on the stage. All at once Irecognized Coraci, the Calabrian, dressed in black as usual. A gentlemanbelonging to the municipal government, who was with us and who knew themall, pointed them out to my mother. "That little blond is therepresentative of Venice. The Roman is that tall, curly-haired lad, yonder. " Two or three of them were dressed like gentlemen; the otherswere sons of workingmen, but all were neatly clad and clean. TheFlorentine, who was the smallest, had a blue scarf round his body. Theyall passed in front of the mayor, who kissed them, one after the other, on the brow, while a gentleman seated next to him smilingly told him thenames of their cities: "Florence, Naples, Bologna, Palermo. " And as eachpassed by, the whole theatre clapped. Then they all ran to the greentable, to take the certificates. The master began to read the list, mentioning the schoolhouses, the classes, the names; and theprize-winners began to mount the stage and to file past.

The foremost ones had hardly reached the stage, when behind the scenesthere became audible a very, very faint music of violins, which did notcease during the whole time that they were filing past--a soft andalways even air, like the murmur of many subdued voices, the voices ofall the mothers, and all the masters and mistresses, giving counsel inconcert, and beseeching and administering loving reproofs. Andmeanwhile, the prize-winners passed one by one in front of the seatedgentlemen, who handed them their certificates, and said a word orbestowed a caress on each.

The boys in the pit and the balconies applauded loudly every time thatthere passed a very small lad, or one who seemed, from his garments, tobe poor; and also for those who had abundant curly hair, or who wereclad in red or white. Some of those who filed past belonged to the upperprimary, and once arrived there, they became confused and did not knowwhere to turn, and the whole theatre laughed. One passed, three spanshigh, with a big knot of pink ribbon on his back, so that he couldhardly walk, and he got entangled in the carpet and tumbled down; andthe prefect set him on his feet again, and all laughed and clapped. Another rolled headlong down the stairs, when descending again to thepit: cries arose, but he had not hurt himself. Boys of all sortspassed, --boys with roguish faces, with frightened faces, with faces asred as cherries; comical little fellows, who laughed in every one'sface: and no sooner had they got back into the pit, than they wereseized upon by their fathers and mothers, who carried them away.

When our schoolhouse's turn came, how amused I was! Many whom I knewpassed. Coretti filed by, dressed in new clothes from head to foot, withhis fine, merry smile, which displayed all his white teeth; but whoknows how many myriagrammes of wood he had already carried that morning!The mayor, on presenting him with his certificate, inquired the meaningof a red mark on his forehead, and as he did so, laid one hand on hisshoulder. I looked in the pit for his father and mother, and saw themlaughing, while they covered their mouths with one hand. Then Derossipassed, all dressed in bright blue, with shining buttons, with all thosegolden curls, slender, easy, with his head held high, so handsome, sosympathetic, that I could have blown him a kiss; and all the gentlemenwanted to speak to him and to shake his hand.

Then the master cried, "Giulio Robetti!" and we saw the captain's soncome forward on his crutches. Hundreds of boys knew the occurrence; arumor ran round in an instant; a salvo of applause broke forth, and ofshouts, which made the theatre tremble: men sprang to their feet, theladies began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the poor boy halted in themiddle of the stage, amazed and trembling. The mayor drew him to him, gave him his prize and a kiss, and removing the two laurel crowns whichwere hanging from the back of the chair, he strung them on thecross-bars of his crutches. Then he accompanied him to the prosceniumbox, where his father, the captain, was seated; and the latter liftedhim bodily and set him down inside, amid an indescribable tumult ofbravos and hurrahs.

Meanwhile, the soft and gentle music of the violins continued, and theboys continued to file by, --those from the Schoolhouse della Consolata, nearly all the sons of petty merchants; those from the VanchigliaSchool, the sons of workingmen; those from the Boncompagni School, manyof whom were the sons of peasants; those of the Rayneri, which was thelast. As soon as it was over, the seven hundred boys in the pit sanganother very beautiful song; then the mayor spoke, and after him thejudge, who terminated his discourse by saying to the boys:--

"But do not leave this place without sending a salute to those who toilso hard for you; who have consecrated to you all the strength of theirintelligence and of their hearts; who live and die for you. There theyare; behold them!" And he pointed to the balcony of teachers. Then, fromthe balconies, from the pit, from the boxes, the boys rose, and extendedtheir arms towards the masters and mistresses, with a shout, and thelatter responded by waving their hands, their hats, and handkerchiefs, as they all stood up, in their emotion. After this, the band played oncemore, and the audience sent a last noisy salute to the twelve lads ofall the provinces of Italy, who presented themselves at the front of thestage, all drawn up in line, with their hands interlaced, beneath ashower of flowers.

STRIFE.

Monday, 26th.

However, it is not out of envy, because he got the prize and I did not, that I quarrelled with Coretti this morning. It was not out of envy. ButI was in the wrong. The teacher had placed him beside me, and I waswriting in my copy-book for calligraphy; he jogged my elbow and made meblot and soil the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which I was to copyfor the little mason, who is ill. I got angry, and said a rude word tohim. He replied, with a smile, "I did not do it intentionally. " I shouldhave believed him, because I know him; but it displeased me that heshould smile, and I thought:--

"Oh! now that he has had a prize, he has grown saucy!" and a littlewhile afterwards, to revenge myself, I gave him a jog which made himspoil his page. Then, all crimson with wrath, "You did that on purpose, "he said to me, and raised his hand: the teacher saw it; he drew it back. But he added:--

"I shall wait for you outside!" I felt ill at ease; my wrath hadsimmered away; I repented. No; Coretti could not have done itintentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled how I had seen him inhis own home; how he had worked and helped his sick mother; and then howheartily he had been welcomed in my house; and how he had pleased myfather. What would I not have given not to have said that word to him;not to have insulted him thus! And I thought of the advice that myfather had given to me: "Have you done wrong?"--"Yes. "--"Then beg hispardon. " But this I did not dare to do; I was ashamed to humiliatemyself. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I saw his coatripped on the shoulder, --perhaps because he had carried too muchwood, --and I felt that I loved him; and I said to myself, "Courage!" Butthe words, "excuse me, " stuck in my throat. He looked at me askance fromtime to time, and he seemed to me to be more grieved than angry. But atsuch times I looked malevolently at him, to show him that I was notafraid.

He repeated, "We shall meet outside!" And I said, "We shall meetoutside!" But I was thinking of what my father had once said to me, "Ifyou are wronged, defend yourself, but do not fight. "

And I said to myself, "I will defend myself, but I will not fight. " ButI was discontented, and I no longer listened to the master. At last themoment of dismissal arrived. When I was alone in the street I perceivedthat he was following me. I stopped and waited for him, ruler in hand. He approached; I raised my ruler.

"No, Enrico, " he said, with his kindly smile, waving the ruler asidewith his hand; "let us be friends again, as before. "

I stood still in amazement, and then I felt what seemed to be a handdealing a push on my shoulders, and I found myself in his arms. Hekissed me, and said:--

"We'll have no more altercations between us, will we?"

"Never again! never again!" I replied. And we parted content. But when Ireturned home, and told my father all about it, thinking to give himpleasure, his face clouded over, and he said:--

"You should have been the first to offer your hand, since you were inthe wrong. " Then he added, "You should not raise your ruler at a comradewho is better than you are--at the son of a soldier!" and snatching theruler from my hand, he broke it in two, and hurled it against the wall.

MY SISTER.

Friday, 24th.

Why, Enrico, after our father has already reproved you for having behaved badly to Coretti, were you so unkind to me? You cannot imagine the pain that you caused me. Do you not know that when you were a baby, I stood for hours and hours beside your cradle, instead of playing with my companions, and that when you were ill, I got out of bed every night to feel whether your forehead was burning? Do you not know, you who grieve your sister, that if a tremendous misfortune should overtake us, I should be a mother to you and love you like my son? Do you not know that when our father and mother are no longer here, I shall be your best friend, the only person with whom you can talk about our dead and your infancy, and that, should it be necessary, I shall work for you, Enrico, to earn your bread and to pay for your studies, and that I shall always love you when you are grown up, that I shall follow you in thought when you go far away, always because we grew up together and have the same blood? O Enrico, be sure of this when you are a man, that if misfortune happens to you, if you are alone, be very sure that you will seek me, that you will come to me and say: "Silvia, sister, let me stay with you; let us talk of the days when we were happy--do you remember? Let us talk of our mother, of our home, of those beautiful days that are so far away. " O Enrico, you will always find your sister with her arms wide open. Yes, dear Enrico; and you must forgive me for the reproof that I am administering to you now. I shall never recall any wrong of yours; and if you should give me other sorrows, what matters it? You will always be my brother, the same brother; I shall never recall you otherwise than as having held you in my arms when a baby, of having loved our father and mother with you, of having watched you grow up, of having been for years your most faithful companion. But do you write me a kind word in this same copy-book, and I will come for it and read it before the evening. In the meanwhile, to show you that I am not angry with you, and perceiving that you are weary, I have copied for you the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which you were to have copied for the little sick mason. Look in the left drawer of your table; I have been writing all night, while you were asleep. Write me a kind word, Enrico, I beseech you.

THY SISTER SILVIA.

I am not worthy to kiss your hands. --ENRICO.

BLOOD OF ROMAGNA.

(_Monthly Story. _)

That evening the house of Ferruccio was more silent than was its wont. The father, who kept a little haberdasher's shop, had gone to Forli tomake some purchases, and his wife had accompanied him, with Luigina, ababy, whom she was taking to a doctor, that he might operate on adiseased eye; and they were not to return until the following morning. It was almost midnight. The woman who came to do the work by day hadgone away at nightfall. In the house there was only the grandmother withthe paralyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad of thirteen. It was a smallhouse of but one story, situated on the highway, at a gunshot's distancefrom a village not far from Forli, a town of Romagna; and there was nearit only an uninhabited house, ruined two months previously by fire, onwhich the sign of an inn was still to be seen. Behind the tiny house wasa small garden surrounded by a hedge, upon which a rustic gate opened;the door of the shop, which also served as the house door, opened on thehighway. All around spread the solitary campagna, vast cultivatedfields, planted with mulberry-trees.

It was nearly midnight; it was raining and blowing. Ferruccio and hisgrandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between whichand the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with oldfurniture. Ferruccio had only returned home at eleven o'clock, after anabsence of many hours, and his grandmother had watched for him with eyeswide open, filled with anxiety, nailed to the large arm-chair, uponwhich she was accustomed to pass the entire day, and often the wholenight as well, since a difficulty of breathing did not allow her to liedown in bed.

It was raining, and the wind beat the rain against the window-panes: thenight was very dark. Ferruccio had returned weary, muddy, with hisjacket torn, and the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He hadengaged in a stone fight with his comrades; they had come to blows, asusual; and in addition he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and lefthis cap in a ditch.

Although the kitchen was illuminated only by a small oil lamp, placed onthe corner of the table, near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother hadinstantly perceived the wretched condition of her grandson, and hadpartly divined, partly brought him to confess, his misdeeds.

She loved this boy with all her soul. When she had learned all, shebegan to cry.

"Ah, no!" she said, after a long silence, "you have no heart for yourpoor grandmother. You have no feeling, to take advantage in this mannerof the absence of your father and mother, to cause me sorrow. You haveleft me alone the whole day long. You had not the slightest compassion. Take care, Ferruccio! You are entering on an evil path which will leadyou to a sad end. I have seen others begin like you, and come to a badend. If you begin by running away from home, by getting into brawls withthe other boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone fights youwill come to knives, from gambling to other vices, and from other vicesto--theft. "

Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning against a cupboard, with his chin on his breast and his brows knit, being still hot withwrath from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell across hisforehead, and his blue eyes were motionless.

"From gambling to theft!" repeated his grandmother, continuing to weep. "Think of it, Ferruccio! Think of that scourge of the country abouthere, of that Vito Mozzoni, who is now playing the vagabond in the town;who, at the age of twenty-four, has been twice in prison, and has madethat poor woman, his mother, die of a broken heart--I knew her; and hisfather has fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that bad fellow, whose salute your father is ashamed to return: he is always roaming withmiscreants worse than himself, and some day he will go to the galleys. Well, I knew him as a boy, and he began as you are doing. Reflect thatyou will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his. "

Ferruccio held his peace. He was not at all remorseful at heart; quitethe reverse: his misdemeanors arose rather from superabundance of lifeand audacity than from an evil mind; and his father had managed himbadly in precisely this particular, that, holding him capable, atbottom, of the finest sentiments, and also, when put to the proof, of avigorous and generous action, he left the bridle loose upon his neck, and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was goodrather than perverse, but stubborn; and it was hard for him, even whenhis heart was oppressed with repentance, to allow those good words whichwin pardon to escape his lips, "If I have done wrong, I will do so nomore; I promise it; forgive me. " His soul was full of tenderness attimes; but pride would not permit it to manifest itself.

"Ah, Ferruccio, " continued his grandmother, perceiving that he was thusdumb, "not a word of penitence do you utter to me! You see to what acondition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. Youought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother ofyour mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep; the poorgrandmother who has always loved you so, who rocked you all night long, night after night, when you were a baby a few months old, and who didnot eat for amusing you, --you do not know that! I always said, 'This boywill be my consolation!' And now you are killing me! I would willinglygive the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a goodboy, and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to leadyou to the sanctuary--do you remember, Ferruccio? You used to fill mypockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fastasleep. You used to love your poor grandma then. And now I am aparalytic, and in need of your affection as of the air to breathe, sinceI have no one else in the world, poor, half-dead woman that I am: myGod!"

Ferruccio was on the point of throwing himself on his grandmother, overcome with emotion, when he fancied that he heard a slight noise, acreaking in the small adjoining room, the one which opened on thegarden. But he could not make out whether it was the window-shuttersrattling in the wind, or something else.

He bent his head and listened.

The rain beat down noisily.

The sound was repeated. His grandmother heard it also.

"What is it?" asked the grandmother, in perturbation, after a momentarypause.

"The rain, " murmured the boy.

"Then, Ferruccio, " said the old woman, drying her eyes, "you promise methat you will be good, that you will not make your poor grandmother weepagain--"

Another faint sound interrupted her.

"But it seems to me that it is not the rain!" she exclaimed, turningpale. "Go and see!"

But she instantly added, "No; remain here!" and seized Ferruccio by thehand.

Both remained as they were, and held their breath. All they heard wasthe sound of the water.

Then both were seized with a shivering fit.

It seemed to both that they heard footsteps in the next room.

"Who's there?" demanded the lad, recovering his breath with an effort.

No one replied.

"Who is it?" asked Ferruccio again, chilled with terror.

But hardly had he pronounced these words when both uttered a shriek ofterror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy andplaced one hand over his mouth; the other clutched the old woman by thethroat. The first said:--

"Silence, unless you want to die!"

The second:--

"Be quiet!" and raised aloft a knife.

Both had dark cloths over their faces, with two holes for the eyes.

For a moment nothing was audible but the gasping breath of all four, thepatter of the rain; the old woman emitted frequent rattles from herthroat, and her eyes were starting from her head.

The man who held the boy said in his ear, "Where does your father keephis money?"

The lad replied in a thread of a voice, with chattering teeth, "Yonder--in the cupboard. "

"Come with me, " said the man.

And he dragged him into the closet room, holding him securely by thethroat. There was a dark lantern standing on the floor.

"Where is the cupboard?" he demanded.

The suffocating boy pointed to the cupboard.

Then, in order to make sure of the boy, the man flung him on his kneesin front of the cupboard, and, pressing his neck closely between his ownlegs, in such a way that he could throttle him if he shouted, andholding his knife in his teeth and his lantern in one hand, with theother he pulled from his pocket a pointed iron, drove it into the lock, fumbled about, broke it, threw the doors wide open, tumbled everythingover in a perfect fury of haste, filled his pockets, shut the cupboardagain, opened it again, made another search; then he seized the boy bythe windpipe again, and pushed him to where the other man was stillgrasping the old woman, who was convulsed, with her head thrown back andher mouth open.

The latter asked in a low voice, "Did you find it?"

His companion replied, "I found it. "

And he added, "See to the door. "

The one that was holding the old woman ran to the door of the garden tosee if there were any one there, and called in from the little room, ina voice that resembled a hiss, "Come!"

The one who remained behind, and who was still holding Ferruccio fast, showed his knife to the boy and the old woman, who had opened her eyesagain, and said, "Not a sound, or I'll come back and cut your throat. "

And he glared at the two for a moment.

At this juncture, a song sung by many voices became audible far off onthe highway.

The robber turned his head hastily toward the door, and the violence ofthe movement caused the cloth to fall from his face.

The old woman gave vent to a shriek; "Mozzoni!"

"Accursed woman, " roared the robber, on finding himself recognized, "youshall die!"

And he hurled himself, with his knife raised, against the old woman, whoswooned on the spot.

The assassin dealt the blow.

But Ferruccio, with an exceedingly rapid movement, and uttering a cry ofdesperation, had rushed to his grandmother, and covered her body withhis own. The assassin fled, stumbling against the table and overturningthe light, which was extinguished.

The boy slipped slowly from above his grandmother, fell on his knees, and remained in that attitude, with his arms around her body and hishead upon her breast.

Several moments passed; it was very dark; the song of the peasantsgradually died away in the campagna. The old woman recovered her senses.

"Ferruccio!" she cried, in a voice that was barely intelligible, withchattering teeth.

"Grandmamma!" replied the lad.

The old woman made an effort to speak; but terror had paralyzed hertongue.

She remained silent for a while, trembling violently.

Then she succeeded in asking:--

"They are not here now?"

"No. "

"They did not kill me, " murmured the old woman in a stifled voice.

"No; you are safe, " said Ferruccio, in a weak voice. "You are safe, deargrandmother. They carried off the money. But daddy had taken nearly allof it with him. "

His grandmother drew a deep breath.

"Grandmother, " said Ferruccio, still kneeling, and pressing her close tohim, "dear grandmother, you love me, don't you?"

"O Ferruccio! my poor little son!" she replied, placing her hands on hishead; "what a fright you must have had!--O Lord God of mercy!--Light thelamp. No; let us still remain in the dark! I am still afraid. "

"Grandmother, " resumed the boy, "I have always caused you grief. "

"No, Ferruccio, you must not say such things; I shall never think ofthat again; I have forgotten everything, I love you so dearly!"

"I have always caused you grief, " pursued Ferruccio, with difficulty, and his voice quivered; "but I have always loved you. Do you forgiveme?--Forgive me, grandmother. "

"Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. Think, how could I helpforgiving you! Rise from your knees, my child. I will never scold youagain. You are so good, so good! Let us light the lamp. Let us takecourage a little. Rise, Ferruccio. "

"Thanks, grandmother, " said the boy, and his voice was still weaker. "Now--I am content. You will remember me, grandmother--will you not? Youwill always remember me--your Ferruccio?"

"My Ferruccio!" exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as shelaid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look himin his face.

"Remember me, " murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like abreath. "Give a kiss to my mother--to my father--to Luigina. --Good by, grandmother. "

"In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?" shrieked the oldwoman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; andthen with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and indesperation: "Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angelsof Paradise, come to my aid!"

But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the saviour of the motherof his mother, stabbed by a blow from a knife in the back, had renderedup his beautiful and daring soul to God.

THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED.

Tuesday, 18th.

The poor little mason is seriously ill; the master told us to go and seehim; and Garrone, Derossi, and I agreed to go together. Stardi wouldhave come also, but as the teacher had assigned us the description of_The Monument to Cavour_, he told us that he must go and see themonument, in order that his description might be more exact. So, by wayof experiment, we invited that puffed-up fellow, Nobis, who replied"No, " and nothing more. Votini also excused himself, perhaps because hewas afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster.

We went there when we came out of school at four o'clock. It was rainingin torrents. On the street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth fullof bread:--

"What shall I buy?" and he rattled a couple of soldi in his pocket. Weeach contributed two soldi, and purchased three huge oranges. Weascended to the garret. At the door Derossi removed his medal and put itin his pocket. I asked him why.

"I don't know, " he answered; "in order not to have the air: it strikesme as more delicate to go in without my medal. " We knocked; the father, that big man who looks like a giant, opened to us; his face wasdistorted so that he appeared terrified.

"Who are you?" he demanded. Garrone replied:--

"We are Antonio's schoolmates, and we have brought him three oranges. "

"Ah, poor Tonino!" exclaimed the mason, shaking his head, "I fear thathe will never eat your oranges!" and he wiped his eyes with the back ofhis hand. He made us come in. We entered an attic room, where we saw"the little mason" asleep in a little iron bed; his mother hungdejectedly over the bed, with her face in her hands, and she hardlyturned to look at us; on one side hung brushes, a trowel, and aplaster-sieve; over the feet of the sick boy was spread the mason'sjacket, white with lime. The poor boy was emaciated; very, very white;his nose was pointed, and his breath was short. O dear Tonino, my littlecomrade! you who were so kind and merry, how it pains me! what would Inot give to see you make the hare's face once more, poor little mason!Garrone laid an orange on his pillow, close to his face; the odor wakedhim; he grasped it instantly; then let go of it, and gazed intently atGarrone.


"It is I, " said the latter; "Garrone: do you know me?" He smiled almostimperceptibly, lifted his stubby hand with difficulty from the bed andheld it out to Garrone, who took it between his, and laid it against hischeek, saying:--

"Courage, courage, little mason; you are going to get well soon and comeback to school, and the master will put you next to me; will that pleaseyou?"

But the little mason made no reply. His mother burst into sobs: "Oh, mypoor Tonino! My poor Tonino! He is so brave and good, and God is goingto take him from us!"

"Silence!" cried the mason; "silence, for the love of God, or I shalllose my reason!"

Then he said to us, with anxiety: "Go, go, boys, thanks; go! what do youwant to do here? Thanks; go home!" The boy had closed his eyes again, and appeared to be dead.

"Do you need any assistance?" asked Garrone.

"No, my good boy, thanks, " the mason answered. And so saying, he pushedus out on the landing, and shut the door. But we were not half-way downthe stairs, when we heard him calling, "Garrone! Garrone!"

We all three mounted the stairs once more in haste.

"Garrone!" shouted the mason, with a changed countenance, "he has calledyou by name; it is two days since he spoke; he has called you twice; hewants you; come quickly! Ah, holy God, if this is only a good sign!"

"Farewell for the present, " said Garrone to us; "I shall remain, " andhe ran in with the father. Derossi's eyes were full of tears. I said tohim:--

"Are you crying for the little mason? He has spoken; he will recover. "

"I believe it, " replied Derossi; "but I was not thinking of him. I wasthinking how good Garrone is, and what a beautiful soul he has. "

COUNT CAVOUR.

Wednesday, 29th.

You are to make a description of the monument to Count Cavour. You can do it. But who was Count Cavour? You cannot understand at present. For the present this is all you know: he was for many years the prime minister of Piemont. It was he who sent the Piemontese army to the Crimea to raise once more, with the victory of the Cernaia, our military glory, which had fallen with the defeat at Novara; it was he who made one hundred and fifty thousand Frenchmen descend from the Alps to chase the Austrians from Lombardy; it was he who governed Italy in the most solemn period of our revolution; who gave, during those years, the most potent impulse to the holy enterprise of the unification of our country, --he with his luminous mind, with his invincible perseverance, with his more than human industry. Many generals have passed terrible hours on the field of battle; but he passed more terrible ones in his cabinet, when his enormous work might suffer destruction at any moment, like a fragile edifice at the tremor of an earthquake. Hours, nights of struggle and anguish did he pass, sufficient to make him issue from it with reason distorted and death in his heart. And it was this gigantic and stormy work which shortened his life by twenty years. Nevertheless, devoured by the fever which was to cast him into his grave, he yet contended desperately with the malady in order to accomplish something for his country. "It is strange, " he said sadly on his death-bed, "I no longer know how to read; I can no longer read. "

While they were bleeding him, and the fever was increasing, he was thinking of his country, and he said imperiously: "Cure me; my mind is clouding over; I have need of all my faculties to manage important affairs. " When he was already reduced to extremities, and the whole city was in a tumult, and the king stood at his bedside, he said anxiously, "I have many things to say to you, Sire, many things to show you; but I am ill; I cannot, I cannot;" and he was in despair.

And his feverish thoughts hovered ever round the State, round the new Italian provinces which had been united with us, round the many things which still remained to be done. When delirium seized him, "Educate the children!" he exclaimed, between his gasps for breath, --"educate the children and the young people--govern with liberty!"

His delirium increased; death hovered over him, and with burning words he invoked General Garibaldi, with whom he had had disagreements, and Venice and Rome, which were not yet free: he had vast visions of the future of Italy and of Europe; he dreamed of a foreign invasion; he inquired where the corps of the army were, and the generals; he still trembled for us, for his people. His great sorrow was not, you understand, that he felt that his life was going, but to see himself fleeing his country, which still had need of him, and for which he had, in a few years, worn out the measureless forces of his miraculous organism. He died with the battle-cry in his throat, and his death was as great as his life. Now reflect a little, Enrico, what sort of a thing is our labor, which nevertheless so weighs us down; what are our griefs, our death itself, in the face of the toils, the terrible anxieties, the tremendous agonies of these men upon whose hearts rests a world! Think of this, my son, when you pass before that marble image, and say to it, "Glory!" in your heart.

THY FATHER.

APRIL.

SPRING.

Saturday, 1st.

THE first of April! Only three months more! This has been one of themost beautiful mornings of the year. I was happy in school becauseCoretti told me to come day after to-morrow to see the king make hisentrance with his father, _who knows him_, and because my mother hadpromised to take me the same day to visit the Infant Asylum in the CorsoValdocco. I was pleased, too, because the little mason is better, andbecause the teacher said to my father yesterday evening as he waspassing, "He is doing well; he is doing well. "

And then it was a beautiful spring morning. From the school windows wecould see the blue sky, the trees of the garden all covered with buds, and the wide-open windows of the houses, with their boxes and vasesalready growing green. The master did not laugh, because he neverlaughs; but he was in a good humor, so that that perpendicular wrinklehardly ever appeared on his brow; and he explained a problem on theblackboard, and jested. And it was plain that he felt a pleasure inbreathing the air of the gardens which entered through the open window, redolent with the fresh odor of earth and leaves, which suggestedthoughts of country rambles.

While he was explaining, we could hear in a neighboring street ablacksmith hammering on his anvil, and in the house opposite, a womansinging to lull her baby to sleep; far away, in the Cernaia barracks, the trumpets were sounding. Every one appeared pleased, even Stardi. Ata certain moment the blacksmith began to hammer more vigorously, thewoman to sing more loudly. The master paused and lent an ear. Then hesaid, slowly, as he gazed out of the window:--

"The smiling sky, a singing mother, an honest man at work, boys atstudy, --these are beautiful things. "

When we emerged from the school, we saw that every one else was cheerfulalso. All walked in a line, stamping loudly with their feet, andhumming, as though on the eve of a four days' vacation; theschoolmistresses were playful; the one with the red feather trippedalong behind the children like a schoolgirl; the parents of the boyswere chatting together and smiling, and Crossi's mother, thevegetable-vender, had so many bunches of violets in her basket, thatthey filled the whole large hall with perfume.

I have never felt such happiness as this morning on catching sight of mymother, who was waiting for me in the street. And I said to her as I ranto meet her:--

"Oh, I am happy! what is it that makes me so happy this morning?" And mymother answered me with a smile that it was the beautiful season and agood conscience.

KING UMBERTO.

Monday, 3d.

At ten o'clock precisely my father saw from the window Coretti, thewood-seller, and his son waiting for me in the square, and said to me:--

"There they are, Enrico; go and see your king. "

I went like a flash. Both father and son were even more alert thanusual, and they never seemed to me to resemble each other so strongly asthis morning. The father wore on his jacket the medal for valor betweentwo commemorative medals, and his mustaches were curled and as pointedas two pins.

We at once set out for the railway station, where the king was to arriveat half-past ten. Coretti, the father, smoked his pipe and rubbed hishands. "Do you know, " said he, "I have not seen him since the war of'sixty-six? A trifle of fifteen years and six months. First, three yearsin France, and then at Mondov�, and here, where I might have seen him, Ihave never had the good luck of being in the city when he came. Such acombination of circumstances!"

He called the King "Umberto, " like a comrade. Umberto commanded the 16thdivision; Umberto was twenty-two years and so many days old; Umbertomounted a horse thus and so.

"Fifteen years!" he said vehemently, accelerating his pace. "I reallyhave a great desire to see him again. I left him a prince; I see himonce more, a king. And I, too, have changed. From a soldier I havebecome a hawker of wood. " And he laughed.

His son asked him, "If he were to see you, would he remember you?"

He began to laugh.

"You are crazy!" he answered. "That's quite another thing. He, Umberto, was one single man; we were as numerous as flies. And then, he neverlooked at us one by one. "

We turned into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele; there were many people ontheir way to the station. A company of Alpine soldiers passed with theirtrumpets. Two armed policemen passed by on horseback at a gallop. Theday was serene and brilliant.

"Yes!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, growing animated, "it is a realpleasure to me to see him once more, the general of my division. Ah, howquickly I have grown old! It seems as though it were only the other daythat I had my knapsack on my shoulders and my gun in my hands, at thataffair of the 24th of June, when we were on the point of coming toblows. Umberto was going to and fro with his officers, while the cannonwere thundering in the distance; and every one was gazing at him andsaying, 'May there not be a bullet for him also!' I was a thousand milesfrom thinking that I should soon find myself so near him, in front ofthe lances of the Austrian uhlans; actually, only four paces from eachother, boys. That was a fine day; the sky was like a mirror; but so hot!Let us see if we can get in. "

We had arrived at the station; there was a great crowd, --carriages, policemen, carabineers, societies with banners. A regimental band wasplaying. The elder Coretti attempted to enter the portico, but he wasstopped. Then it occurred to him to force his way into the front row ofthe crowd which formed an opening at the entrance; and making way withhis elbow, he succeeded in thrusting us forward also. But theundulating throng flung us hither and thither a little. The wood-sellergot his eye upon the first pillar of the portico, where the police didnot allow any one to stand; "Come with me, " he said suddenly, draggingus by the hand; and he crossed the empty space in two bounds, and wentand planted himself there, with his back against the wall.

A police brigadier instantly hurried up and said to him, "You can'tstand here. "

"I belong to the fourth battalion of forty-nine, " replied Coretti, touching his medal.

The brigadier glanced at it, and said, "Remain. "

"Didn't I say so!" exclaimed Coretti triumphantly; "it's a magic word, that fourth of the forty-ninth! Haven't I the right to see my generalwith some little comfort, --I, who was in that squadron? I saw him closeat hand then; it seems right that I should see him close at hand now. And I say general! He was my battalion commander for a good half-hour;for at such moments he commanded the battalion himself, while it was inthe heart of things, and not Major Ubrich, by Heavens!"

In the meantime, in the reception-room and outside, a great mixture ofgentlemen and officers was visible, and in front of the door, thecarriages, with the lackeys dressed in red, were drawn up in a line.

Coretti asked his father whether Prince Umberto had his sword in hishand when he was with the regiment.

"He would certainly have had his sword in his hand, " the latter replied, "to ward off a blow from a lance, which might strike him as well asanother. Ah! those unchained demons! They came down on us like the wrathof God; they descended on us. They swept between the groups, thesquadrons, the cannon, as though tossed by a hurricane, crushing downeverything. There was a whirl of light cavalry of Alessandria, oflancers of Foggia, of infantry, of sharpshooters, a pandemonium in whichnothing could any longer be understood. I heard the shout, 'YourHighness! your Highness!' I saw the lowered lances approaching; wedischarged our guns; a cloud of smoke hid everything. Then the smokecleared away. The ground was covered with horses and uhlans, wounded anddead. I turned round, and beheld in our midst Umberto, on horseback, gazing tranquilly about, with the air of demanding, 'Have any of my ladsreceived a scratch?' And we shouted to him, 'Hurrah!' right in his face, like madmen. Heavens, what a moment that was! Here's the train coming!"

The band struck up; the officers hastened forward; the crowd elevatedthemselves on tiptoe.

"Eh, he won't come out in a hurry, " said a policeman; "they arepresenting him with an address now. "

The elder Coretti was beside himself with impatience.

"Ah! when I think of it, " he said, "I always see him there. Of course, there is cholera and there are earthquakes; and in them, too, he bearshimself bravely; but I always have him before my mind as I saw him then, among us, with that tranquil face. I am sure that he too recalls thefourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is King; and that it wouldgive him pleasure to have for once, at a table together, all those whomhe saw about him at such moments. Now, he has generals, and greatgentlemen, and courtiers; then, there was no one but us poor soldiers. If we could only exchange a few words alone! Our general of twenty-two;our prince, who was intrusted to our bayonets! I have not seen him forfifteen years. Our Umberto! that's what he is! Ah! that music stirs myblood, on my word of honor. "

An outburst of shouts interrupted him; thousands of hats rose in theair; four gentlemen dressed in black got into the first carriage.

"'Tis he!" cried Coretti, and stood as though enchanted.

Then he said softly, "Madonna mia, how gray he has grown!"

We all three uncovered our heads; the carriage advanced slowly throughthe crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elderCoretti. He seemed to me another man; he seemed to have become taller, graver, rather pale, and fastened bolt upright against the pillar.

The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace distant from the pillar. "Hurrah!" shouted many voices.

"Hurrah!" shouted Coretti, after the others.

The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt for a moment on histhree medals.

Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, "The fourth battalion of theforty-ninth!"

The King, who had turned away, turned towards us again, and lookingCoretti straight in the eye, reached his hand out of the carriage.

Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. The carriage passed on;the crowd broke in and separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti. But it was only for a moment. We found him again directly, panting, withwet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. Hisson flew towards him, and he said, "Here, little one, while my hand isstill warm!" and he passed his hand over the boy's face, saying, "Thisis a caress from the King. "

And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his eyes fixed on thedistant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of agroup of curious people, who were staring at him. "He's one of thefourth battalion of the forty-ninth!" they said. "He is a soldier thatknows the King. " "And the King recognized him. " "And he offered him hishand. " "He gave the King a petition, " said one, more loudly.

"No, " replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; "I did not give him anypetition. There is something else that I would give him, if he were toask it of me. "

They all stared at him.

And he said simply, "My blood. "

THE INFANT ASYLUM.

Tuesday, 4th.

After breakfast yesterday my mother took me, as she had promised, to theInfant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco, in order to recommend to thedirectress a little sister of Precossi. I had never seen an asylum. Howmuch amused I was! There were two hundred of them, boy-babies andgirl-babies, and so small that the children in our lower primary schoolsare men in comparison.

We arrived just as they were entering the refectory in two files, wherethere were two very long tables, with a great many round holes, and ineach hole a black bowl filled with rice and beans, and a tin spoonbeside it. On entering, some grew confused and remained on the flooruntil the mistresses ran and picked them up. Many halted in front of abowl, thinking it was their proper place, and had already swallowed aspoonful, when a mistress arrived and said, "Go on!" and then theyadvanced three or four paces and got down another spoonful, and thenadvanced again, until they reached their own places, after havingfraudulently disposed of half a portion. At last, by dint of pushing andcrying, "Make haste! make haste!" they were all got into order, and theprayer was begun. But all those on the inner line, who had to turn theirbacks on the bowls for the prayer, twisted their heads round so thatthey could keep an eye on them, lest some one might meddle; and thenthey said their prayer thus, with hands clasped and their eyes on theceiling, but with their hearts on their food. Then they set to eating. Ah, what a charming sight it was! One ate with two spoons, another withhis hands; many picked up the beans one by one, and thrust them intotheir pockets; others wrapped them tightly in their little aprons, andpounded them to reduce them to a paste. There were even some who did noteat, because they were watching the flies flying, and others coughed andsprinkled a shower of rice all around them. It resembled a poultry-yard. But it was charming. The two rows of babies formed a pretty sight, withtheir hair all tied on the tops of their heads with red, green, and blueribbons. One teacher asked a row of eight children, "Where does ricegrow?" The whole eight opened their mouths wide, filled as they werewith the pottage, and replied in concert, in a sing-song, "It grows inthe water. " Then the teacher gave the order, "Hands up!" and it waspretty to see all those little arms fly up, which a few months ago wereall in swaddling-clothes, and all those little hands flourishing, whichlooked like so many white and pink butterflies.

Then they all went to recreation; but first they all took their littlebaskets, which were hanging on the wall with their lunches in them. Theywent out into the garden and scattered, drawing forth their provisionsas they did so, --bread, stewed plums, a tiny bit of cheese, ahard-boiled egg, little apples, a handful of boiled vetches, or a wingof chicken. In an instant the whole garden was strewn with crumbs, asthough they had been scattered from their feed by a flock of birds. Theyate in all the queerest ways, --like rabbits, like rats, like cats, nibbling, licking, sucking. There was one child who held a bit of ryebread hugged closely to his breast, and was rubbing it with a medlar, asthough he were polishing a sword. Some of the little ones crushed intheir fists small cheeses, which trickled between their fingers likemilk, and ran down inside their sleeves, and they were utterlyunconscious of it. They ran and chased each other with apples and rollsin their teeth, like dogs. I saw three of them excavating a hard-boiledegg with a straw, thinking to discover treasures, and they spilled halfof it on the ground, and then picked the crumbs up again one by one withgreat patience, as though they had been pearls. And those who hadanything extraordinary were surrounded by eight or ten, who stoodstaring at the baskets with bent heads, as though they were looking atthe moon in a well. There were twenty congregated round a mite of afellow who had a paper horn of sugar, and they were going through allsorts of ceremonies with him for the privilege of dipping their bread init, and he accorded it to some, while to others, after many prayers, heonly granted his finger to suck.

[Illustration: "THE BOYS HAD DAUBED THEIR HANDS WITH RESIN. "--Page 202. ]

In the meantime, my mother had come into the garden and was caressingnow one and now another. Many hung about her, and even on her back, begging for a kiss, with faces upturned as though to a third story, andwith mouths that opened and shut as though asking for the breast. Oneoffered her the quarter of an orange which had been bitten, another asmall crust of bread; one little girl gave her a leaf; another showedher, with all seriousness, the tip of her forefinger, a minuteexamination of which revealed a microscopic swelling, which had beencaused by touching the flame of a candle on the preceding day. Theyplaced before her eyes, as great marvels, very tiny insects, which Icannot understand their being able to see and catch, the halfs of corks, shirt-buttons, and flowerets pulled from the vases. One child, with abandaged head, who was determined to be heard at any cost, stammered outto her some story about a head-over-heels tumble, not one word of whichwas intelligible; another insisted that my mother should bend down, andthen whispered in her ear, "My father makes brushes. "

And in the meantime a thousand accidents were happening here and therewhich caused the teachers to hasten up. Children wept because they couldnot untie a knot in their handkerchiefs; others disputed, with scratchesand shrieks, the halves of an apple; one child, who had fallen facedownward over a little bench which had been overturned, wept amid theruins, and could not rise.

Before her departure my mother took three or four of them in her arms, and they ran up from all quarters to be taken also, their faces smearedwith yolk of egg and orange juice; and one caught her hands; another herfinger, to look at her ring; another tugged at her watch chain; anothertried to seize her by the hair.

"Take care, " the teacher said to her; "they will tear your clothes allto pieces. "

But my mother cared nothing for her dress, and she continued to kissthem, and they pressed closer and closer to her: those who were nearest, with their arms extended as though they were desirous of climbing; themore distant endeavoring to make their way through the crowd, and allscreaming:--

"Good by! good by! good by!"

At last she succeeded in escaping from the garden. And they all ran andthrust their faces through the railings to see her pass, and to thrusttheir arms through to greet her, offering her once more bits of bread, bites of apple, cheese-rinds, and all screaming in concert:--

"Good by! good by! good by! Come back to-morrow! Come again!"

As my mother made her escape, she passed her hand once more over thosehundreds of tiny outstretched hands as over a garland of living roses, and finally arrived safely in the street, covered with crumbs and spots, rumpled and dishevelled, with one hand full of flowers and her eyesswelling with tears, and happy as though she had come from a festival. And inside there was still audible a sound like the twittering of birds, saying:--

"Good by! good by! Come again, _madama_!"

GYMNASTICS.

Tuesday, 5th.

As the weather continues extremely fine, they have made us pass fromchamber gymnastics to gymnastics with apparatus in the garden.

Garrone was in the head-master's office yesterday when Nelli's mother, that blond woman dressed in black, came in to get her son excused fromthe new exercises. Every word cost her an effort; and as she spoke, sheheld one hand on her son's head.

"He is not able to do it, " she said to the head-master. But Nelli showedmuch grief at this exclusion from the apparatus, at having this addedhumiliation imposed upon him.

"You will see, mamma, " he said, "that I shall do like the rest. "

His mother gazed at him in silence, with an air of pity and affection. Then she remarked, in a hesitating way, "I fear lest his companions--"

What she meant to say was, "lest they should make sport of him. " ButNelli replied:--

"They will not do anything to me--and then, there is Garrone. It issufficient for him to be present, to prevent their laughing. "

And then he was allowed to come. The teacher with the wound on his neck, who was with Garibaldi, led us at once to the vertical bars, which arevery high, and we had to climb to the very top, and stand upright on thetransverse plank. Derossi and Coretti went up like monkeys; even littlePrecossi mounted briskly, in spite of the fact that he was embarrassedwith that jacket which extends to his knees; and in order to make himlaugh while he was climbing, all the boys repeated to him his constantexpression, "Excuse me! excuse me!" Stardi puffed, turned as red as aturkey-cock, and set his teeth until he looked like a mad dog; but hewould have reached the top at the expense of bursting, and he actuallydid get there; and so did Nobis, who, when he reached the summit, assumed the attitude of an emperor; but Votini slipped back twice, notwithstanding his fine new suit with azure stripes, which had beenmade expressly for gymnastics.

In order to climb the more easily, all the boys had daubed their handswith resin, which they call colophony, and as a matter of course it isthat trader of a Garoffi who provides every one with it, in a powderedform, selling it at a soldo the paper hornful, and turning a prettypenny.

Then it was Garrone's turn, and up he went, chewing away at his bread asthough it were nothing out of the common; and I believe that he wouldhave been capable of carrying one of us up on his shoulders, for he isas muscular and strong as a young bull.

After Garrone came Nelli. No sooner did the boys see him grasp the barswith those long, thin hands of his, than many of them began to laugh andto sing; but Garrone crossed his big arms on his breast, and dartedround a glance which was so expressive, which so clearly said that hedid not mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in the master'spresence, that they all ceased laughing on the instant. Nelli began toclimb. He tried hard, poor little fellow; his face grew purple, hebreathed with difficulty, and the perspiration poured from his brow. Themaster said, "Come down!" But he would not. He strove and persisted. Iexpected every moment to see him fall headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli! Ithought, what if I had been like him, and my mother had seen me! How shewould have suffered, poor mother! And as I thought of that I felt sotenderly towards Nelli that I could have given, I know not what, to beable, for the sake of having him climb those bars, to give him a pushfrom below without being seen.

Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were saying: "Up with you, Nelli, up with you!" "Try--one effort more--courage!" And Nelli made onemore violent effort, uttering a groan as he did so, and found himselfwithin two spans of the plank.

"Bravo!" shouted the others. "Courage--one dash more!" and behold Nelliclinging to the plank.

All clapped their hands. "Bravo!" said the master. "But that will donow. Come down. "

But Nelli wished to ascend to the top like the rest, and after a littleexertion he succeeded in getting his elbows on the plank, then hisknees, then his feet; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, andgazed at us.

We began to clap again, and then he looked into the street. I turned inthat direction, and through the plants which cover the iron railing ofthe garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along the sidewalkwithout daring to look. Nelli descended, and we all made much of him. Hewas excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no longer seemed likethe same boy.

Then, at the close of school, when his mother came to meet him, andinquired with some anxiety, as she embraced him, "Well, my poor son, howdid it go? how did it go?" all his comrades replied, in concert, "He didwell--he climbed like the rest of us--he's strong, you know--he'sactive--he does exactly like the others. "

And then the joy of that woman was a sight to see. She tried to thankus, and could not; she shook hands with three or four, bestowed a caresson Garrone, and carried off her son; and we watched them for a while, walking in haste, and talking and gesticulating, both perfectly happy, as though no one were looking at them.

MY FATHER'S TEACHER.

Tuesday, 11th.

What a beautiful excursion I took yesterday with my father! This is theway it came about.

Day before yesterday, at dinner, as my father was reading the newspaper, he suddenly uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Then he said:--

"And I thought him dead twenty years ago! Do you know that my old firstelementary teacher, Vincenzo Crosetti, is eighty-four years old? I seehere that the minister has conferred on him the medal of merit for sixtyyears of teaching. Six-ty ye-ars, you understand! And it is only twoyears since he stopped teaching school. Poor Crosetti! He lives anhour's journey from here by rail, at Condove, in the country of our oldgardener's wife, of the town of Chieri. " And he added, "Enrico, we willgo and see him. "

And the whole evening he talked of nothing but him. The name of hisprimary teacher recalled to his mind a thousand things which hadhappened when he was a boy, his early companions, his dead mother. "Crosetti!" he exclaimed. "He was forty when I was with him. I seem tosee him now. He was a small man, somewhat bent even then, with brighteyes, and always cleanly shaved. Severe, but in a good way; for he lovedus like a father, and forgave us more than one offence. He had risenfrom the condition of a peasant by dint of study and privations. He wasa fine man. My mother was attached to him, and my father treated himlike a friend. How comes it that he has gone to end his days at Condove, near Turin? He certainly will not recognize me. Never mind; I shallrecognize him. Forty-four years have elapsed, --forty-four years, Enrico!and we will go to see him to-morrow. "

And yesterday morning, at nine o'clock, we were at the Susa railwaystation. I should have liked to have Garrone come too; but he could not, because his mother is ill.

It was a beautiful spring day. The train ran through green fields andhedgerows in blossom, and the air we breathed was perfumed. My fatherwas delighted, and every little while he would put his arm round my neckand talk to me like a friend, as he gazed out over the country.

"Poor Crosetti!" he said; "he was the first man, after my father, tolove me and do me good. I have never forgotten certain of his goodcounsels, and also certain sharp reprimands which caused me to returnhome with a lump in my throat. His hands were large and stubby. I cansee him now, as he used to enter the schoolroom, place his cane in acorner and hang his coat on the peg, always with the same gesture. Andevery day he was in the same humor, --always conscientious, full of goodwill, and attentive, as though each day he were teaching school for thefirst time. I remember him as well as though I heard him now when hecalled to me: 'Bottini! eh, Bottini! The fore and middle fingers on thatpen!' He must have changed greatly in these four and forty years. "

As soon as we reached Condove, we went in search of our old gardener'swife of Chieri, who keeps a stall in an alley. We found her with herboys: she made much of us and gave us news of her husband, who is soonto return from Greece, where he has been working these three years; andof her eldest daughter, who is in the Deaf-mute Institute in Turin. Thenshe pointed out to us the street which led to the teacher's house, --forevery one knows him.

We left the town, and turned into a steep lane flanked by blossominghedges.

My father no longer talked, but appeared entirely absorbed in hisreminiscences; and every now and then he smiled, and then shook hishead.

Suddenly he halted and said: "Here he is. I will wager that this is he. "Down the lane towards us a little old man with a white beard and a largehat was descending, leaning on a cane. He dragged his feet along, andhis hands trembled.

"It is he!" repeated my father, hastening his steps.

When we were close to him, we stopped. The old man stopped also andlooked at my father. His face was still fresh colored, and his eyes wereclear and vivacious.

"Are you, " asked my father, raising his hat, "Vincenzo Crosetti, theschoolmaster?"

The old man raised his hat also, and replied: "I am, " in a voice thatwas somewhat tremulous, but full.

"Well, then, " said my father, taking one of his hands, "permit one ofyour old scholars to shake your hand and to inquire how you are. I havecome from Turin to see you. "

The old man stared at him in amazement. Then he said: "You do me toomuch honor. I do not know--When were you my scholar? Excuse me; yourname, if you please. "

My father mentioned his name, Alberto Bottini, and the year in which hehad attended school, and where, and he added: "It is natural that youshould not remember me. But I recollect you so perfectly!"

The master bent his head and gazed at the ground in thought, andmuttered my father's name three or four times; the latter, meanwhile, observed him with intent and smiling eyes.

All at once the old man raised his face, with his eyes opened widely, and said slowly: "Alberto Bottini? the son of Bottini, the engineer? theone who lived in the Piazza della Consolata?"

"The same, " replied my father, extending his hands.

"Then, " said the old man, "permit me, my dear sir, permit me"; andadvancing, he embraced my father: his white head hardly reached thelatter's shoulder. My father pressed his cheek to the other's brow.

"Have the goodness to come with me, " said the teacher. And withoutspeaking further he turned about and took the road to his dwelling.

In a few minutes we arrived at a garden plot in front of a tiny housewith two doors, round one of which there was a fragment of whitewashedwall.

The teacher opened the second and ushered us into a room. There werefour white walls: in one corner a cot bed with a blue and white checkedcoverlet; in another, a small table with a little library; four chairs, and one ancient geographical map nailed to the wall. A pleasant odor ofapples was perceptible.

We seated ourselves, all three. My father and his teacher remainedsilent for several minutes.

"Bottini!" exclaimed the master at length, fixing his eyes on the brickfloor where the sunlight formed a checker-board. "Oh! I remember well!Your mother was such a good woman! For a while, during your first year, you sat on a bench to the left near the window. Let us see whether I donot recall it. I can still see your curly head. " Then he thought for awhile longer. "You were a lively lad, eh? Very. The second year you hadan attack of croup. I remember when they brought you back to school, emaciated and wrapped up in a shawl. Forty years have elapsed sincethen, have they not? You are very kind to remember your poor teacher. And do you know, others of my old pupils have come hither in years goneby to seek me out: there was a colonel, and there were some priests, andseveral gentlemen. " He asked my father what his profession was. Then hesaid, "I am glad, heartily glad. I thank you. It is quite a while nowsince I have seen any one. I very much fear that you will be the last, my dear sir. "

"Don't say that, " exclaimed my father. "You are well and still vigorous. You must not say that. "

"Eh, no!" replied the master; "do you see this trembling?" and he showedus his hands. "This is a bad sign. It seized on me three years ago, while I was still teaching school. At first I paid no attention to it; Ithought it would pass off. But instead of that, it stayed and kept onincreasing. A day came when I could no longer write. Ah! that day onwhich I, for the first time, made a blot on the copy-book of one of myscholars was a stab in the heart for me, my dear sir. I did drag on fora while longer; but I was at the end of my strength. After sixty yearsof teaching I was forced to bid farewell to my school, to my scholars, to work. And it was hard, you understand, hard. The last time that Igave a lesson, all the scholars accompanied me home, and made much ofme; but I was sad; I understood that my life was finished. I had lost mywife the year before, and my only son. I had only two peasantgrandchildren left. Now I am living on a pension of a few hundred lire. I no longer do anything; it seems to me as though the days would nevercome to an end. My only occupation, you see, is to turn over my oldschoolbooks, my scholastic journals, and a few volumes that have beengiven to me. There they are, " he said, indicating his little library;"there are my reminiscences, my whole past; I have nothing elseremaining to me in the world. "


Then in a tone that was suddenly joyous, "I want to give you a surprise, my dear Signor Bottini. "

He rose, and approaching his desk, he opened a long casket whichcontained numerous little parcels, all tied up with a slender cord, andon each was written a date in four figures.

After a little search, he opened one, turned over several papers, drewforth a yellowed sheet, and handed it to my father. It was some of hisschool work of forty years before.

At the top was written, _Alberto Bottini, Dictation, April 3, 1838_. Myfather instantly recognized his own large, schoolboy hand, and began toread it with a smile. But all at once his eyes grew moist. I rose andinquired the cause.

He threw one arm around my body, and pressing me to his side, he said:"Look at this sheet of paper. Do you see? These are the corrections madeby my poor mother. She always strengthened my _l_'s and my _t_'s. Andthe last lines are entirely hers. She had learned to imitate mycharacters; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished my work forme. My sainted mother!"

And he kissed the page.

"See here, " said the teacher, showing him the other packages; "these aremy reminiscences. Each year I laid aside one piece of work of each of mypupils; and they are all here, dated and arranged in order. Every timethat I open them thus, and read a line here and there, a thousand thingsrecur to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in the days that arepast. How many of them have passed, my dear sir! I close my eyes, and Isee behind me face after face, class after class, hundreds and hundredsof boys, and who knows how many of them are already dead! Many of them Iremember well. I recall distinctly the best and the worst: those whogave me the greatest pleasure, and those who caused me to pass sorrowfulmoments; for I have had serpents, too, among that vast number! But now, you understand, it is as though I were already in the other world, and Ilove them all equally. "

He sat down again, and took one of my hands in his.

"And tell me, " my father said, with a smile, "do you not recall anyroguish tricks?"

"Of yours, sir?" replied the old man, also with a smile. "No; not justat this moment. But that does not in the least mean that you neverplayed any. However, you had good judgment; you were serious for yourage. I remember the great affection of your mother for you. But it isvery kind and polite of you to have come to seek me out. How could youleave your occupations, to come and see a poor old schoolmaster?"

"Listen, Signor Crosetti, " responded my father with vivacity. "Irecollect the first time that my poor mother accompanied me to school. It was to be her first parting from me for two hours; of letting me outof the house alone, in other hands than my father's; in the hands of astranger, in short. To this good creature my entrance into school waslike my entrance into the world, the first of a long series of necessaryand painful separations; it was society which was tearing her son fromher for the first time, never again to return him to her intact. She wasmuch affected; so was I. I bade her farewell with a trembling voice, andthen, as she went away, I saluted her once more through the glass in thedoor, with my eyes full of tears. And just at that point you made agesture with one hand, laying the other on your breast, as though tosay, 'Trust me, signora. ' Well, the gesture, the glance, from which Iperceived that you had comprehended all the sentiments, all the thoughtsof my mother; that look which seemed to say, 'Courage!' that gesturewhich was an honest promise of protection, of affection, of indulgence, I have never forgotten; it has remained forever engraved on my heart;and it is that memory which induced me to set out from Turin. And here Iam, after the lapse of four and forty years, for the purpose of sayingto you, 'Thanks, dear teacher. '"

The master did not reply; he stroked my hair with his hand, and his handtrembled, and glided from my hair to my forehead, from my forehead to myshoulder.

In the meanwhile, my father was surveying those bare walls, thatwretched bed, the morsel of bread and the little phial of oil which layon the window-sill, and he seemed desirous of saying, "Poor master!after sixty years of teaching, is this all thy recompense?"

But the good old man was content, and began once more to talk withvivacity of our family, of the other teachers of that day, and of myfather's schoolmates; some of them he remembered, and some of them hedid not; and each told the other news of this one or of that one. Whenmy father interrupted the conversation, to beg the old man to come downinto the town and lunch with us, he replied effusively, "I thank you, Ithank you, " but he seemed undecided. My father took him by both hands, and besought him afresh. "But how shall I manage to eat, " said themaster, "with these poor hands which shake in this way? It is a penancefor others also. "

"We will help you, master, " said my father. And then he accepted, as heshook his head and smiled.

"This is a beautiful day, " he said, as he closed the outer door, "abeautiful day, dear Signor Bottini! I assure you that I shall rememberit as long as I live. "

My father gave one arm to the master, and the latter took me by thehand, and we descended the lane. We met two little barefooted girlsleading some cows, and a boy who passed us on a run, with a huge load ofstraw on his shoulders. The master told us that they were scholars ofthe second grade; that in the morning they led the cattle to pasture, and worked in the fields barefoot; and in the afternoon they put ontheir shoes and went to school. It was nearly mid-day. We encountered noone else. In a few minutes we reached the inn, seated ourselves at alarge table, with the master between us, and began our breakfast atonce. The inn was as silent as a convent. The master was very merry, andhis excitement augmented his palsy: he could hardly eat. But my fathercut up his meat, broke his bread, and put salt on his plate. In order todrink, he was obliged to hold the glass with both hands, and even thenhe struck his teeth. But he talked constantly, and with ardor, of thereading-books of his young days; of the notaries of the present day; ofthe commendations bestowed on him by his superiors; of the regulationsof late years: and all with that serene countenance, a trifle redderthan at first, and with that gay voice of his, and that laugh which wasalmost the laugh of a young man. And my father gazed and gazed at him, with that same expression with which I sometimes catch him gazing at me, at home, when he is thinking and smiling to himself, with his faceturned aside.

The teacher allowed some wine to trickle down on his breast; my fatherrose, and wiped it off with his napkin. "No, sir; I cannot permit this, "the old man said, and smiled. He said some words in Latin. And, finally, he raised his glass, which wavered about in his hand, and said verygravely, "To your health, my dear engineer, to that of your children, tothe memory of your good mother!"

"To yours, my good master!" replied my father, pressing his hand. And atthe end of the room stood the innkeeper and several others, watching us, and smiling as though they were pleased at this attention which wasbeing shown to the teacher from their parts.

At a little after two o'clock we came out, and the master wanted toescort us to the station. My father gave him his arm once more, and heagain took me by the hand: I carried his cane for him. The peoplepaused to look on, for they all knew him: some saluted him. At one pointin the street we heard, through an open window, many boys' voices, reading together, and spelling. The old man halted, and seemed to besaddened by it.

"This, my dear Signor Bottini, " he said, "is what pains me. To hear thevoices of boys in school, and not be there any more; to think thatanother man is there. I have heard that music for sixty years, and Ihave grown to love it. Now I am deprived of my family. I have no sons. "

"No, master, " my father said to him, starting on again; "you still havemany sons, scattered about the world, who remember you, as I have alwaysremembered you. "

"No, no, " replied the master sadly; "I have no longer a school; I haveno longer any sons. And without sons, I shall not live much longer. Myhour will soon strike. "

"Do not say that, master; do not think it, " said my father. "You havedone so much good in every way! You have put your life to such a nobleuse!"

The aged master inclined his hoary head for an instant on my father'sshoulder, and pressed my hand.

We entered the station. The train was on the point of starting.

"Farewell, master!" said my father, kissing him on both cheeks.

"Farewell! thanks! farewell!" replied the master, taking one of myfather's hands in his two trembling hands, and pressing it to his heart.

Then I kissed him and felt that his face was bathed in tears. My fatherpushed me into the railway carriage, and at the moment of starting hequickly removed the coarse cane from the schoolmaster's hand, and in itsplace he put his own handsome one, with a silver handle and hisinitials, saying, "Keep it in memory of me. "

The old man tried to return it and to recover his own; but my father wasalready inside and had closed the door.

"Farewell, my kind master!"

"Farewell, my son!" responded the master as the train moved off; "andmay God bless you for the consolation which you have afforded to a poorold man!"

"Until we meet again!" cried my father, in a voice full of emotion.

But the master shook his head, as much as to say, "We shall never seeeach other more. "

"Yes, yes, " repeated my father, "until we meet again!"

And the other replied by raising his trembling hand to heaven, "Upthere!"

And thus he disappeared from our sight, with his hand on high.

CONVALESCENCE.

Thursday, 20th.

Who could have told me, when I returned from that delightful excursionwith my father, that for ten days I should not see the country or thesky again? I have been very ill--in danger of my life. I have heard mymother sobbing--I have seen my father very, very pale, gazing intentlyat me; and my sister Silvia and my brother talking in a low voice; andthe doctor, with his spectacles, who was there every moment, and whosaid things to me that I did not understand. In truth, I have been onthe verge of saying a final farewell to every one. Ah, my poor mother! Ipassed three or four days at least, of which I recollect almost nothing, as though I had been in a dark and perplexing dream. I thought I beheldat my bedside my kind schoolmistress of the upper primary, who wastrying to stifle her cough in her handkerchief in order not to disturbme. In the same manner I confusedly recall my master, who bent over tokiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his beard; and I saw, asin a mist, the red head of Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, theCalabrian clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who brought me amandarin orange with its leaves, and ran away in haste because hismother is ill.

Then I awoke as from a very long dream, and understood that I was betterfrom seeing my father and mother smiling, and hearing Silvia singingsoftly. Oh, what a sad dream it was! Then I began to improve every day. The little mason came and made me laugh once more for the first time, with his hare's face; and how well he does it, now that his face issomewhat elongated through illness, poor fellow! And Coretti came; andGaroffi came to present me with two tickets in his new lottery of "apenknife with five surprises, " which he purchased of a second-handdealer in the Via Bertola. Then, yesterday, while I was asleep, Precossicame and laid his cheek on my hand without waking me; and as he camefrom his father's workshop, with his face covered with coal dust, heleft a black print on my sleeve, the sight of which caused me greatpleasure when I awoke.

How green the trees have become in these few days! And how I envy theboys whom I see running to school with their books when my fathercarries me to the window! But I shall go back there soon myself. I am soimpatient to see all the boys once more, and my seat, the garden, thestreets; to know all that has taken place during the interval; to applymyself to my books again, and to my copy-books, which I seem not to haveseen for a year! How pale and thin my poor mother has grown! Poorfather! how weary he looks! And my kind companions who came to see meand walked on tiptoe and kissed my brow! It makes me sad, even now, tothink that one day we must part. Perhaps I shall continue my studieswith Derossi and with some others; but how about all the rest? When thefourth grade is once finished, then good by! we shall never see eachother again: I shall never see them again at my bedside when I amill, --Garrone, Precossi, Coretti, who are such fine boys and kind anddear comrades, --never more!

FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN.

Thursday, 20th.

Why "never more, " Enrico? That will depend on yourself. When you have finished the fourth grade, you will go to the Gymnasium, and they will become workingmen; but you will remain in the same city for many years, perhaps. Why, then, will you never meet again? When you are in the University or the Lyceum, you will seek them out in their shops or their workrooms, and it will be a great pleasure for you to meet the companions of your youth once more, as men at work.

I should like to see you neglecting to look up Coretti or Precossi, wherever they may be! And you will go to them, and you will pass hours in their company, and you will see, when you come to study life and the world, how many things you can learn from them, which no one else is capable of teaching you, both about their arts and their society and your own country. And have a care; for if you do not preserve these friendships, it will be extremely difficult for you to acquire other similar ones in the future, --friendships, I mean to say, outside of the class to which you belong; and thus you will live in one class only; and the man who associates with but one social class is like the student who reads but one book.

Let it be your firm resolve, then, from this day forth, that you will keep these good friends even after you shall be separated, and from this time forth, cultivate precisely these by preference because they are the sons of workingmen. You see, men of the upper classes are the officers, and men of the lower classes are the soldiers of toil; and thus in society as in the army, not only is the soldier no less noble than the officer, since nobility consists in work and not in wages, in valor and not in rank; but if there is also a superiority of merit, it is on the side of the soldier, of the workmen, who draw the lesser profit from the work. Therefore love and respect above all others, among your companions, the sons of the soldiers of labor; honor in them the toil and the sacrifices of their parents; disregard the differences of fortune and of class, upon which the base alone regulate their sentiments and courtesy; reflect that from the veins of laborers in the shops and in the country issued nearly all that blessed blood which has redeemed your country; love Garrone, love Coretti, love Precossi, love your little mason, who, in their little workingmen's breasts, possess the hearts of princes; and take an oath to yourself that no change of fortune shall ever eradicate these friendships of childhood from your soul. Swear to yourself that forty years hence, if, while passing through a railway station, you recognize your old Garrone in the garments of an engineer, with a black face, --ah! I cannot think what to tell you to swear. I am sure that you will jump upon the engine and fling your arms round his neck, though you were even a senator of the kingdom.

THY FATHER.

GARRONE'S MOTHER.

Saturday, 29th.

On my return to school, the first thing I heard was some bad news. Garrone had not been there for several days because his mother wasseriously ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, as soon as wecame into school, the teacher said to us:--

"The greatest misfortune that can happen to a boy has happened to poorGarrone: his mother is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. Ibeseech you now, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that is now rendinghis soul. When he enters, greet him with affection, and gravely; let noone jest, let no one laugh at him, I beg of you. "

And this morning poor Garrone came in, a little later than the rest; Ifelt a blow at my heart at the sight of him. His face was haggard, hiseyes were red, and he was unsteady on his feet; it seemed as though hehad been ill for a month. I hardly recognized him; he was dressed all inblack; he aroused our pity. No one even breathed; all gazed at him. Nosooner had he entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom whitherhis mother had come to get him nearly every day, of that bench overwhich she had bent on so many examination days to give him a last bit ofadvice, and where he had so many times thought of her, in his impatienceto run out and meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. Theteacher drew him aside to his own place, and pressed him to his breast, and said to him:--

"Weep, weep, my poor boy; but take courage. Your mother is no longerhere; but she sees you, she still loves you, she still lives by yourside, and one day you will behold her once again, for you have a goodand upright soul like her own. Take courage!"

Having said this, he accompanied him to the bench near me. I dared notlook at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had notopened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place wherethere was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, heburst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made usa sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked tosay something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on hisarm, and whispered in his ear:--

"Don't cry, Garrone. "

He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laidhis hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, noone addressed him; all the boys hovered round him respectfully, and insilence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but sherepulsed me, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understandwhy; but then I perceived that Garrone was standing apart by himself andgazing at me; and he was gazing at me with a look of indescribablesadness, which seemed to say: "You are embracing your mother, and Ishall never embrace mine again! You have still a mother, and mine isdead!" And then I understood why my mother had thrust me back, and Iwent out without taking her hand.

GIUSEPPE MAZZINI.

Saturday, 29th.

This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyesswollen with weeping, and he hardly cast a glance at the little giftswhich we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher hadbrought a page from a book to read to him in order to encourage him. Hefirst informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to thetown-hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy whohas saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictatethe description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Thenturning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said tohim:--

"Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as wellas the rest. "

We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated.

"Giuseppe Mazzini, born in Genoa in 1805, died in Pisa in 1872, a grand, patriotic soul, the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer andapostle of the Italian Revolution; who, out of love for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroicallysteadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there wasnoblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to afaithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes. These are almost his exact words:--

"'My friend, thou wilt never more behold thy mother on this earth. Thatis the terrible truth. I do not attempt to see thee, because thine isone of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer andconquer for himself. Dost thou understand what I mean to convey by thesewords, _It is necessary to conquer sorrow_--to conquer the least sacred, the least purifying part of sorrow, that which, instead of rendering thesoul better, weakens and debases it? But the other part of sorrow, thenoble part--that which enlarges and elevates the soul--that must remainwith thee and never leave thee more. Nothing here below can take theplace of a good mother. In the griefs, in the consolations which lifemay still bring to thee, thou wilt never forget her. But thou mustrecall her, love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is worthy ofher. O my friend, hearken to me! Death exists not; it is nothing. Itcannot even be understood. Life is life, and it follows the law oflife--progress. Yesterday thou hadst a mother on earth; to-day thou hastan angel elsewhere. All that is good will survive the life of earth withincreased power. Hence, also, the love of thy mother. She loves thee nowmore than ever. And thou art responsible for thy actions to her more, even, than before. It depends upon thee, upon thy actions, to meet heronce more, to see her in another existence. Thou must, therefore, out oflove and reverence for thy mother, grow better and cause her joy forthee. Henceforth thou must say to thyself at every act of thine, "Wouldmy mother approve this?" Her transformation has placed a guardian angelin the world for thee, to whom thou must refer in all thy affairs, ineverything that pertains to thee. Be strong and brave; fight againstdesperate and vulgar grief; have the tranquillity of great suffering ingreat souls; and that it is what she would have. '"

"Garrone, " added the teacher, "_be strong and tranquil, for that is whatshe would have_. Do you understand?"

Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast-flowing tears streamed overhis hands, his copy-book, and his desk.

CIVIC VALOR.

(_Monthly Story. _)

At one o'clock we went with our schoolmaster to the front of thetown-hall, to see the medal for civic valor bestowed on the lad whosaved one of his comrades from the Po.

On the front terrace waved a huge tricolored flag.

We entered the courtyard of the palace.

It was already full of people. At the further end of it there wasvisible a table with a red cover, and papers on it, and behind it a rowof gilded chairs for the mayor and the council; the ushers of themunicipality were there, with their under-waistcoats of sky-blue andtheir white stockings. To the right of the courtyard a detachment ofpolicemen, who had a great many medals, was drawn up in line; and besidethem a detachment of custom-house officers; on the other side were thefiremen in festive array; and numerous soldiers not in line, who hadcome to look on, --cavalrymen, sharpshooters, artillery-men. Then allaround were gentlemen, country people, and some officers and women andboys who had assembled. We crowded into a corner where many scholarsfrom other buildings were already collected with their teachers; andnear us was a group of boys belonging to the common people, between tenand eighteen years of age, who were talking and laughing loudly; and wemade out that they were all from Borgo Po, comrades or acquaintances ofthe boy who was to receive the medal. Above, all the windows werethronged with the employees of the city government; the balcony of thelibrary was also filled with people, who pressed against the balustrade;and in the one on the opposite side, which is over the entrance gate, stood a crowd of girls from the public schools, and many _Daughters ofmilitary men_, with their pretty blue veils. It looked like a theatre. All were talking merrily, glancing every now and then at the red table, to see whether any one had made his appearance. A band of music wasplaying softly at the extremity of the portico. The sun beat down on thelofty walls. It was beautiful.

All at once every one began to clap their hands, from the courtyard, from the balconies, from the windows.

I raised myself on tiptoe to look.

The crowd which stood behind the red table had parted, and a man andwoman had come forward. The man was leading a boy by the hand.

This was the lad who had saved his comrade.

The man was his father, a mason, dressed in his best. The woman, hismother, small and blond, had on a black gown. The boy, also small andblond, had on a gray jacket.

At the sight of all those people, and at the sound of that thunder ofapplause, all three stood still, not daring to look nor to move. Amunicipal usher pushed them along to the side of the table on theright.

All remained quiet for a moment, and then once more the applause brokeout on all sides. The boy glanced up at the windows, and then at thebalcony with the _Daughters of military men_; he held his cap in hishand, and did not seem to understand very thoroughly where he was. Itstruck me that he looked a little like Coretti, in the face; but he wasredder. His father and mother kept their eyes fixed on the table.

In the meantime, all the boys from Borgo Po who were near us were makingmotions to their comrade, to attract his attention, and hailing him in alow tone: _Pin! Pin! Pinot!_ By dint of calling they made themselvesheard. The boy glanced at them, and hid his smile behind his cap.

At a certain moment the guards put themselves in the attitude of_attention_.

The mayor entered, accompanied by numerous gentlemen.

The mayor, all white, with a big tricolored scarf, placed himself besidethe table, standing; all the others took their places behind and besidehim.

The band ceased playing; the mayor made a sign, and every one keptquiet.

He began to speak. I did not understand the first words perfectly; but Igathered that he was telling the story of the boy's feat. Then he raisedhis voice, and it rang out so clear and sonorous through the wholecourt, that I did not lose another word: "When he saw, from the shore, his comrade struggling in the river, already overcome with the fear ofdeath, he tore the clothes from his back, and hastened to hisassistance, without hesitating an instant. They shouted to him, 'Youwill be drowned!'--he made no reply; they caught hold of him--he freedhimself; they called him by name--he was already in the water. Theriver was swollen; the risk terrible, even for a man. But he flunghimself to meet death with all the strength of his little body and ofhis great heart; he reached the unfortunate fellow and seized him justin time, when he was already under water, and dragged him to thesurface; he fought furiously with the waves, which strove to overwhelmhim, with his companion who tried to cling to him; and several times hedisappeared beneath the water, and rose again with a desperate effort;obstinate, invincible in his purpose, not like a boy who was trying tosave another boy, but like a man, like a father who is struggling tosave his son, who is his hope and his life. In short, God did not permitso generous a prowess to be displayed in vain. The child swimmer torethe victim from the gigantic river, and brought him to land, and withthe assistance of others, rendered him his first succor; after which hereturned home quietly and alone, and ingenuously narrated his deed.

"Gentlemen, beautiful, and worthy of veneration is heroism in a man! Butin a child, in whom there can be no prompting of ambition or of profitwhatever; in a child, who must have all the more ardor in proportion ashe has less strength; in a child, from whom we require nothing, who isbound to nothing, who already appears to us so noble and lovable, notwhen he acts, but when he merely understands, and is grateful for thesacrifices of others;--in a child, heroism is divine! I will say nothingmore, gentlemen. I do not care to deck, with superfluous praises, suchsimple grandeur. Here before you stands the noble and valorous rescuer. Soldier, greet him as a brother; mothers, bless him like a son;children, remember his name, engrave on your minds his visage, that itmay nevermore be erased from your memories and from your hearts. Approach, my boy. In the name of the king of Italy, I give you the medalfor civic valor. "

An extremely loud hurrah, uttered at the same moment by many voices, made the palace ring.

The mayor took the medal from the table, and fastened it on the boy'sbreast. Then he embraced and kissed him. The mother placed one hand overher eyes; the father held his chin on his breast.

The mayor shook hands with both; and taking the decree of decoration, which was bound with a ribbon, he handed it to the woman.

Then he turned to the boy again, and said: "May the memory of this day, which is such a glorious one for you, such a happy one for your fatherand mother, keep you all your life in the path of virtue and honor!Farewell!"

The mayor withdrew, the band struck up, and everything seemed to be atan end, when the detachment of firemen opened, and a lad of eight ornine years, pushed forwards by a woman who instantly concealed herself, rushed towards the boy with the decoration, and flung himself in hisarms.

Another outburst of hurrahs and applause made the courtyard echo; everyone had instantly understood that this was the boy who had been savedfrom the Po, and who had come to thank his rescuer. After kissing him, he clung to one arm, in order to accompany him out. These two, with thefather and mother following behind, took their way towards the door, making a path with difficulty among the people who formed in line to letthem pass, --policemen, boys, soldiers, women, all mingled together inconfusion. All pressed forwards and raised on tiptoe to see the boy. Those who stood near him as he passed, touched his hand. When he passedbefore the schoolboys, they all waved their caps in the air. Those fromBorgo Po made a great uproar, pulling him by the arms and by his jacketand shouting. "_Pin! hurrah for Pin! bravo, Pinot!_" I saw him pass veryclose to me. His face was all aflame and happy; his medal had a red, white, and green ribbon. His mother was crying and smiling; his fatherwas twirling his mustache with one hand, which trembled violently, asthough he had a fever. And from the windows and the balconies the peoplecontinued to lean out and applaud. All at once, when they were on thepoint of entering the portico, there descended from the balcony of the_Daughters of military men_ a veritable shower of pansies, of bunches ofviolets and daisies, which fell upon the head of the boy, and of hisfather and mother, and scattered over the ground. Many people stooped topick them up and hand them to the mother. And the band at the furtherend of the courtyard played, very, very softly, a most entrancing air, which seemed like a song by a great many silver voices fading slowlyinto the distance on the banks of a river.

MAY.

CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS.

Friday, 5th.

TO-DAY I took a vacation, because I was not well, and my mother took meto the Institution for Children with the Rickets, whither she went torecommend a child belonging to our porter; but she did not allow me togo into the school.

You did not understand, Enrico, why I did not permit you to enter? In order not to place before the eyes of those unfortunates, there in the midst of the school, as though on exhibition, a healthy, robust boy: they have already but too many opportunities for making melancholy comparisons. What a sad thing! Tears rushed from my heart when I entered. There were sixty of them, boys and girls. Poor tortured bones! Poor hands, poor little shrivelled and distorted feet! Poor little deformed bodies! I instantly perceived many charming faces, with eyes full of intelligence and affection. There was one little child's face with a pointed nose and a sharp chin, which seemed to belong to an old woman; but it wore a smile of celestial sweetness. Some, viewed from the front, are handsome, and appear to be without defects: but when they turn round--they cast a weight upon your soul. The doctor was there, visiting them. He set them upright on their benches and pulled up their little garments, to feel their little swollen stomachs and enlarged joints; but they felt not the least shame, poor creatures! it was evident that they were children who were used to being undressed, examined, turned round on all sides. And to think that they are now in the best stage of their malady, when they hardly suffer at all any more! But who can say what they suffered during the first stage, while their bodies were undergoing the process of deformation, when with the increase of their infirmity, they saw affection decrease around them, poor children! saw themselves left alone for hour after hour in a corner of the room or the courtyard, badly nourished, and at times scoffed at, or tormented for months by bandages and by useless orthopedic apparatus! Now, however, thanks to care and good food and gymnastic exercises, many are improving. Their schoolmistress makes them practise gymnastics. It was a pitiful sight to see them, at a certain command, extend all those bandaged legs under the benches, squeezed as they were between splints, knotty and deformed; legs which should have been covered with kisses! Some could not rise from the bench, and remained there, with their heads resting on their arms, caressing their crutches with their hands; others, on making the thrust with their arms, felt their breath fail them, and fell back on their seats, all pale; but they smiled to conceal their panting. Ah, Enrico! you other children do not prize your good health, and it seems to you so small a thing to be well! I thought of the strong and thriving lads, whom their mothers carry about in triumph, proud of their beauty; and I could have clasped all those poor little heads, I could have pressed them to my heart, in despair; I could have said, had I been alone, "I will never stir from here again; I wish to consecrate my life to you, to serve you, to be a mother to you all, to my last day. " And in the meantime, they sang; sang in peculiar, thin, sweet, sad voices, which penetrated the soul; and when their teacher praised them, they looked happy; and as she passed among the benches, they kissed her hands and wrists; for they are very grateful for what is done for them, and very affectionate. And these little angels have good minds, and study well, the teacher told me. The teacher is young and gentle, with a face full of kindness, a certain expression of sadness, like a reflection of the misfortunes which she caresses and comforts. The dear girl! Among all the human creatures who earn their livelihood by toil, there is not one who earns it more holily than thou, my daughter!

THY MOTHER.

SACRIFICE.

Tuesday, 9th.

My mother is good, and my sister Silvia is like her, and has a large andnoble heart. Yesterday evening I was copying a part of the monthlystory, _From the Apennines to the Andes_, --which the teacher hasdistributed among us all in small portions to copy, because it is solong, --when Silvia entered on tiptoe, and said to me hastily, and in alow voice: "Come to mamma with me. I heard them talking together thismorning: some affair has gone wrong with papa, and he was sad; mamma wasencouraging him: we are in difficulties--do you understand? We have nomore money. Papa said that it would be necessary to make some sacrificesin order to recover himself. Now we must make sacrifices, too, must wenot? Are you ready to do it? Well, I will speak to mamma, and do you nodassent, and promise her on your honor that you will do everything that Ishall say. "

Having said this, she took me by the hand and led me to our mother, whowas sewing, absorbed in thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, Silvia on the other, and she immediately said:--

"Listen, mamma, I have something to say to you. Both of us havesomething to say to you. " Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Silviabegan:--

"Papa has no money, has he?"

"What are you saying?" replied mamma, turning crimson. "Has he notindeed! What do you know about it? Who has told you?"

"I know it, " said Silvia, resolutely. "Well, then, listen, mamma; wemust make some sacrifices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of May, and Enrico expected his box of paints; we don't want anything now; wedon't want to waste a soldo; we shall be just as well pleased--youunderstand?"

Mamma tried to speak; but Silvia said: "No; it must be thus. We havedecided. And until papa has money again, we don't want any fruit oranything else; broth will be enough for us, and we will eat bread in themorning for breakfast: thus we shall spend less on the table, for wealready spend too much; and we promise you that you will always find usperfectly contented. Is it not so, Enrico?"

I replied that it was. "Always perfectly contented, " repeated Silvia, closing mamma's mouth with one hand. "And if there are any othersacrifices to be made, either in the matter of clothing or anythingelse, we will make them gladly; and we will even sell our presents; Iwill give up all my things, I will serve you as your maid, we will nothave anything done out of the house any more, I will work all day longwith you, I will do everything you wish, I am ready for anything! Foranything!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my mother's neck, "ifpapa and mamma can only be saved further troubles, if I can only beholdyou both once more at ease, and in good spirits, as in former days, between your Silvia and your Enrico, who love you so dearly, who wouldgive their lives for you!"




























Ah! I have never seen my mother so happy as she was on hearing thesewords; she never before kissed us on the brow in that way, weeping andlaughing, and incapable of speech. And then she assured Silvia that shehad not understood rightly; that we were not in the least reduced incircumstances, as she imagined; and she thanked us a hundred times, andwas cheerful all the evening, until my father came in, when she told himall about it. He did not open his mouth, poor father! But this morning, as we sat at the table, I felt at once both a great pleasure and a greatsadness: under my napkin I found my box of colors, and under hers, Silvia found her fan.

THE FIRE.

Thursday, 11th.

This morning I had finished copying my share of the story, _From theApennines to the Andes_, and was seeking for a theme for the independentcomposition which the teacher had assigned us to write, when I heard anunusual talking on the stairs, and shortly after two firemen entered thehouse, and asked permission of my father to inspect the stoves andchimneys, because a smoke-pipe was on fire on the roof, and they couldnot tell to whom it belonged.

My father said, "Pray do so. " And although we had no fire burninganywhere, they began to make the round of our apartments, and to laytheir ears to the walls, to hear if the fire was roaring in the flueswhich run up to the other floors of the house.

And while they were going through the rooms, my father said to me, "Hereis a theme for your composition, Enrico, --the firemen. Try to write downwhat I am about to tell you.

"I saw them at work two years ago, one evening, when I was coming out ofthe Balbo Theatre late at night. On entering the Via Roma, I saw anunusual light, and a crowd of people collecting. A house was on fire. Tongues of flame and clouds of smoke were bursting from the windows andthe roof; men and women appeared at the windows and then disappeared, uttering shrieks of despair. There was a dense throng in front of thedoor: the crowd was shouting: 'They will be burned alive! Help! Thefiremen!' At that moment a carriage arrived, four firemen sprang out ofit--the first who had reached the town-hall--and rushed into the house. They had hardly gone in when a horrible thing happened: a woman ran to awindow of the third story, with a yell, clutched the balcony, climbeddown it, and remained suspended, thus clinging, almost suspended inspace, with her back outwards, bending beneath the flames, which flashedout from the room and almost licked her head. The crowd uttered a cry ofhorror. The firemen, who had been stopped on the second floor by mistakeby the terrified lodgers, had already broken through a wall andprecipitated themselves into a room, when a hundred shouts gave themwarning:--

"'On the third floor! On the third floor!'

"They flew to the third floor. There there was an infernaluproar, --beams from the roof crashing in, corridors filled with asuffocating smoke. In order to reach the rooms where the lodgers wereimprisoned, there was no other way left but to pass over the roof. Theyinstantly sprang upon it, and a moment later something which resembled ablack phantom appeared on the tiles, in the midst of the smoke. It wasthe corporal, who had been the first to arrive. But in order to getfrom the roof to the small set of rooms cut off by the fire, he wasforced to pass over an extremely narrow space comprised between a dormerwindow and the eavestrough: all the rest was in flames, and that tinyspace was covered with snow and ice, and there was no place to hold onto.

"'It is impossible for him to pass!' shouted the crowd below.

"The corporal advanced along the edge of the roof. All shuddered, andbegan to observe him with bated breath. He passed. A tremendous hurrahrose towards heaven. The corporal resumed his way, and on arriving atthe point which was threatened, he began to break away, with furiousblows of his axe, beams, tiles, and rafters, in order to open a holethrough which he might descend within.

"In the meanwhile, the woman was still suspended outside the window. Thefire raged with increased violence over her head; another moment, andshe would have fallen into the street.

"The hole was opened. We saw the corporal pull off his shoulder-belt andlower himself inside: the other firemen, who had arrived, followed.

"At that instant a very lofty Porta ladder, which had just arrived, wasplaced against the entablature of the house, in front of the windowswhence issued flames, and howls, as of maniacs. But it seemed as thoughthey were too late.

"'No one can be saved now!' they shouted. 'The firemen are burning! Theend has come! They are dead!'

"All at once the black form of the corporal made its appearance at thewindow with the balcony, lighted up by the flames overhead. The womanclasped him round the neck; he caught her round the body with botharms, drew her up, and laid her down inside the room.

"The crowd set up a shout a thousand voices strong, which rose above theroar of the conflagration.

"But the others? And how were they to get down? The ladder which leanedagainst the roof on the front of another window was at a good distancefrom them. How could they get hold of it?

"While the people were saying this to themselves, one of the firemenstepped out of the window, set his right foot on the window-sill and hisleft on the ladder, and standing thus upright in the air, he grasped thelodgers, one after the other, as the other men handed them to him fromwithin, passed them on to a comrade, who had climbed up from the street, and who, after securing a firm grasp for them on the rungs, sent themdown, one after the other, with the assistance of more firemen.

"First came the woman of the balcony, then a baby, then another woman, then an old man. All were saved. After the old man, the fireman who hadremained inside descended. The last to come down was the corporal whohad been the first to hasten up. The crowd received them all with aburst of applause; but when the last made his appearance, the vanguardof the rescuers, the one who had faced the abyss in advance of the rest, the one who would have perished had it been fated that one shouldperish, the crowd saluted him like a conqueror, shouting and stretchingout their arms, with an affectionate impulse of admiration and ofgratitude, and in a few minutes his obscure name--Giuseppe Robbino--rangfrom a thousand throats.

"Have you understood? That is courage--the courage of the heart, whichdoes not reason, which does not waver, which dashes blindly on, like alightning flash, wherever it hears the cry of a dying man. One of thesedays I will take you to the exercises of the firemen, and I will pointout to you Corporal Robbino; for you would be very glad to know him, would you not?"

I replied that I should.

"Here he is, " said my father.

I turned round with a start. The two firemen, having completed theirinspection, were traversing the room in order to reach the door.

My father pointed to the smaller of the men, who had straps of goldbraid, and said, "Shake hands with Corporal Robbino. "

The corporal halted, and offered me his hand; I pressed it; he made asalute and withdrew.

"And bear this well in mind, " said my father; "for out of the thousandsof hands which you will shake in the course of your life there willprobably not be ten which possess the worth of his. "

FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES.

(_Monthly Story. _)

Many years ago a Genoese lad of thirteen, the son of a workingman, wentfrom Genoa to America all alone to seek his mother.

His mother had gone two years before to Buenos Ayres, a city, thecapital of the Argentine Republic, to take service in a wealthy family, and to thus earn in a short time enough to place her family once more ineasy circumstances, they having fallen, through various misfortunes, into poverty and debt. There are courageous women--not a few--who takethis long voyage with this object in view, and who, thanks to the largewages which people in service receive there, return home at the end of afew years with several thousand lire. The poor mother had wept tears ofblood at parting from her children, --the one aged eighteen, the other, eleven; but she had set out courageously and filled with hope.

The voyage was prosperous: she had no sooner arrived at Buenos Ayresthan she found, through a Genoese shopkeeper, a cousin of her husband, who had been established there for a very long time, a good Argentinefamily, which gave high wages and treated her well. And for a short timeshe kept up a regular correspondence with her family. As it had beensettled between them, her husband addressed his letters to his cousin, who transmitted them to the woman, and the latter handed her replies tohim, and he despatched them to Genoa, adding a few lines of his own. Asshe was earning eighty lire a month and spending nothing for herself, she sent home a handsome sum every three months, with which her husband, who was a man of honor, gradually paid off their most urgent debts, andthus regained his good reputation. And in the meantime, he worked awayand was satisfied with the state of his affairs, since he also cherishedthe hope that his wife would shortly return; for the house seemed emptywithout her, and the younger son in particular, who was extremelyattached to his mother, was very much depressed, and could not resignhimself to having her so far away.

But a year had elapsed since they had parted; after a brief letter, inwhich she said that her health was not very good, they heard nothingmore. They wrote twice to the cousin; the cousin did not reply. Theywrote to the Argentine family where the woman was at service; but it ispossible that the letter never reached them, for they had distorted thename in addressing it: they received no answer. Fearing a misfortune, they wrote to the Italian Consulate at Buenos Ayres to have inquiriesmade, and after a lapse of three months they received a response fromthe consul, that in spite of advertisements in the newspapers no one hadpresented herself nor sent any word. And it could not have happenedotherwise, for this reason if for no other: that with the idea ofsparing the good name of her family, which she fancied she wasdiscrediting by becoming a servant, the good woman had not given herreal name to the Argentine family.

Several months more passed by; no news. The father and sons were inconsternation; the youngest was oppressed by a melancholy which he couldnot conquer. What was to be done? To whom should they have recourse? Thefather's first thought had been to set out, to go to America in searchof his wife. But his work? Who would support his sons? And neither couldthe eldest son go, for he had just then begun to earn something, and hewas necessary to the family. And in this anxiety they lived, repeatingeach day the same sad speeches, or gazing at each other in silence;when, one evening, Marco, the youngest, declared with decision, "I amgoing to America to look for my mother. "

His father shook his head sadly and made no reply. It was anaffectionate thought, but an impossible thing. To make a journey toAmerica, which required a month, alone, at the age of thirteen! But theboy patiently insisted. He persisted that day, the day after, everyday, with great calmness, reasoning with the good sense of a man. "Others have gone thither, " he said; "and smaller boys than I, too. Onceon board the ship, I shall get there like anybody else. Once arrivedthere, I only have to hunt up our cousin's shop. There are plenty ofItalians there who will show me the street. After finding our cousin, mymother is found; and if I do not find him, I will go to the consul: Iwill search out that Argentine family. Whatever happens, there is workfor all there; I shall find work also; sufficient, at least, to earnenough to get home. " And thus little by little he almost succeeded inpersuading his father. His father esteemed him; he knew that he had goodjudgment and courage; that he was inured to privations and tosacrifices; and that all these good qualities had acquired double forcein his heart in consequence of the sacred project of finding his mother, whom he adored. In addition to this, the captain of a steamer, thefriend of an acquaintance of his, having heard the plan mentioned, undertook to procure a free third-class passage for the ArgentineRepublic.

And then, after a little hesitation, the father gave his consent. Thevoyage was decided on. They filled a sack with clothes for him, put afew crowns in his pocket, and gave him the address of the cousin; andone fine evening in April they saw him on board.

"Marco, my son, " his father said to him, as he gave him his last kiss, with tears in his eyes, on the steps of the steamer, which was on thepoint of starting, "take courage. Thou hast set out on a holyundertaking, and God will aid thee. "

Poor Marco! His heart was strong and prepared for the hardest trials ofthis voyage; but when he beheld his beautiful Genoa disappear on thehorizon, and found himself on the open sea on that huge steamer throngedwith emigrating peasants, alone, unacquainted with any one, with thatlittle bag which held his entire fortune, a sudden discouragementassailed him. For two days he remained crouching like a dog on the bows, hardly eating, and oppressed with a great desire to weep. Everydescription of sad thoughts passed through his mind, and the saddest, the most terrible, was the one which was the most persistent in itsreturn, --the thought that his mother was dead. In his broken and painfulslumbers he constantly beheld a strange face, which surveyed him with anair of compassion, and whispered in his ear, "Your mother is dead!" Andthen he awoke, stifling a shriek.

Nevertheless, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, at the first sightof the Atlantic Ocean he recovered his spirits a little, and his hope. But it was only a brief respite. That vast but always smooth sea, theincreasing heat, the misery of all those poor people who surrounded him, the consciousness of his own solitude, overwhelmed him once more. Theempty and monotonous days which succeeded each other became confoundedin his memory, as is the case with sick people. It seemed to him that hehad been at sea a year. And every morning, on waking, he felt surprisedafresh at finding himself there alone on that vast watery expanse, onhis way to America. The beautiful flying fish which fell on deck everynow and then, the marvellous sunsets of the tropics, with their enormousclouds colored like flame and blood, and those nocturnalphosphorescences which make the ocean seem all on fire like a sea oflava, did not produce on him the effect of real things, but of marvelsbeheld in a dream. There were days of bad weather, during which heremained constantly in the dormitory, where everything was rolling andcrashing, in the midst of a terrible chorus of lamentations andimprecations, and he thought that his last hour had come. There wereother days, when the sea was calm and yellowish, of insupportable heat, of infinite tediousness; interminable and wretched hours, during whichthe enervated passengers, stretched motionless on the planks, seemed alldead. And the voyage was endless: sea and sky, sky and sea; to-day thesame as yesterday, to-morrow like to-day, and so on, always, eternally.

And for long hours he stood leaning on the bulwarks, gazing at thatinterminable sea in amazement, thinking vaguely of his mother, until hiseyes closed and his head was drooping with sleep; and then again hebeheld that unknown face which gazed upon him with an air of compassion, and repeated in his ear, "Your mother is dead!" and at the sound of thatvoice he awoke with a start, to resume his dreaming with wide-open eyes, and to gaze at the unchanging horizon.

The voyage lasted twenty-seven days. But the last days were the best. The weather was fine, and the air cool. He had made the acquaintance ofa good old man, a Lombard, who was going to America to find his son, anagriculturist in the vicinity of the town of Rosario; he had told himhis whole story, and the old man kept repeating every little while, ashe tapped him on the nape of the neck with his hand, "Courage, my lad;you will find your mother well and happy. "

This companionship comforted him; his sad presentiments were turned intojoyous ones. Seated on the bow, beside the aged peasant, who was smokinghis pipe, beneath the beautiful starry heaven, in the midst of a groupof singing peasants, he imagined to himself in his own mind a hundredtimes his arrival at Buenos Ayres; he saw himself in a certain street;he found the shop, he flew to his cousin. "How is my mother? Come, letus go at once! Let us go at once!" They hurried on together; theyascended a staircase; a door opened. And here his mute soliloquy came toan end; his imagination was swallowed up in a feeling of inexpressibletenderness, which made him secretly pull forth a little medal that hewore on his neck, and murmur his prayers as he kissed it.

On the twenty-seventh day after their departure they arrived. It was abeautiful, rosy May morning, when the steamer cast anchor in the immenseriver of the Plata, near the shore along which stretches the vast cityof Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Republic. This splendidweather seemed to him to be a good augury. He was beside himself withjoy and impatience. His mother was only a few miles from him! In a fewhours more he would have seen her! He was in America, in the new world, and he had had the daring to come alone! The whole of that extremelylong voyage now seemed to him to have passed in an instant. It seemed tohim that he had flown hither in a dream, and that he had that momentwaked. And he was so happy, that he hardly experienced any surprise ordistress when he felt in his pockets and found only one of the twolittle heaps into which he had divided his little treasure, in order tobe the more sure of not losing the whole of it. He had been robbed; hehad only a few lire left; but what mattered that to him, when he wasnear his mother? With his bag in his hand, he descended, in companywith many other Italians, to the tug-boat which carried him within ashort distance of the shore; clambered down from the tug into a boatwhich bore the name of _Andrea Doria_; was landed on the wharf; salutedhis old Lombard friend, and directed his course, in long strides, towards the city.

On arriving at the entrance of the first street, he stopped a man whowas passing by, and begged him to show him in what direction he shouldgo in order to reach the street of _los Artes_. He chanced to havestopped an Italian workingman. The latter surveyed him with curiosity, and inquired if he knew how to read. The lad nodded, "Yes. "

"Well, then, " said the laborer, pointing to the street from which he hadjust emerged, "keep straight on through there, reading the names of allthe streets on the corners; you will end by finding the one you want. "

The boy thanked him, and turned into the street which opened before him.

It was a straight and endless but narrow street, bordered by low whitehouses, which looked like so many little villas, filled with people, with carriages, with carts which made a deafening noise; here and therefloated enormous banners of various hues, with announcements as to thedeparture of steamers for strange cities inscribed upon them in largeletters. At every little distance along the street, on the right andleft, he perceived two other streets which ran straight away as far ashe could see, also bordered by low white houses, filled with people andvehicles, and bounded at their extremity by the level line of themeasureless plains of America, like the horizon at sea. The city seemedinfinite to him; it seemed to him that he might wander for days orweeks, seeing other streets like these, on one hand and on the other, and that all America must be covered with them. He looked attentively atthe names of the streets: strange names which cost him an effort toread. At every fresh street, he felt his heart beat, at the thought thatit was the one he was in search of. He stared at all the women, with thethought that he might meet his mother. He caught sight of one in frontof him who made his blood leap; he overtook her: she was a negro. Andaccelerating his pace, he walked on and on. On arriving at thecross-street, he read, and stood as though rooted to the sidewalk. Itwas the street _del los Artes_. He turned into it, and saw the number117; his cousin's shop was No. 175. He quickened his pace still more, and almost ran; at No. 171 he had to pause to regain his breath. And hesaid to himself, "O my mother! my mother! It is really true that I shallsee you in another moment!" He ran on; he arrived at a littlehaberdasher's shop. This was it. He stepped up close to it. He saw awoman with gray hair and spectacles.

"What do you want, boy?" she asked him in Spanish.

"Is not this, " said the boy, making an effort to utter a sound, "theshop of Francesco Merelli?"

"Francesco Merelli is dead, " replied the woman in Italian.

The boy felt as though he had received a blow on his breast.

"When did he die?"

"Eh? quite a while ago, " replied the woman. "Months ago. His affairswere in a bad state, and he ran away. They say he went to Bahia Blanca, very far from here. And he died just after he reached there. The shopis mine. "

The boy turned pale.

Then he said quickly, "Merelli knew my mother; my mother who was atservice with Signor Mequinez. He alone could tell me where she is. Ihave come to America to find my mother. Merelli sent her our letters. Imust find my mother. "

"Poor boy!" said the woman; "I don't know. I can ask the boy in thecourtyard. He knew the young man who did Merelli's errands. He may beable to tell us something. "

She went to the end of the shop and called the lad, who came instantly. "Tell me, " asked the shopwoman, "do you remember whether Merelli's youngman went occasionally to carry letters to a woman in service, in thehouse of the _son of the country_?"

"To Signor Mequinez, " replied the lad; "yes, signora, sometimes he did. At the end of the street _del los Artes_. "

"Ah! thanks, signora!" cried Marco. "Tell me the number; don't you knowit? Send some one with me; come with me instantly, my boy; I have stilla few soldi. "

And he said this with so much warmth, that without waiting for the womanto request him, the boy replied, "Come, " and at once set out at a rapidpace.

They proceeded almost at a run, without uttering a word, to the end ofthe extremely long street, made their way into the entrance of a littlewhite house, and halted in front of a handsome iron gate, through whichthey could see a small yard, filled with vases of flowers. Marco gave atug at the bell.

A young lady made her appearance.

"The Mequinez family lives here, does it not?" demanded the ladanxiously.

"They did live here, " replied the young lady, pronouncing her Italian inSpanish fashion. "Now we, the Zeballos, live here. "

"And where have the Mequinez gone?" asked Marco, his heart palpitating.

"They have gone to Cordova. "

"Cordova!" exclaimed Marco. "Where is Cordova? And the person whom theyhad in their service? The woman, my mother! Their servant was my mother!Have they taken my mother away, too?"

The young lady looked at him and said: "I do not know. Perhaps my fathermay know, for he knew them when they went away. Wait a moment. "

She ran away, and soon returned with her father, a tall gentleman, witha gray beard. He looked intently for a minute at this sympathetic typeof a little Genoese sailor, with his golden hair and his aquiline nose, and asked him in broken Italian, "Is your mother a Genoese?"

Marco replied that she was.

"Well then, the Genoese maid went with them; that I know for certain. "

"And where have they gone?"

"To Cordova, a city. "

The boy gave vent to a sigh; then he said with resignation, "Then I willgo to Cordova. "

"Ah, poor child!" exclaimed the gentleman in Spanish; "poor boy! Cordovais hundreds of miles from here. "

Marco turned as white as a corpse, and clung with one hand to therailings.

"Let us see, let us see, " said the gentleman, moved to pity, andopening the door; "come inside a moment; let us see if anything can bedone. " He sat down, gave the boy a seat, and made him tell his story, listened to it very attentively, meditated a little, then saidresolutely, "You have no money, have you?"

"I still have some, a little, " answered Marco.

The gentleman reflected for five minutes more; then seated himself at adesk, wrote a letter, sealed it, and handing it to the boy, he said tohim:--

"Listen to me, little Italian. Take this letter to Boca. That is alittle city which is half Genoese, and lies two hours' journey fromhere. Any one will be able to show you the road. Go there and find thegentleman to whom this letter is addressed, and whom every one knows. Carry the letter to him. He will send you off to the town of Rosarioto-morrow, and will recommend you to some one there, who will think outa way of enabling you to pursue your journey to Cordova, where you willfind the Mequinez family and your mother. In the meanwhile, take this. "And he placed in his hand a few lire. "Go, and keep up your courage; youwill find fellow-countrymen of yours in every direction, and you willnot be deserted. _Adios!_"

The boy said, "Thanks, " without finding any other words to expresshimself, went out with his bag, and having taken leave of his littleguide, he set out slowly in the direction of Boca, filled with sorrowand amazement, across that great and noisy town.

Everything that happened to him from that moment until the evening ofthat day ever afterwards lingered in his memory in a confused anduncertain form, like the wild vagaries of a person in a fever, so wearywas he, so troubled, so despondent. And at nightfall on the followingday, after having slept over night in a poor little chamber in a housein Boca, beside a harbor porter, after having passed nearly the whole ofthat day seated on a pile of beams, and, as in delirium, in sight ofthousands of ships and boats and tugs, he found himself on the poop of alarge sailing vessel, loaded with fruit, which was setting out for thetown of Rosario, managed by three robust Genoese, who were bronzed bythe sun; and their voices and the dialect which they spoke put a littlecomfort into his heart once more.

They set out, and the voyage lasted three days and four nights, and itwas a continual amazement to the little traveller. Three days and fournights on that wonderful river Paran�, in comparison with which ourgreat Po is but a rivulet; and the length of Italy quadrupled does notequal that of its course. The barge advanced slowly against thisimmeasurable mass of water. It threaded its way among long islands, oncethe haunts of serpents and tigers, covered with orange-trees andwillows, like floating coppices; now they passed through narrow canals, from which it seemed as though they could never issue forth; now theysailed out on vast expanses of water, having the aspect of greattranquil lakes; then among islands again, through the intricate channelsof an archipelago, amid enormous masses of vegetation. A profoundsilence reigned. For long stretches the shores and very vast andsolitary waters produced the impression of an unknown stream, upon whichthis poor little sail was the first in all the world to venture itself. The further they advanced, the more this monstrous river dismayed him. He imagined that his mother was at its source, and that their navigationmust last for years. Twice a day he ate a little bread and salted meatwith the boatmen, who, perceiving that he was sad, never addressed aword to him. At night he slept on deck and woke every little while witha start, astounded by the limpid light of the moon, which silvered theimmense expanse of water and the distant shores; and then his heart sankwithin him. "Cordova!" He repeated that name, "Cordova!" like the nameof one of those mysterious cities of which he had heard in fables. Butthen he thought, "My mother passed this spot; she saw these islands, these shores;" and then these places upon which the glance of his motherhad fallen no longer seemed strange and solitary to him. At night one ofthe boatmen sang. That voice reminded him of his mother's songs, whenshe had lulled him to sleep as a little child. On the last night, whenhe heard that song, he sobbed. The boatman interrupted his song. Then hecried, "Courage, courage, my son! What the deuce! A Genoese cryingbecause he is far from home! The Genoese make the circuit of the world, glorious and triumphant!"

And at these words he shook himself, he heard the voice of the Genoeseblood, and he raised his head aloft with pride, dashing his fist down onthe rudder. "Well, yes, " he said to himself; "and if I am also obligedto travel for years and years to come, all over the world, and totraverse hundreds of miles on foot, I will go on until I find my mother, were I to arrive in a dying condition, and fall dead at her feet! Ifonly I can see her once again! Courage!" And with this frame of mind hearrived at daybreak, on a cool and rosy morning, in front of the city ofRosario, situated on the high bank of the Paran�, where the beflaggedyards of a hundred vessels of every land were mirrored in the waves.

Shortly after landing, he went to the town, bag in hand, to seek anArgentine gentleman for whom his protector in Boca had intrusted himwith a visiting-card, with a few words of recommendation. On enteringRosario, it seemed to him that he was coming into a city with which hewas already familiar. There were the straight, interminable streets, bordered with low white houses, traversed in all directions above theroofs by great bundles of telegraph and telephone wires, which lookedlike enormous spiders' webs; and a great confusion of people, of horses, and of vehicles. His head grew confused; he almost thought that he hadgot back to Buenos Ayres, and must hunt up his cousin once more. Hewandered about for nearly an hour, making one turn after another, andseeming always to come back to the same street; and by dint ofinquiring, he found the house of his new protector. He pulled the bell. There came to the door a big, light-haired, gruff man, who had the airof a steward, and who demanded awkwardly, with a foreign accent:--

"What do you want?"

The boy mentioned the name of his patron.

"The master has gone away, " replied the steward; "he set out yesterdayafternoon for Buenos Ayres, with his whole family. "

The boy was left speechless. Then he stammered, "But I--I have no onehere! I am alone!" and he offered the card.

The steward took it, read it, and said surlily: "I don't know what to dofor you. I'll give it to him when he returns a month hence. "

"But I, I am alone; I am in need!" exclaimed the lad, in a supplicatingvoice.

"Eh? come now, " said the other; "just as though there were not a plentyof your sort from your country in Rosario! Be off, and do your beggingin Italy!" And he slammed the door in his face.

The boy stood there as though he had been turned to stone.

Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and went out, his heart tornwith anguish, with his mind in a whirl, assailed all at once by athousand anxious thoughts. What was to be done? Where was he to go? FromRosario to Cordova was a day's journey, by rail. He had only a few lireleft. After deducting what he should be obliged to spend that day, hewould have next to nothing left. Where was he to find the money to payhis fare? He could work--but how? To whom should he apply for work? Askalms? Ah, no! To be repulsed, insulted, humiliated, as he had been alittle while ago? No; never, never more--rather would he die! And atthis idea, and at the sight of the very long street which was lost inthe distance of the boundless plain, he felt his courage desert him oncemore, flung his bag on the sidewalk, sat down with his back against thewall, and bent his head between his hands, in an attitude of despair.

People jostled him with their feet as they passed; the vehicles filledthe road with noise; several boys stopped to look at him. He remainedthus for a while. Then he was startled by a voice saying to him in amixture of Italian and Lombard dialect, "What is the matter, littleboy?"

He raised his face at these words, and instantly sprang to his feet, uttering an exclamation of wonder: "You here!"

It was the old Lombard peasant with whom he had struck up a friendshipduring the voyage.

The amazement of the peasant was no less than his own; but the boy didnot leave him time to question him, and he rapidly recounted the stateof his affairs.

"Now I am without a soldo. I must go to work. Find me work, that I mayget together a few lire. I will do anything; I will carry rubbish, Iwill sweep the streets; I can run on errands, or even work in thecountry; I am content to live on black bread; but only let it be so thatI may set out quickly, that I may find my mother once more. Do me thischarity, and find me work, find me work, for the love of God, for I cando no more!"

"The deuce! the deuce!" said the peasant, looking about him, andscratching his chin. "What a story is this! To work, to work!--that issoon said. Let us look about a little. Is there no way of finding thirtylire among so many fellow-countrymen?"

The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of hope.

"Come with me, " said the peasant.

"Where?" asked the lad, gathering up his bag again.

"Come with me. "

The peasant started on; Marco followed him. They traversed a longstretch of street together without speaking. The peasant halted at thedoor of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an inscriptionbeneath, _The Star of Italy_. He thrust his face in, and turning to theboy, he said cheerfully, "We have arrived at just the right moment. "

They entered a large room, where there were numerous tables, and manymen seated, drinking and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached thefirst table, and from the manner in which he saluted the six guests whowere gathered around it, it was evident that he had been in theircompany until a short time previously. They were red in the face, andwere clinking their glasses, and vociferating and laughing.

"Comrades, " said the Lombard, without any preface, remaining on hisfeet, and presenting Marco, "here is a poor lad, our fellow-countryman, who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos Ayres to seek his mother. AtBuenos Ayres they told him, 'She is not here; she is in Cordova. ' Hecame in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights on the way, witha couple of lines of recommendation. He presents the card; they make anugly face at him: he hasn't a centesimo to bless himself with. He ishere alone and in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a bit. Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to go to Cordova in search ofhis mother? Are we to leave him here like a dog?"

"Never in the world, by Heavens! That shall never be said!" they allshouted at once, hammering on the table with their fists. "Afellow-countryman of ours! Come hither, little fellow! We are emigrants!See what a handsome young rogue! Out with your coppers, comrades! Bravo!Come alone! He has daring! Drink a sup, _patriotta_! We'll send you toyour mother; never fear!" And one pinched his cheek, another slapped himon the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag; other emigrants rosefrom the neighboring tables, and gathered about; the boy's story madethe round of the inn; three Argentine guests hurried in from theadjoining room; and in less than ten minutes the Lombard peasant, whowas passing round the hat, had collected forty-two lire.

"Do you see, " he then said, turning to the boy, "how fast things aredone in America?"

"Drink!" cried another to him, offering him a glass of wine; "to thehealth of your mother!"

All raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, "To the health of my--"But a sob of joy choked him, and, setting the glass on the table, heflung himself on the old man's neck.

At daybreak on the following morning he set out for Cordova, ardent andsmiling, filled with presentiments of happiness. But there is nocheerfulness that rules for long in the face of certain sinister aspectsof nature. The weather was close and dull; the train, which was nearlyempty, ran through an immense plain, destitute of every sign ofhabitation. He found himself alone in a very long car, which resembledthose on trains for the wounded. He gazed to the right, he gazed to theleft, and he saw nothing but an endless solitude, strewn with tiny, deformed trees, with contorted trunks and branches, in attitudes such aswere never seen before, almost of wrath and anguish, and a sparse andmelancholy vegetation, which gave to the plain the aspect of a ruinedcemetery.



He dozed for half an hour; then resumed his survey: the spectacle wasstill the same. The railway stations were deserted, like the dwellingsof hermits; and when the train stopped, not a sound was heard; it seemedto him that he was alone in a lost train, abandoned in the middle of adesert. It seemed to him as though each station must be the last, andthat he should then enter the mysterious regions of the savages. An icybreeze nipped his face. On embarking at Genoa, towards the end of April, it had not occurred to him that he should find winter in America, andhe was dressed for summer.

After several hours of this he began to suffer from cold, and inconnection with the cold, from the fatigue of the days he had recentlypassed through, filled as they had been with violent emotions, and fromsleepless and harassing nights. He fell asleep, slept a long time, andawoke benumbed; he felt ill. Then a vague terror of falling ill, ofdying on the journey, seized upon him; a fear of being thrown out there, in the middle of that desolate prairie, where his body would be torn inpieces by dogs and birds of prey, like the corpses of horses and cowswhich he had caught sight of every now and then beside the track, andfrom which he had turned aside his eyes in disgust. In this state ofanxious illness, in the midst of that dark silence of nature, hisimagination grew excited, and looked on the dark side of things.

Was he quite sure, after all, that he should find his mother at Cordova?And what if she had not gone there? What if that gentleman in the Viadel los Artes had made a mistake? And what if she were dead? Thusmeditating, he fell asleep again, and dreamed that he was in Cordova, and it was night, and that he heard cries from all the doors and all thewindows: "She is not here! She is not here! She is not here!" Thisroused him with a start, in terror, and he saw at the other end of thecar three bearded men enveloped in shawls of various colors who werestaring at him and talking together in a low tone; and the suspicionflashed across him that they were assassins, and that they wanted tokill him for the sake of stealing his bag. Fear was added to hisconsciousness of illness and to the cold; his fancy, already perturbed, became distorted: the three men kept on staring at him; one of themmoved towards him; then his reason wandered, and rushing towards himwith arms wide open, he shrieked, "I have nothing; I am a poor boy; Ihave come from Italy; I am in quest of my mother; I am alone: do not dome any harm!"

They instantly understood the situation; they took compassion on him, caressed and soothed him, speaking to him many words which he did nothear nor comprehend; and perceiving that his teeth were chattering withcold, they wrapped one of their shawls around him, and made him sit downagain, so that he might go to sleep. And he did fall asleep once more, when the twilight was descending. When they aroused him, he was atCordova.

Ah, what a deep breath he drew, and with what impetuosity he flew fromthe car! He inquired of one of the station employees where the house ofthe engineer Mequinez was situated; the latter mentioned the name of achurch; it stood beside the church: the boy hastened away.

It was night. He entered the city, and it seemed to him that he wasentering Rosario once more; that he again beheld those straight streets, flanked with little white houses, and intersected by other very long andstraight streets. But there were very few people, and under the light ofthe rare street lanterns, he encountered strange faces of a hue unknownto him, between black and greenish; and raising his head from time totime, he beheld churches of bizarre architecture which were outlinedblack and vast against the sky. The city was dark and silent, but afterhaving traversed that immense desert, it appeared lively to him. Heinquired his way of a priest, speedily found the church and the house, pulled the bell with one trembling hand, and pressed the other on hisbreast to repress the beating of his heart, which was leaping into histhroat.

An old woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door.

The boy could not speak at once.

"Whom do you want?" demanded the dame in Spanish.

"The engineer Mequinez, " replied Marco.

The old woman made a motion to cross her arms on her breast, andreplied, with a shake of the head: "So you, too, have dealings with theengineer Mequinez! It strikes me that it is time to stop this. We havebeen worried for the last three months. It is not enough that thenewspapers have said it. We shall have to have it printed on the cornerof the street, that Signor Mequinez has gone to live at Tucuman!"

The boy gave way to a gesture of despair. Then he gave way to anoutburst of passion.

"So there is a curse upon me! I am doomed to die on the road, withouthaving found my mother! I shall go mad! I shall kill myself! My God!what is the name of that country? Where is it? At what distance is itsituated?"

"Eh, poor boy, " replied the old woman, moved to pity; "a mere trifle! Weare four or five hundred miles from there, at least. "

The boy covered his face with his hands; then he asked with a sob, "Andnow what am I to do!"

"What am I to say to you, my poor child?" responded the dame: "I don'tknow. "

But suddenly an idea struck her, and she added hastily: "Listen, nowthat I think of it. There is one thing that you can do. Go down thisstreet, to the right, and at the third house you will find a courtyard;there there is a _capataz_, a trader, who is setting out to-morrow forTucuman, with his wagons and his oxen. Go and see if he will take you, and offer him your services; perhaps he will give you a place on hiswagons: go at once. "

The lad grasped his bag, thanked her as he ran, and two minutes laterfound himself in a vast courtyard, lighted by lanterns, where a numberof men were engaged in loading sacks of grain on certain enormous cartswhich resembled the movable houses of mountebanks, with rounded tops, and very tall wheels; and a tall man with mustaches, enveloped in a sortof mantle of black and white check, and with big boots, was directingthe work.

The lad approached this man, and timidly proffered his request, sayingthat he had come from Italy, and that he was in search of his mother.

The _capataz_, which signifies the head (the head conductor of thisconvoy of wagons), surveyed him from head to foot with a keen glance, and replied drily, "I have no place. "

"I have fifteen lire, " answered the boy in a supplicating tone; "I willgive you my fifteen lire. I will work on the journey; I will fetch thewater and fodder for the animals; I will perform all sorts of services. A little bread will suffice for me. Make a little place for me, signor. "

The _capataz_ looked him over again, and replied with a better grace, "There is no room; and then, we are not going to Tucuman; we are goingto another town, Santiago dell'Estero. We shall have to leave you at acertain point, and you will still have a long way to go on foot. "

"Ah, I will make twice as long a journey!" exclaimed Marco; "I can walk;do not worry about that; I shall get there by some means or other: makea little room for me, signor, out of charity; for pity's sake, do notleave me here alone!"

"Beware; it is a journey of twenty days. "

"It matters nothing to me. "

"It is a hard journey. "

"I will endure everything. "

"You will have to travel alone. "

"I fear nothing, if I can only find my mother. Have compassion!"

The _capataz_ drew his face close to a lantern, and scrutinized him. Then he said, "Very well. "

The lad kissed his hand.

"You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night, " added the _capataz_, ashe quitted him; "to-morrow morning, at four o'clock, I will wake you. Good night. "

At four o'clock in the morning, by the light of the stars, the longstring of wagons was set in motion with a great noise; each cart wasdrawn by six oxen, and all were followed by a great number of spareanimals for a change.

The boy, who had been awakened and placed in one of the carts, on thesacks, instantly fell again into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the convoyhad halted in a solitary spot, full in the sun, and all the men--the_peones_--were seated round a quarter of calf, which was roasting in theopen air, beside a large fire, which was flickering in the wind. Theyall ate together, took a nap, and then set out again; and thus thejourney continued, regulated like a march of soldiers. Every morningthey set out on the road at five o'clock, halted at nine, set out againat five o'clock in the evening, and halted again at ten. The _peones_rode on horseback, and stimulated the oxen with long goads. The boylighted the fire for the roasting, gave the beasts their fodder, polished up the lanterns, and brought water for drinking.

The landscape passed before him like an indistinct vision: vast grovesof little brown trees; villages consisting of a few scattered houses, with red and battlemented fa�ades; very vast tracts, possibly theancient beds of great salt lakes, which gleamed white with salt as faras the eye could reach; and on every hand, and always, the prairie, solitude, silence. On very rare occasions they encountered two or threetravellers on horseback, followed by a herd of picked horses, who passedthem at a gallop, like a whirlwind. The days were all alike, as at sea, wearisome and interminable; but the weather was fine. But the _peones_became more and more exacting every day, as though the lad were theirbond slave; some of them treated him brutally, with threats; all forcedhim to serve them without mercy: they made him carry enormous bundles offorage; they sent him to get water at great distances; and he, brokenwith fatigue, could not even sleep at night, continually tossed about ashe was by the violent jolts of the wagon, and the deafening groaning ofthe wheels and wooden axles. And in addition to this, the wind havingrisen, a fine, reddish, greasy dust, which enveloped everything, penetrated the wagon, made its way under the covers, filled his eyes andmouth, robbed him of sight and breath, constantly, oppressively, insupportably. Worn out with toil and lack of sleep, reduced to ragsand dirt, reproached and ill treated from morning till night, the poorboy grew every day more dejected, and would have lost heart entirely ifthe _capataz_ had not addressed a kind word to him now and then. Heoften wept, unseen, in a corner of the wagon, with his face against hisbag, which no longer contained anything but rags. Every morning he roseweaker and more discouraged, and as he looked out over the country, andbeheld always the same boundless and implacable plain, like aterrestrial ocean, he said to himself: "Ah, I shall not hold out untilto-night! I shall not hold out until to-night! To-day I shall die on theroad!" And his toil increased, his ill treatment was redoubled. Onemorning, in the absence of the _capataz_, one of the men struck him, because he had delayed in fetching the water. And then they all began totake turns at it, when they gave him an order, dealing him a kick, saying: "Take that, you vagabond! Carry that to your mother!"

His heart was breaking. He fell ill; for three days he remained in thewagon, with a coverlet over him, fighting a fever, and seeing no oneexcept the _capataz_, who came to give him his drink and feel his pulse. And then he believed that he was lost, and invoked his mother indespair, calling her a hundred times by name: "O my mother! my mother!Help me! Come to me, for I am dying! Oh, my poor mother, I shall neversee you again! My poor mother, who will find me dead beside the way!"And he folded his hands over his bosom and prayed. Then he grew better, thanks to the care of the _capataz_, and recovered; but with hisrecovery arrived the most terrible day of his journey, the day on whichhe was to be left to his own devices. They had been on the way for morethan two weeks; when they arrived at the point where the road toTucuman parted from that which leads to Santiago dell'Estero, the_capataz_ announced to him that they must separate. He gave him someinstructions with regard to the road, tied his bag on his shoulders in amanner which would not annoy him as he walked, and, breaking off short, as though he feared that he should be affected, he bade him farewell. The boy had barely time to kiss him on one arm. The other men, too, whohad treated him so harshly, seemed to feel a little pity at the sight ofhim left thus alone, and they made signs of farewell to him as theymoved away. And he returned the salute with his hand, stood watching theconvoy until it was lost to sight in the red dust of the plain, and thenset out sadly on his road.

[Illustration: "HE STOOD WATCHING THE CONVOY UNTIL IT WAS LOST TO SIGHT. "--Page 263. ]

One thing, on the other hand, comforted him a little from the first. After all those days of travel across that endless plain, which wasforever the same, he saw before him a chain of mountains very high andblue, with white summits, which reminded him of the Alps, and gave himthe feeling of having drawn near to his own country once more. They werethe Andes, the dorsal spine of the American continent, that immensechain which extends from Tierra del Fuego to the glacial sea of theArctic pole, through a hundred and ten degrees of latitude. And he wasalso comforted by the fact that the air seemed to him to grow constantlywarmer; and this happened, because, in ascending towards the north, hewas slowly approaching the tropics. At great distances apart there weretiny groups of houses with a petty shop; and he bought something to eat. He encountered men on horseback; every now and then he saw women andchildren seated on the ground, motionless and grave, with facesentirely new to him, of an earthen hue, with oblique eyes and prominentcheek-bones, who looked at him intently, and accompanied him with theirgaze, turning their heads slowly like automatons. They were Indians.

The first day he walked as long as his strength would permit, and sleptunder a tree. On the second day he made considerably less progress, andwith less spirit. His shoes were dilapidated, his feet wounded, hisstomach weakened by bad food. Towards evening he began to be alarmed. Hehad heard, in Italy, that in this land there were serpents; he fanciedthat he heard them crawling; he halted, then set out on a run, and withcold chills in all his bones. At times he was seized with a profoundpity for himself, and he wept silently as he walked. Then he thought, "Oh, how much my mother would suffer if she knew that I am afraid!" andthis thought restored his courage. Then, in order to distract histhoughts from fear, he meditated much of her; he recalled to mind herwords when she had set out from Genoa, and the movement with which shehad arranged the coverlet beneath his chin when he was in bed, and whenhe was a baby; for every time that she took him in her arms, she said tohim, "Stay here a little while with me"; and thus she remained for along time, with her head resting on his, thinking, thinking.

And he said to himself: "Shall I see thee again, dear mother? Shall Iarrive at the end of my journey, my mother?" And he walked on and on, among strange trees, vast plantations of sugar-cane, and fields withoutend, always with those blue mountains in front of him, which cut the skywith their exceedingly lofty crests. Four days, five days--a week, passed. His strength was rapidly declining, his feet were bleeding. Finally, one evening at sunset, they said to him:--

"Tucuman is fifty miles from here. "

He uttered a cry of joy, and hastened his steps, as though he had, inthat moment, regained all his lost vigor. But it was a brief illusion. His forces suddenly abandoned him, and he fell upon the brink of aditch, exhausted. But his heart was beating with content. The heaven, thickly sown with the most brilliant stars, had never seemed sobeautiful to him. He contemplated it, as he lay stretched out on thegrass to sleep, and thought that, perhaps, at that very moment, hismother was gazing at him. And he said:--

"O my mother, where art thou? What art thou doing at this moment? Dostthou think of thy son? Dost thou think of thy Marco, who is so near tothee?"

Poor Marco! If he could have seen in what a case his mother was at thatmoment, he would have made a superhuman effort to proceed on his way, and to reach her a few hours earlier. She was ill in bed, in aground-floor room of a lordly mansion, where dwelt the entire Mequinezfamily. The latter had become very fond of her, and had helped her agreat deal. The poor woman had already been ailing when the engineerMequinez had been obliged unexpectedly to set out far from Buenos Ayres, and she had not benefited at all by the fine air of Cordova. But then, the fact that she had received no response to her letters from herhusband, nor from her cousin, the presentiment, always lively, of somegreat misfortune, the continual anxiety in which she had lived, betweenthe parting and staying, expecting every day some bad news, had causedher to grow worse out of all proportion. Finally, a very serious maladyhad declared itself, --a strangled internal rupture. She had not risenfrom her bed for a fortnight. A surgical operation was necessary to saveher life. And at precisely the moment when Marco was apostrophizing her, the master and mistress of the house were standing beside her bed, arguing with her, with great gentleness, to persuade her to allowherself to be operated on, and she was persisting in her refusal, andweeping. A good physician of Tucuman had come in vain a week before.

"No, my dear master, " she said; "do not count upon it; I have not thestrength to resist; I should die under the surgeon's knife. It is betterto allow me to die thus. I no longer cling to life. All is at an end forme. It is better to die before learning what has happened to my family. "

And her master and mistress opposed, and said that she must takecourage, that she would receive a reply to the last letters, which hadbeen sent directly to Genoa; that she must allow the operation to beperformed; that it must be done for the sake of her family. But thissuggestion of her children only aggravated her profound discouragement, which had for a long time prostrated her, with increasing anguish. Atthese words she burst into tears.

"O my sons! my sons!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands; "perhaps theyare no longer alive! It is better that I should die also. I thank you, my good master and mistress; I thank you from my heart. But it is betterthat I should die. At all events, I am certain that I shall not be curedby this operation. Thanks for all your care, my good master andmistress. It is useless for the doctor to come again after to-morrow. Iwish to die. It is my fate to die here. I have decided. "

And they began again to console her, and to repeat, "Don't say that, "and to take her hand and beseech her.

But she closed her eyes then in exhaustion, and fell into a doze, sothat she appeared to be dead. And her master and mistress remained therea little while, by the faint light of a taper, watching with greatcompassion that admirable mother, who, for the sake of saving herfamily, had come to die six thousand miles from her country, to dieafter having toiled so hard, poor woman! and she was so honest, so good, so unfortunate.

Early on the morning of the following day, Marco, bent and limping, withhis bag on his back, entered the city of Tucuman, one of the youngestand most flourishing towns of the Argentine Republic. It seemed to himthat he beheld again Cordova, Rosario, Buenos Ayres: there were the samestraight and extremely long streets, the same low white houses, but onevery hand there was a new and magnificent vegetation, a perfumed air, amarvellous light, a sky limpid and profound, such as he had never seeneven in Italy. As he advanced through the streets, he experienced oncemore the feverish agitation which had seized on him at Buenos Ayres; hestared at the windows and doors of all the houses; he stared at all thewomen who passed him, with an anxious hope that he might meet hismother; he would have liked to question every one, but did not dare tostop any one. All the people who were standing at their doors turned togaze after the poor, tattered, dusty lad, who showed that he had comefrom afar. And he was seeking, among all these people, a countenancewhich should inspire him with confidence, in order to direct to itsowner that tremendous query, when his eyes fell upon the sign of an innupon which was inscribed an Italian name. Inside were a man withspectacles, and two women. He approached the door slowly, and summoningup a resolute spirit, he inquired:--

"Can you tell me, signor, where the family Mequinez is?"

"The engineer Mequinez?" asked the innkeeper in his turn.

"The engineer Mequinez, " replied the lad in a thread of a voice.

"The Mequinez family is not in Tucuman, " replied the innkeeper.

A cry of desperate pain, like that of one who has been stabbed, formedan echo to these words.

The innkeeper and the women rose, and some neighbors ran up.

"What's the matter? what ails you, my boy?" said the innkeeper, drawinghim into the shop and making him sit down. "The deuce! there's no reasonfor despairing! The Mequinez family is not here, but at a littledistance off, a few hours from Tucuman. "

"Where? where?" shrieked Marco, springing up like one restored to life.

"Fifteen miles from here, " continued the man, "on the river, atSaladillo, in a place where a big sugar factory is being built, and acluster of houses; Signor Mequinez's house is there; every one knows it:you can reach it in a few hours. "

"I was there a month ago, " said a youth, who had hastened up at the cry.

Marco stared at him with wide-open eyes, and asked him hastily, turningpale as he did so, "Did you see the servant of Signor Mequinez--theItalian?"

"The Genoese? Yes; I saw her. "

Marco burst into a convulsive sob, which was half a laugh and half asob. Then, with a burst of violent resolution: "Which way am I to go?quick, the road! I shall set out instantly; show me the way!"

"But it is a day's march, " they all told him, in one breath. "You areweary; you should rest; you can set out to-morrow. "

"Impossible! impossible!" replied the lad. "Tell me the way; I will notwait another instant; I shall set out at once, were I to die on theroad!"

On perceiving him so inflexible, they no longer opposed him. "May Godaccompany you!" they said to him. "Look out for the path through theforest. A fair journey to you, little Italian!" A man accompanied himoutside of the town, pointed out to him the road, gave him some counsel, and stood still to watch him start. At the expiration of a few minutes, the lad disappeared, limping, with his bag on his shoulders, behind thethick trees which lined the road.

That night was a dreadful one for the poor sick woman. She sufferedatrocious pain, which wrung from her shrieks that were enough to bursther veins, and rendered her delirious at times. The women waited on her. She lost her head. Her mistress ran in, from time to time, in affright. All began to fear that, even if she had decided to allow herself to beoperated on, the doctor, who was not to come until the next day, wouldhave arrived too late. During the moments when she was not raving, however, it was evident that her most terrible torture arose not fromher bodily pains, but from the thought of her distant family. Emaciated, wasted away, with changed visage, she thrust her handsthrough her hair, with a gesture of desperation, and shrieked:--

"My God! My God! To die so far away, to die without seeing them again!My poor children, who will be left without a mother, my poor littlecreatures, my poor darlings! My Marco, who is still so small! only astall as this, and so good and affectionate! You do not know what a boyhe was! If you only knew, signora! I could not detach him from my neckwhen I set out; he sobbed in a way to move your pity; he sobbed; itseemed as though he knew that he would never behold his poor motheragain. Poor Marco, my poor baby! I thought that my heart would break!Ah, if I had only died then, died while they were bidding me farewell!If I had but dropped dead! Without a mother, my poor child, he who lovedme so dearly, who needed me so much! without a mother, in misery, hewill be forced to beg! He, Marco, my Marco, will stretch out his hand, famishing! O eternal God! No! I will not die! The doctor! Call him atonce I let him come, let him cut me, let him cleave my breast, let himdrive me mad; but let him save my life! I want to recover; I want tolive, to depart, to flee, to-morrow, at once! The doctor! Help! help!"

And the women seized her hands and soothed her, and made her calmherself little by little, and spoke to her of God and of hope. And thenshe fell back again into a mortal dejection, wept with her handsclutched in her gray hair, moaned like an infant, uttering a prolongedlament, and murmuring from time to time:--

"O my Genoa! My house! All that sea!--O my Marco, my poor Marco! Whereis he now, my poor darling?"

It was midnight; and her poor Marco, after having passed many hours onthe brink of a ditch, his strength exhausted, was then walking through aforest of gigantic trees, monsters of vegetation, huge boles like thepillars of a cathedral, which interlaced their enormous crests, silveredby the moon, at a wonderful height. Vaguely, amid the half gloom, hecaught glimpses of myriads of trunks of all forms, upright, inclined, contorted, crossed in strange postures of menace and of conflict; someoverthrown on the earth, like towers which had fallen bodily, andcovered with a dense and confused mass of vegetation, which seemed likea furious throng, disputing the ground span by span; others collected ingreat groups, vertical and serrated, like trophies of titanic lances, whose tips touched the clouds; a superb grandeur, a prodigious disorderof colossal forms, the most majestically terrible spectacle whichvegetable nature ever presented.

At times he was overwhelmed by a great stupor. But his mind instantlytook flight again towards his mother. He was worn out, with bleedingfeet, alone in the middle of this formidable forest, where it was onlyat long intervals that he saw tiny human habitations, which at the footof these trees seemed like the ant-hills, or some buffalo asleep besidethe road; he was exhausted, but he was not conscious of his exhaustion;he was alone, and he felt no fear. The grandeur of the forest renderedhis soul grand; his nearness to his mother gave him the strength and thehardihood of a man; the memory of the ocean, of the alarms and thesufferings which he had undergone and vanquished, of the toil which hehad endured, of the iron constancy which he had displayed, caused him touplift his brow. All his strong and noble Genoese blood flowed back tohis heart in an ardent tide of joy and audacity. And a new thing tookplace within him; while he had, up to this time, borne in his mind animage of his mother, dimmed and paled somewhat by the two years ofabsence, at that moment the image grew clear; he again beheld her face, perfect and distinct, as he had not beheld it for a long time; he beheldit close to him, illuminated, speaking; he again beheld the mostfleeting motions of her eyes, and of her lips, all her attitudes, allthe shades of her thoughts; and urged on by these pursuingrecollections, he hastened his steps; and a new affection, anunspeakable tenderness, grew in him, grew in his heart, making sweet andquiet tears to flow down his face; and as he advanced through the gloom, he spoke to her, he said to her the words which he would murmur in herear in a little while more:--

"I am here, my mother; behold me here. I will never leave you again; wewill return home together, and I will remain always beside you on boardthe ship, close beside you, and no one shall ever part me from youagain, no one, never more, so long as I have life!"

And in the meantime he did not observe how the silvery light of the moonwas dying away on the summits of the gigantic trees in the delicatewhiteness of the dawn.

At eight o'clock on that morning, the doctor from Tucuman, a youngArgentine, was already by the bedside of the sick woman, in company withan assistant, endeavoring, for the last time, to persuade her to permitherself to be operated on; and the engineer Mequinez and his wife addedtheir warmest persuasions to those of the former. But all was in vain. The woman, feeling her strength exhausted, had no longer any faith inthe operation; she was perfectly certain that she should die under it, or that she should only survive it a few hours, after having suffered invain pains that were more atrocious than those of which she should diein any case. The doctor lingered to tell her once more:--

"But the operation is a safe one; your safety is certain, provided youexercise a little courage! And your death is equally certain if yourefuse!" It was a sheer waste of words.

"No, " she replied in a faint voice, "I still have courage to die; but Ino longer have any to suffer uselessly. Leave me to die in peace. "

The doctor desisted in discouragement. No one said anything more. Thenthe woman turned her face towards her mistress, and addressed to her herlast prayers in a dying voice.

"Dear, good signora, " she said with a great effort, sobbing, "you willsend this little money and my poor effects to my family--through theconsul. I hope that they may all be alive. My heart presages well inthese, my last moments. You will do me the favor to write--that I havealways thought of them, that I have always toiled for them--for mychildren--that my sole grief was not to see them once more--but that Idied courageously--with resignation--blessing them; and that I recommendto my husband--and to my elder son--the youngest, my poor Marco--that Ibore him in my heart until the last moment--" And suddenly she becameexcited, and shrieked, as she clasped her hands: "My Marco, my baby, mybaby! My life!--" But on casting her tearful eyes round her, sheperceived that her mistress was no longer there; she had been secretlycalled away. She sought her master; he had disappeared. No one remainedwith her except the two nurses and the assistant. She heard in theadjoining room the sound of hurried footsteps, a murmur of hasty andsubdued voices, and repressed exclamations. The sick woman fixed herglazing eyes on the door, in expectation. At the end of a few minutesshe saw the doctor appear with an unusual expression on his face; thenher mistress and master, with their countenances also altered. All threegazed at her with a singular expression, and exchanged a few words in alow tone. She fancied that the doctor said to her mistress, "Better letit be at once. " She did not understand.

"Josefa, " said her mistress to the sick woman, in a trembling voice, "Ihave some good news for you. Prepare your heart for good news. "

The woman observed her intently.

"News, " pursued the lady, with increasing agitation, "which will giveyou great joy. "

The sick woman's eyes dilated.

"Prepare yourself, " continued her mistress, "to see a person--of whomyou are very fond. "

The woman raised her head with a vigorous movement, and began to gaze inrapid succession, first at the lady and then at the door, with flashingeyes.

"A person, " added the lady, turning pale, "who has justarrived--unexpectedly. "

"Who is it?" shrieked the woman, with a strange and choked voice, likethat of a person in terror. An instant later she gave vent to a shrillscream, sprang into a sitting posture in her bed, and remainedmotionless, with starting eyes, and her hands pressed to her temples, asin the presence of a supernatural apparition.

Marco, tattered and dusty, stood there on the threshold, held back bythe doctor's hand on one arm.

The woman uttered three shrieks: "God! God! My God!"

Marco rushed forward; she stretched out to him her fleshless arms, andstraining him to her heart with the strength of a tiger, she burst intoa violent laugh, broken by deep, tearless sobs, which caused her to fallback suffocating on her pillow.

But she speedily recovered herself, and mad with joy, she shrieked asshe covered his head with kisses: "How do you come here? Why? Is it you?How you have grown! Who brought you? Are you alone? You are not ill? Itis you, Marco! It is not a dream! My God! Speak to me!"

Then she suddenly changed her tone: "No! Be silent! Wait!" And turningto the doctor, she said with precipitation: "Quick, doctor! thisinstant! I want to get well. I am ready. Do not lose a moment. TakeMarco away, so that he may not hear. --Marco, my love, it is nothing. Iwill tell you about it. One more kiss. Go!--Here I am, doctor. "

Marco was taken away. The master, mistress, and women retired in haste;the surgeon and his assistant remained behind, and closed the door.

Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to a distant room, but it wasimpossible; he seemed rooted to the pavement.

"What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter with my mother? What arethey doing to her?"

And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to draw him away: "Here!Listen to me. I will tell you now. Your mother is ill; she must undergoa little operation; I will explain it all to you: come with me. "

"No, " replied the lad, resisting; "I want to stay here. Explain it to mehere. "

The engineer heaped words on words, as he drew him away; the boy beganto grow terrified and to tremble.

Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one wounded to the death, rangthrough the whole house.

The boy responded with another desperate shriek, "My mother is dead!"

The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, "Your mother is saved. "

The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then flung himself at his feet, sobbing, "Thanks, doctor!"

But the doctor raised him with a gesture, saying: "Rise! It is you, youheroic child, who have saved your mother!"

SUMMER.

Wednesday, 24th.

Marco, the Genoese, is the last little hero but one whose acquaintancewe shall make this year; only one remains for the month of June. Thereare only two more monthly examinations, twenty-six days of lessons, sixThursdays, and five Sundays. The air of the end of the year is alreadyperceptible. The trees of the garden, leafy and in blossom, cast a fineshade on the gymnastic apparatus. The scholars are already dressed insummer clothes. And it is beautiful, at the close of school and the exitof the classes, to see how different everything is from what it was inthe months that are past. The long locks which touched the shouldershave disappeared; all heads are closely shorn; bare legs and throats areto be seen; little straw hats of every shape, with ribbons that descendeven on the backs of the wearers; shirts and neckties of every hue; allthe little children with something red or blue about them, a facing, aborder, a tassel, a scrap of some vivid color tacked on somewhere by themother, so that even the poorest may make a good figure; and many cometo school without any hats, as though they had run away from home. Somewear the white gymnasium suit. There is one of Schoolmistress Delcati'sboys who is red from head to foot, like a boiled crab. Several aredressed like sailors.

But the finest of all is the little mason, who has donned a big strawhat, which gives him the appearance of a half-candle with a shade overit; and it is ridiculous to see him make his hare's face beneath it. Coretti, too, has abandoned his catskin cap, and wears an oldtravelling-cap of gray silk. Votini has a sort of Scotch dress, alldecorated; Crossi displays his bare breast; Precossi is lost inside of ablue blouse belonging to the blacksmith-ironmonger.

And Garoffi? Now that he has been obliged to discard the cloak beneathwhich he concealed his wares, all his pockets are visible, bulging withall sorts of huckster's trifles, and the lists of his lotteries forcethemselves out. Now all his pockets allow their contents to beseen, --fans made of half a newspaper, knobs of canes, darts to fire atbirds, herbs, and maybugs which creep out of his pockets and crawlgradually over the jackets.

Many of the little fellows carry bunches of flowers to the mistresses. The mistresses are dressed in summer garments also, of cheerful tints;all except the "little nun, " who is always in black; and the mistresswith the red feather still has her red feather, and a knot of red ribbonat her neck, all tumbled with the little paws of her scholars, whoalways make her laugh and flee.

It is the season, too, of cherry-trees, of butterflies, of music in thestreets, and of rambles in the country; many of the fourth grade runaway to bathe in the Po; all have their hearts already set on thevacation; each day they issue forth from school more impatient andcontent than the day before. Only it pains me to see Garrone inmourning, and my poor mistress of the primary, who is thinner and whiterthan ever, and who coughs with ever-increasing violence. She walks allbent over now, and salutes me so sadly!


POETRY.

Friday, 26th.

You are now beginning to comprehend the poetry of school, Enrico; but at present you only survey the school from within. It will seem much more beautiful and more poetic to you twenty years from now, when you go thither to escort your own boys; and you will then survey it from the outside, as I do. While waiting for school to close, I wander about the silent street, in the vicinity of the edifice, and lay my ear to the windows of the ground floor, which are screened by Venetian blinds. At one window I hear the voice of a schoolmistress saying:--

"Ah, what a shape for a _t_! It won't do, my dear boy! What would your father say to it?"

At the next window there resounds the heavy voice of a master, which is saying:--

"I will buy fifty metres of stuff--at four lire and a half the metre--and sell it again--"

Further on there is the mistress with the red feather, who is reading aloud:--

"Then Pietro Micca, with the lighted train of powder--"

From the adjoining class-room comes the chirping of a thousand birds, which signifies that the master has stepped out for a moment. I proceed onward, and as I turn the corner, I hear a scholar weeping, and the voice of the mistress reproving and comforting him. From the lofty windows issue verses, names of great and good men, fragments of sentences which inculcate virtue, the love of country, and courage. Then ensue moments of silence, in which one would declare that the edifice is empty, and it does not seem possible that there should be seven hundred boys within; noisy outbursts of hilarity become audible, provoked by the jest of a master in a good humor. And the people who are passing halt, and all direct a glance of sympathy towards that pleasing building, which contains so much youth and so many hopes. Then a sudden dull sound is heard, a clapping to of books and portfolios, a shuffling of feet, a buzz which spreads from room to room, and from the lower to the higher, as at the sudden diffusion of a bit of good news: it is the beadle, who is making his rounds, announcing the dismissal of school. And at that sound a throng of women, men, girls, and youths press closer from this side and that of the door, waiting for their sons, brothers, or grandchildren; while from the doors of the class-rooms little boys shoot forth into the big hall, as from a spout, seize their little capes and hats, creating a great confusion with them on the floor, and dancing all about, until the beadle chases them forth one after the other. And at length they come forth, in long files, stamping their feet. And then from all the relatives there descends a shower of questions: "Did you know your lesson?--How much work did they give you?--What have you to do for to-morrow!--When does the monthly examination come?"

And then even the poor mothers who do not know how to read, open the copy-books, gaze at the problems, and ask particulars: "Only eight?--Ten with commendation?--Nine for the lesson?"

And they grow uneasy, and rejoice, and interrogate the masters, and talk of prospectuses and examinations. How beautiful all this is, and how great and how immense is its promise for the world!

THY FATHER.

THE DEAF-MUTE.

Sunday, 28th.

The month of May could not have had a better ending than my visit ofthis morning. We heard a jingling of the bell, and all ran to see whatit meant. I heard my father say in a tone of astonishment:--

"You here, Giorgio?"

Giorgio was our gardener in Chieri, who now has his family at Condove, and who had just arrived from Genoa, where he had disembarked on thepreceding day, on his return from Greece, where he has been working onthe railway for the last three years. He had a big bundle in his arms. He has grown a little older, but his face is still red and jolly.

My father wished to have him enter; but he refused, and suddenlyinquired, assuming a serious expression:

"How is my family? How is Gigia?"

"She was well a few days ago, " replied my mother.

Giorgio uttered a deep sigh.

"Oh, God be praised! I had not the courage to present myself at theDeaf-mute Institution until I had heard about her. I will leave mybundle here, and run to get her. It is three years since I have seen mypoor little daughter! Three years since I have seen any of my people!"

My father said to me, "Accompany him. "

"Excuse me; one word more, " said the gardener, from the landing.

My father interrupted him, "And your affairs?"

"All right, " the other replied. "Thanks to God, I have brought back afew soldi. But I wanted to inquire. Tell me how the education of thelittle dumb girl is getting on. When I left her, she was a poor littleanimal, poor thing! I don't put much faith in those colleges. Has shelearned how to make signs? My wife did write to me, to be sure, 'She islearning to speak; she is making progress. ' But I said to myself, Whatis the use of her learning to talk if I don't know how to make the signsmyself? How shall we manage to understand each other, poor little thing?That is well enough to enable them to understand each other, oneunfortunate to comprehend another unfortunate. How is she getting on, then? How is she?"

My father smiled, and replied:--

"I shall not tell you anything about it; you will see; go, go; don'twaste another minute!"

We took our departure; the institute is close by. As we went along withhuge strides, the gardener talked to me, and grew sad.

"Ah, my poor Gigia! To be born with such an infirmity! To think that Ihave never heard her call me _father_; that she has never heard me callher _my daughter_; that she has never either heard or uttered a singleword since she has been in the world! And it is lucky that a charitablegentleman was found to pay the expenses of the institution. But that isall--she could not enter there until she was eight years old. She hasnot been at home for three years. She is now going on eleven. And shehas grown? Tell me, she has grown? She is in good spirits?"

"You will see in a moment, you will see in a moment, " I replied, hastening my pace.

"But where is this institution?" he demanded. "My wife went with herafter I was gone. It seems to me that it ought to be near here. "

We had just reached it. We at once entered the parlor. An attendant cameto meet us.

"I am the father of Gigia Voggi, " said the gardener; "give me mydaughter instantly. "

"They are at play, " replied the attendant; "I will go and inform thematron. " And he hastened away.

The gardener could no longer speak nor stand still; he stared at allfour walls, without seeing anything.

The door opened; a teacher entered, dressed in black, holding a littlegirl by the hand.

Father and daughter gazed at one another for an instant; then flew intoeach other's arms, uttering a cry.

The girl was dressed in a white and reddish striped material, with agray apron. She is a little taller than I. She cried, and clung to herfather's neck with both arms.

Her father disengaged himself, and began to survey her from head tofoot, panting as though he had run a long way; and he exclaimed: "Ah, how she has grown! How pretty she has become! Oh, my dear, poor Gigia!My poor mute child!--Are you her teacher, signora? Tell her to makesome of her signs to me; for I shall be able to understand something, and then I will learn little by little. Tell her to make me understandsomething with her gestures. "

The teacher smiled, and said in a low voice to the girl, "Who is thisman who has come to see you?"

And the girl replied with a smile, in a coarse, strange, dissonantvoice, like that of a savage who was speaking for the first time in ourlanguage, but with a distinct pronunciation, "He is my fa-ther. "

The gardener fell back a pace, and shrieked like a madman: "She speaks!Is it possible! Is it possible! She speaks? Can you speak, my child? canyou speak? Say something to me: you can speak?" and he embraced herafresh, and kissed her thrice on the brow. "But it is not with signsthat she talks, signora; it is not with her fingers? What does thismean?"

"No, Signor Voggi, " rejoined the teacher, "it is not with signs. Thatwas the old way. Here we teach the new method, the oral method. How isit that you did not know it?"

"I knew nothing about it!" replied the gardener, lost in amazement. "Ihave been abroad for the last three years. Oh, they wrote to me, and Idid not understand. I am a blockhead. Oh, my daughter, you understandme, then? Do you hear my voice? Answer me: do you hear me? Do you hearwhat I say?"

"Why, no, my good man, " said the teacher; "she does not hear your voice, because she is deaf. She understands from the movements of your lipswhat the words are that you utter; this is the way the thing is managed;but she does not hear your voice any more than she does the words whichshe speaks to you; she pronounces them, because we have taught her, letter by letter, how she must place her lips and move her tongue, andwhat effort she must make with her chest and throat, in order to emit asound. "

The gardener did not understand, and stood with his mouth wide open. Hedid not yet believe it.

"Tell me, Gigia, " he asked his daughter, whispering in her ear, "are youglad that your father has come back?" and he raised his face again, andstood awaiting her reply.

The girl looked at him thoughtfully, and said nothing.

Her father was perturbed.

The teacher laughed. Then she said: "My good man, she does not answeryou, because she did not see the movements of your lips: you spoke inher ear! Repeat your question, keeping your face well before hers. "

The father, gazing straight in her face, repeated, "Are you glad thatyour father has come back? that he is not going away again?"

The girl, who had observed his lips attentively, seeking even to seeinside his mouth, replied frankly:--

"Yes, I am de-light-ed that you have re-turned, that you are not go-inga-way a-gain--nev-er a-gain. "

Her father embraced her impetuously, and then in great haste, in orderto make quite sure, he overwhelmed her with questions.

"What is mamma's name?"

"An-to-nia. "

"What is the name of your little sister?"

"Ad-e-laide. "

"What is the name of this college?"

"The Deaf-mute Insti-tution. "

"How many are two times ten?"

"Twen-ty. "

While we thought that he was laughing for joy, he suddenly burst outcrying. But this was the result of joy also.

"Take courage, " said the teacher to him; "you have reason to rejoice, not to weep. You see that you are making your daughter cry also. You arepleased, then?"

The gardener grasped the teacher's hand and kissed it two or threetimes, saying: "Thanks, thanks, thanks! a hundred thanks, a thousandthanks, dear Signora Teacher! and forgive me for not knowing how to sayanything else!"

"But she not only speaks, " said the teacher; "your daughter also knowshow to write. She knows how to reckon. She knows the names of all commonobjects. She knows a little history and geography. She is now in theregular class. When she has passed through the two remaining classes, she will know much more. When she leaves here, she will be in acondition to adopt a profession. We already have deaf-mutes who stand inthe shops to serve customers, and they perform their duties like any oneelse. "

Again the gardener was astounded. It seemed as though his ideas werebecoming confused again. He stared at his daughter and scratched hishead. His face demanded another explanation.

Then the teacher turned to the attendant and said to him:--

"Call a child of the preparatory class for me. "

The attendant returned, in a short time, with a deaf-mute of eight ornine years, who had entered the institution a few days before.

"This girl, " said the mistress, "is one of those whom we are instructingin the first elements. This is the way it is done. I want to make hersay _a_. Pay attention. "

The teacher opened her mouth, as one opens it to pronounce the vowel_a_, and motioned to the child to open her mouth in the same manner. Then the mistress made her a sign to emit her voice. She did so; butinstead of _a_, she pronounced _o_.

"No, " said the mistress, "that is not right. " And taking the child's twohands, she placed one of them on her own throat and the other on herchest, and repeated, "_a_. "

The child felt with her hands the movements of the mistress's throat andchest, opened her mouth again as before, and pronounced extremely well, "_a_. "

In the same manner, the mistress made her pronounce _c_ and _d_, stillkeeping the two little hands on her own throat and chest.

"Now do you understand?" she inquired.

The father understood; but he seemed more astonished than when he hadnot understood.

"And they are taught to speak in the same way?" he asked, after a momentof reflection, gazing at the teacher. "You have the patience to teachthem to speak in that manner, little by little, and so many of them? oneby one--through years and years? But you are saints; that's what youare! You are angels of paradise! There is not in the world a reward thatis worthy of you! What is there that I can say? Ah! leave me alone withmy daughter a little while now. Let me have her to myself for fiveminutes. "

And drawing her to a seat apart he began to interrogate her, and she toreply, and he laughed with beaming eyes, slapping his fists down on hisknees; and he took his daughter's hands, and stared at her, besidehimself with delight at hearing her, as though her voice had been onewhich came from heaven; then he asked the teacher, "Would the SignorDirector permit me to thank him?"

"The director is not here, " replied the mistress; "but there is anotherperson whom you should thank. Every little girl here is given into thecharge of an older companion, who acts the part of sister or mother toher. Your little girl has been intrusted to the care of a deaf-mute ofseventeen, the daughter of a baker, who is kind and very fond of her;she has been assisting her for two years to dress herself every morning;she combs her hair, she teaches her to sew, she mends her clothes, sheis good company for her. --Luigia, what is the name of your mamma in theinstitute?"

The girl smiled, and said, "Ca-te-rina Gior-dano. " Then she said to herfather, "She is ve-ry, ve-ry good. "

The attendant, who had withdrawn at a signal from the mistress, returnedalmost at once with a light-haired deaf-mute, a robust girl, with acheerful countenance, and also dressed in the red and white stripedstuff, with a gray apron; she paused at the door and blushed; then shebent her head with a smile. She had the figure of a woman, but seemedlike a child.

Giorgio's daughter instantly ran to her, took her by the arm, like achild, and drew her to her father, saying, in her heavy voice, "Ca-te-rina Gior-dano. "

"Ah, what a splendid girl!" exclaimed her father; and he stretched outone hand to caress her, but drew it back again, and repeated, "Ah, whata good girl! May God bless her, may He grant her all good fortune, allconsolations; may He make her and hers always happy, so good a girl isshe, my poor Gigia! It is an honest workingman, the poor father of afamily, who wishes you this with all his heart. "

The big girl caressed the little one, still keeping her face bent, andsmiling, and the gardener continued to gaze at her, as at a madonna.

"You can take your daughter with you for the day, " said the mistress.

"Won't I take her, though!" rejoined the gardener. "I'll take her toCondove, and fetch her back to-morrow morning. Think for a bit whether Iwon't take her!"

The girl ran off to dress.

"It is three years since I have seen her!" repeated the gardener. "Nowshe speaks! I will take her to Condove with me on the instant. But firstI shall take a ramble about Turin, with my deaf-mute on my arm, so thatall may see her, and take her to see some of my friends! Ah, what abeautiful day! This is consolation indeed!--Here's your father's arm, myGigia. "

The girl, who had returned with a little mantle and cap on, took hisarm.

"And thanks to all!" said the father, as he reached the threshold. "Thanks to all, with my whole soul! I shall come back another time tothank you all again. "

He stood for a moment in thought, then disengaged himself abruptly fromthe girl, turned back, fumbling in his waistcoat with his hand, andshouted like a man in a fury:--

"Come now, I am not a poor devil! So here, I leave twenty lire for theinstitution, --a fine new gold piece. "

And with a tremendous bang, he deposited his gold piece on the table.

"No, no, my good man, " said the mistress, with emotion. "Take back yourmoney. I cannot accept it. Take it back. It is not my place. You shallsee about that when the director is here. But he will not acceptanything either; be sure of that. You have toiled too hard to earn it, poor man. We shall be greatly obliged to you, all the same. "

"No; I shall leave it, " replied the gardener, obstinately; "and then--wewill see. "

But the mistress put his money back in his pocket, without leaving himtime to reject it. And then he resigned himself with a shake of thehead; and then, wafting a kiss to the mistress and to the large girl, hequickly took his daughter's arm again, and hurried with her out of thedoor, saying:--

"Come, come, my daughter, my poor dumb child, my treasure!"

And the girl exclaimed, in her harsh voice:--

"Oh, how beau-ti-ful the sun is!"

JUNE.

GARIBALDI.

June 3d.

To-morrow is the National Festival Day.

TO-DAY is a day of national mourning. Garibaldi died last night. Do you know who he is? He is the man who liberated ten millions of Italians from the tyranny of the Bourbons. He died at the age of seventy-five. He was born at Nice, the son of a ship captain. At eight years of age, he saved a woman's life; at thirteen, he dragged into safety a boat-load of his companions who were shipwrecked; at twenty-seven, he rescued from the water at Marseilles a drowning youth; at forty-one, he saved a ship from burning on the ocean. He fought for ten years in America for the liberty of a strange people; he fought in three wars against the Austrians, for the liberation of Lombardy and Trentino; he defended Rome from the French in 1849; he delivered Naples and Palermo in 1860; he fought again for Rome in 1867; he combated with the Germans in defence of France in 1870. He was possessed of the flame of heroism and the genius of war. He was engaged in forty battles, and won thirty-seven of them.

When he was not fighting, he was laboring for his living, or he shut himself up in a solitary island, and tilled the soil. He was teacher, sailor, workman, trader, soldier, general, dictator. He was simple, great, and good. He hated all oppressors, he loved all peoples, he protected all the weak; he had no other aspiration than good, he refused honors, he scorned death, he adored Italy. When he uttered his war-cry, legions of valorous men hastened to him from all quarters; gentlemen left their palaces, workmen their ships, youths their schools, to go and fight in the sunshine of his glory. In time of war he wore a red shirt. He was strong, blond, and handsome. On the field of battle he was a thunder-bolt, in his affections he was a child, in affliction a saint. Thousands of Italians have died for their country, happy, if, when dying, they saw him pass victorious in the distance; thousands would have allowed themselves to be killed for him; millions have blessed and will bless him.

He is dead. The whole world mourns him. You do not understand him now. But you will read of his deeds, you will constantly hear him spoken of in the course of your life; and gradually, as you grow up, his image will grow before you; when you become a man, you will behold him as a giant; and when you are no longer in the world, when your sons' sons and those who shall be born from them are no longer among the living, the generations will still behold on high his luminous head as a redeemer of the peoples, crowned by the names of his victories as with a circlet of stars; and the brow and the soul of every Italian will beam when he utters his name.

THY FATHER.

THE ARMY.

Sunday, 11th.

The National Festival Day. Postponed for a week on account of the death of Garibaldi.

We have been to the Piazza Castello, to see the review of soldiers, whodefiled before the commandant of the army corps, between two vast linesof people. As they marched past to the sound of flourishes from trumpetsand bands, my father pointed out to me the Corps and the glories of thebanners. First, the pupils of the Academy, those who will becomeofficers in the Engineers and the Artillery, about three hundred innumber, dressed in black, passed with the bold and easy elegance ofstudents and soldiers. After them defiled the infantry, the brigade ofAosta, which fought at Goito and at San Martino, and the Bergamobrigade, which fought at Castelfidardo, four regiments of them, companyafter company, thousands of red aiguillettes, which seemed like so manydouble and very long garlands of blood-colored flowers, extended andagitated from the two ends, and borne athwart the crowd. After theinfantry, the soldiers of the Mining Corps advanced, --the workingmen ofwar, with their plumes of black horse-tails, and their crimson bands;and while these were passing, we beheld advancing behind them hundredsof long, straight plumes, which rose above the heads of the spectators;they were the mountaineers, the defenders of the portals of Italy, alltall, rosy, and stalwart, with hats of Calabrian fashion, and revers ofa beautiful, bright green, the color of the grass on their nativemountains. The mountaineers were still marching past, when a quiver ranthrough the crowd, and the _bersaglieri_, the old twelfth battalion, thefirst who entered Rome through the breach at the Porta Pia, bronzed, alert, brisk, with fluttering plumes, passed like a wave in a sea ofblack, making the piazza ring with the shrill blasts of their trumpets, which seemed shouts of joy. But their trumpeting was drowned by a brokenand hollow rumble, which announced the field artillery; and then thelatter passed in triumph, seated on their lofty caissons, drawn by threehundred pairs of fiery horses, --those fine soldiers with yellow lacings, and their long cannons of brass and steel gleaming on the lightcarriages, as they jolted and resounded, and made the earth tremble.

And then came the mountain artillery, slowly, gravely, beautiful in itslaborious and rude semblance, with its large soldiers, with itspowerful mules--that mountain artillery which carries dismay and deathwherever man can set his foot. And last of all, the fine regiment of theGenoese cavalry, which had wheeled down like a whirlwind on ten fieldsof battle, from Santa Lucia to Villafranca, passed at a gallop, withtheir helmets glittering in the sun, their lances erect, their pennonsfloating in the air, sparkling with gold and silver, filling the airwith jingling and neighing.

"How beautiful it is!" I exclaimed. My father almost reproved me forthese words, and said to me:--

"You are not to regard the army as a fine spectacle. All these youngmen, so full of strength and hope, may be called upon any day to defendour country, and fall in a few hours, crushed to fragments by bulletsand grape-shot. Every time that you hear the cry, at a feast, 'Hurrahfor the army! hurrah for Italy!' picture to yourself, behind theregiments which are passing, a plain covered with corpses, and inundatedwith blood, and then the greeting to the army will proceed from the verydepths of your heart, and the image of Italy will appear to you moresevere and grand. "

ITALY.

Tuesday, 14th.

Salute your country thus, on days of festival: "Italy, my country, dear and noble land, where my father and my mother were born, and where they will be buried, where I hope to live and die, where my children will grow up and die; beautiful Italy, great and glorious for many centuries, united and free for a few years; thou who didst disseminate so great a light of intellect divine over the world, and for whom so many valiant men have died on the battle-field, and so many heroes on the gallows; august mother of three hundred cities, and thirty millions of sons; I, a child, who do not understand thee as yet, and who do not know thee in thy entirety, I venerate and love thee with all my soul, and I am proud of having been born of thee, and of calling myself thy son. I love thy splendid seas and thy sublime mountains; I love thy solemn monuments and thy immortal memories; I love thy glory and thy beauty; I love and venerate the whole of thee as that beloved portion of thee where I, for the first time, beheld the light and heard thy name. I love the whole of thee, with a single affection and with equal gratitude, --Turin the valiant, Genoa the superb, Bologna the learned, Venice the enchanting, Milan the mighty; I love you with the uniform reverence of a son, gentle Florence and terrible Palermo, immense and beautiful Naples, marvellous and eternal Rome. I love thee, my sacred country! And I swear that I will love all thy sons like brothers; that I will always honor in my heart thy great men, living and dead; that I will be an industrious and honest citizen, constantly intent on ennobling myself, in order to render myself worthy of thee, to assist with my small powers in causing misery, ignorance, injustice, crime, to disappear one day from thy face, so that thou mayest live and expand tranquilly in the majesty of thy right and of thy strength. I swear that I will serve thee, as it may be granted to me, with my mind, with my arm, with my heart, humbly, ardently; and that, if the day should dawn in which I should be called on to give my blood for thee and my life, I will give my blood, and I will die, crying thy holy name to heaven, and wafting my last kiss to thy blessed banner. "

THY FATHER.

[Illustration: "WE DESCENDED, RUNNING AND SINGING. "--Page 30. ]

THIRTY-TWO DEGREES.

Friday, 16th.

During the five days which have passed since the National Festival, theheat has increased by three degrees. We are in full summer now, andbegin to feel weary; all have lost their fine rosy color of springtime;necks and legs are growing thin, heads droop and eyes close. Poor Nelli, who suffers much from the heat, has turned the color of wax in the face;he sometimes falls into a heavy sleep, with his head on his copy-book;but Garrone is always watchful, and places an open book upright in frontof him, so that the master may not see him. Crossi rests his red headagainst the bench in a certain way, so that it looks as though it hadbeen detached from his body and placed there separately. Nobis complainsthat there are too many of us, and that we corrupt the air. Ah, what aneffort it costs now to study! I gaze through the windows at thosebeautiful trees which cast so deep a shade, where I should be so glad torun, and sadness and wrath overwhelm me at being obliged to go and shutmyself up among the benches. But then I take courage at the sight of mykind mother, who is always watching me, scrutinizing me, when I returnfrom school, to see whether I am not pale; and at every page of my workshe says to me:--

"Do you still feel well?" and every morning at six, when she wakes mefor my lesson, "Courage! there are only so many days more: then you willbe free, and will get rested, --you will go to the shade of countrylanes. "

Yes, she is perfectly right to remind me of the boys who are working inthe fields in the full heat of the sun, or among the white sands of theriver, which blind and scorch them, and of those in the glass-factories, who stand all day long motionless, with head bent over a flame of gas;and all of them rise earlier than we do, and have no vacations. Courage, then! And even in this respect, Derossi is at the head of all, for hesuffers neither from heat nor drowsiness; he is always wide awake, andcheery, with his golden curls, as he was in the winter, and he studieswithout effort, and keeps all about him alert, as though he freshenedthe air with his voice.

And there are two others, also, who are always awake and attentive:stubborn Stardi, who pricks his face, to prevent himself from going tosleep; and the more weary and heated he is, the more he sets his teeth, and he opens his eyes so wide that it seems as though he wanted to eatthe teacher; and that barterer of a Garoffi, who is wholly absorbed inmanufacturing fans out of red paper, decorated with little figures frommatch-boxes, which he sells at two centesimi apiece.

But the bravest of all is Coretti; poor Coretti, who gets up at fiveo'clock, to help his father carry wood! At eleven, in school, he can nolonger keep his eyes open, and his head droops on his breast. Andnevertheless, he shakes himself, punches himself on the back of theneck, asks permission to go out and wash his face, and makes hisneighbors shake and pinch him. But this morning he could not resist, andhe fell into a leaden sleep. The master called him loudly; "Coretti!" Hedid not hear. The master, irritated, repeated, "Coretti!" Then the sonof the charcoal-man, who lives next to him at home, rose and said:--

"He worked from five until seven carrying faggots. " The teacher allowedhim to sleep on, and continued with the lesson for half an hour. Then hewent to Coretti's seat, and wakened him very, very gently, by blowing inhis face. On beholding the master in front of him, he started back inalarm. But the master took his head in his hands, and said, as he kissedhim on the hair:--

"I am not reproving you, my son. Your sleep is not at all that oflaziness; it is the sleep of fatigue. "

MY FATHER.

Saturday, 17th.

Surely, neither your comrade Coretti nor Garrone would ever have answered their fathers as you answered yours this afternoon. Enrico! How is it possible? You must promise me solemnly that this shall never happen again so long as I live. Every time that an impertinent reply flies to your lips at a reproof from your father, think of that day which will infallibly come when he will call you to his bedside to tell you, "Enrico, I am about to leave you. " Oh, my son, when you hear his voice for the last time, and for a long while afterwards, when you weep alone in his deserted room, in the midst of those books which he will never open again, then, on recalling that you have at times been wanting in respect to him, you, too, will ask yourself, "How is it possible?" Then you will understand that he has always been your best friend, that when he was constrained to punish you, it caused him more suffering than it did you, and that he never made you weep except for the sake of doing you good; and then you will repent, and you will kiss with tears that desk at which he worked so much, at which he wore out his life for his children. You do not understand now; he hides from you all of himself except his kindness and his love. You do not know that he is sometimes so broken down with toil that he thinks he has only a few more days to live, and that at such moments he talks only of you; he has in his heart no other trouble than that of leaving you poor and without protection.

And how often, when meditating on this, does he enter your chamber while you are asleep, and stand there, lamp in hand, gazing at you; and then he makes an effort, and weary and sad as he is, he returns to his labor; and neither do you know that he often seeks you and remains with you because he has a bitterness in his heart, sorrows which attack all men in the world, and he seeks you as a friend, to obtain consolation himself and forgetfulness, and he feels the need of taking refuge in your affection, to recover his serenity and his courage: think, then, what must be his sorrow, when instead of finding in you affection, he finds coldness and disrespect! Never again stain yourself with this horrible ingratitude! Reflect, that were you as good as a saint, you could never repay him sufficiently for what he has done and for what he is constantly doing for you. And reflect, also, we cannot count on life; a misfortune might remove your father while you are still a boy, --in two years, in three months, to-morrow.

Ah, my poor Enrico, when you see all about you changing, how empty, how desolate the house will appear, with your poor mother clothed in black! Go, my son, go to your father; he is in his room at work; go on tiptoe, so that he may not hear you enter; go and lay your forehead on his knees, and beseech him to pardon and to bless you.

THY MOTHER.

IN THE COUNTRY.

Monday, 19th.

My good father forgave me, even on this occasion, and allowed me to goon an expedition to the country, which had been arranged on Wednesday, with the father of Coretti, the wood-peddler.

We were all in need of a mouthful of hill air. It was a festival day. We met yesterday at two o'clock in the place of the Statuto, Derossi, Garrone, Garoffi, Precossi, Coretti, father and son, and I, with ourprovisions of fruit, sausages, and hard-boiled eggs; we had also leatherbottles and tin cups. Garrone carried a gourd filled with white wine;Coretti, his father's soldier-canteen, full of red wine; and littlePrecossi, in the blacksmith's blouse, held under his arm atwo-kilogramme loaf.

We went in the omnibus as far as Gran Madre di Dio, and then off, asbriskly as possible, to the hills. How green, how shady, how fresh itwas! We rolled over and over in the grass, we dipped our faces in therivulets, we leaped the hedges. The elder Coretti followed us at adistance, with his jacket thrown over his shoulders, smoking his claypipe, and from time to time threatening us with his hand, to prevent ourtearing holes in our trousers.

Precossi whistled; I had never heard him whistle before. The youngerCoretti did the same, as he went along. That little fellow knowshow to make everything with his jack-knife a finger's lengthlong, --mill-wheels, forks, squirts; and he insisted on carrying theother boys' things, and he was loaded down until he was dripping withperspiration, but he was still as nimble as a goat. Derossi halted everymoment to tell us the names of the plants and insects. I don'tunderstand how he manages to know so many things. And Garrone nibbled athis bread in silence; but he no longer attacks it with the cheery bitesof old, poor Garrone! now that he has lost his mother. But he is alwaysas good as bread himself. When one of us ran back to obtain the momentumfor leaping a ditch, he ran to the other side, and held out his hands tous; and as Precossi was afraid of cows, having been tossed by one whena child, Garrone placed himself in front of him every time that wepassed any. We mounted up to Santa Margherita, and then went down thedecline by leaps, rolls, and slides. Precossi tumbled into a thorn-bush, and tore a hole in his blouse, and stood there overwhelmed with shame, with the strip dangling; but Garoffi, who always has pins in his jacket, fixed it so that it was not perceptible, while the other kept saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, " and then he set out to run once more.

Garoffi did not waste his time on the way; he picked salad herbs andsnails, and put every stone that glistened in the least into his pocket, supposing that there was gold and silver in it. And on we went, running, rolling, and climbing through the shade and in the sun, up and down, through all the lanes and cross-roads, until we arrived dishevelled andbreathless at the crest of a hill, where we seated ourselves to take ourlunch on the grass.

We could see an immense plain, and all the blue Alps with their whitesummits. We were dying of hunger; the bread seemed to be melting. Theelder Coretti handed us our portions of sausage on gourd leaves. Andthen we all began to talk at once about the teachers, the comrades whohad not been able to come, and the examinations. Precossi was ratherashamed to eat, and Garrone thrust the best bits of his share into hismouth by force. Coretti was seated next his father, with his legscrossed; they seem more like two brothers than father and son, when seenthus together, both rosy and smiling, with those white teeth of theirs. The father drank with zest, emptying the bottles and the cups which weleft half finished, and said:--

"Wine hurts you boys who are studying; it is the wood-sellers who needit. " Then he grasped his son by the nose, and shook him, saying to us, "Boys, you must love this fellow, for he is a flower of a man of honor;I tell you so myself!" And then we all laughed, except Garrone. And hewent on, as he drank, "It's a shame, eh! now you are all good friendstogether, and in a few years, who knows, Enrico and Derossi will belawyers or professors or I don't know what, and the other four of youwill be in shops or at a trade, and the deuce knows where, andthen--good night comrades!"

"Nonsense!" rejoined Derossi; "for me, Garrone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always be Precossi, and the same with all the others, wereI to become the emperor of Russia: where they are, there I shall goalso. "



"Bless you!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, raising his flask; "that's theway to talk, by Heavens! Touch your glass here! Hurrah for bravecomrades, and hurrah for school, which makes one family of you, of thosewho have and those who have not!"

We all clinked his flask with the skins and the cups, and drank for thelast time.

"Hurrah for the fourth of the 49th!" he cried, as he rose to his feet, and swallowed the last drop; "and if you have to do with squadrons too, see that you stand firm, like us old ones, my lads!"

It was already late. We descended, running and singing, and walking longdistances all arm in arm, and we arrived at the Po as twilight fell, andthousands of fireflies were flitting about. And we only parted in thePiazza dello Statuto after having agreed to meet there on the followingSunday, and go to the Vittorio Emanuele to see the distribution ofprizes to the graduates of the evening schools.

What a beautiful day! How happy I should have been on my return home, had I not encountered my poor schoolmistress! I met her coming down thestaircase of our house, almost in the dark, and, as soon as sherecognized me, she took both my hands, and whispered in my ear, "Goodby, Enrico; remember me!" I perceived that she was weeping. I went upand told my mother about it.

"I have just met my schoolmistress. "--"She was just going to bed, "replied my mother, whose eyes were red. And then she added very sadly, gazing intently at me, "Your poor teacher--is very ill. "

THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES TO THE WORKINGMEN.

Sunday, 25th.

As we had agreed, we all went together to the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, to view the distribution of prizes to the workingmen. The theatre wasadorned as on the 14th of March, and thronged, but almost wholly withthe families of workmen; and the pit was occupied with the male andfemale pupils of the school of choral singing. These sang a hymn to thesoldiers who had died in the Crimea; which was so beautiful that, whenit was finished, all rose and clapped and shouted, so that the song hadto be repeated from the beginning. And then the prize-winners beganimmediately to march past the mayor, the prefect, and many others, whopresented them with books, savings-bank books, diplomas, and medals. Inone corner of the pit I espied the little mason, sitting beside hismother; and in another place there was the head-master; and behind him, the red head of my master of the second grade.

The first to defile were the pupils of the evening drawing classes--thegoldsmiths, engravers, lithographers, and also the carpenters andmasons; then those of the commercial school; then those of the MusicalLyceum, among them several girls, workingwomen, all dressed in festalattire, who were saluted with great applause, and who laughed. Last camethe pupils of the elementary evening schools, and then it began to be abeautiful sight. They were of all ages, of all trades, and dressed inall sorts of ways, --men with gray hair, factory boys, artisans with bigblack beards. The little ones were at their ease; the men, a littleembarrassed. The people clapped the oldest and the youngest, but none ofthe spectators laughed, as they did at our festival: all faces wereattentive and serious.

Many of the prize-winners had wives and children in the pit, and therewere little children who, when they saw their father pass across thestage, called him by name at the tops of their voices, and signalled tohim with their hands, laughing violently. Peasants passed, and porters;they were from the Buoncompagni School. From the Cittadella School therewas a bootblack whom my father knew, and the prefect gave him a diploma. After him I saw approaching a man as big as a giant, whom I fancied thatI had seen several times before. It was the father of the little mason, who had won the second prize. I remembered when I had seen him in thegarret, at the bedside of his sick son, and I immediately sought out hisson in the pit. Poor little mason! he was staring at his father withbeaming eyes, and, in order to conceal his emotion, he made his hare'sface. At that moment I heard a burst of applause, and I glanced at thestage: a little chimney-sweep stood there, with a clean face, but in hisworking-clothes, and the mayor was holding him by the hand and talkingto him.

After the chimney-sweep came a cook; then came one of the city sweepers, from the Raineri School, to get a prize. I felt I know not what in myheart, --something like a great affection and a great respect, at thethought of how much those prizes had cost all those workingmen, fathersof families, full of care; how much toil added to their labors, how manyhours snatched from their sleep, of which they stand in such great need, and what efforts of intelligences not habituated to study, and of hugehands rendered clumsy with work!

A factory boy passed, and it was evident that his father had lent himhis jacket for the occasion, for his sleeves hung down so that he wasforced to turn them back on the stage, in order to receive his prize:and many laughed; but the laugh was speedily stifled by the applause. Next came an old man with a bald head and a white beard. Severalartillery soldiers passed, from among those who attended evening schoolin our schoolhouse; then came custom-house guards and policemen, fromamong those who guard our schools.

At the conclusion, the pupils of the evening schools again sang the hymnto the dead in the Crimea, but this time with so much dash, with astrength of affection which came so directly from the heart, that theaudience hardly applauded at all, and all retired in deep emotion, slowly and noiselessly.

In a few moments the whole street was thronged. In front of theentrance to the theatre was the chimney-sweep, with his prize book boundin red, and all around were gentlemen talking to him. Many exchangedsalutations from the opposite side of the street, --workmen, boys, policemen, teachers. My master of the second grade came out in the midstof the crowd, between two artillery men. And there were workmen's wiveswith babies in their arms, who held in their tiny hands their father'sdiploma, and exhibited it to the crowd in their pride.

MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS.

Tuesday, 27th.

While we were at the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, my poor schoolmistressdied. She died at two o'clock, a week after she had come to see mymother. The head-master came to the school yesterday morning to announceit to us; and he said:--

"Those of you who were her pupils know how good she was, how she lovedher boys: she was a mother to them. Now, she is no more. For a long timea terrible malady has been sapping her life. If she had not been obligedto work to earn her bread, she could have taken care of herself, andperhaps recovered. At all events, she could have prolonged her life forseveral months, if she had procured a leave of absence. But she wishedto remain among her boys to the very last day. On the evening ofSaturday, the seventeenth, she took leave of them, with the certaintythat she should never see them again. She gave them good advice, kissedthem all, and went away sobbing. No one will ever behold her again. Remember her, my boys!"

Little Precossi, who had been one of her pupils in the upper primary, dropped his head on his desk and began to cry.

Yesterday afternoon, after school, we all went together to the house ofthe dead woman, to accompany her to church. There was a hearse in thestreet, with two horses, and many people were waiting, and conversing ina low voice. There was the head-master, all the masters and mistressesfrom our school, and from the other schoolhouses where she had taught inbygone years. There were nearly all the little children in her classes, led by the hand by their mothers, who carried tapers; and there were avery great many from the other classes, and fifty scholars from theBaretti School, some with wreaths in their hands, some with bunches ofroses. A great many bouquets of flowers had already been placed on thehearse, upon which was fastened a large wreath of acacia, with aninscription in black letters: _The old pupils of the fourth grade totheir mistress_. And under the large wreath a little one was suspended, which the babies had brought. Among the crowd were visible manyservant-women, who had been sent by their mistresses with candles; andthere were also two serving-men in livery, with lighted torches; and awealthy gentleman, the father of one of the mistress's scholars, hadsent his carriage, lined with blue satin. All were crowded together nearthe door. Several girls were wiping away their tears.

We waited for a while in silence. At length the casket was brought out. Some of the little ones began to cry loudly when they saw the coffinslid into the hearse, and one began to shriek, as though he had onlythen comprehended that his mistress was dead, and he was seized withsuch a convulsive fit of sobbing, that they were obliged to carry himaway.

The procession got slowly into line and set out. First came thedaughters of the Ritiro della Concezione, dressed in green; then thedaughters of Maria, all in white, with a blue ribbon; then the priests;and behind the hearse, the masters and mistresses, the tiny scholars ofthe upper primary, and all the others; and, at the end of all, thecrowd. People came to the windows and to the doors, and on seeing allthose boys, and the wreath, they said, "It is a schoolmistress. " Evensome of the ladies who accompanied the smallest children wept.

When the church was reached, the casket was removed from the hearse, andcarried to the middle of the nave, in front of the great altar: themistresses laid their wreaths on it, the children covered it withflowers, and the people all about, with lighted candles in their hands, began to chant the prayers in the vast and gloomy church. Then, all of asudden, when the priest had said the last _amen_, the candles wereextinguished, and all went away in haste, and the mistress was leftalone. Poor mistress, who was so kind to me, who had so much patience, who had toiled for so many years! She has left her little books to herscholars, and everything which she possessed, --to one an inkstand, toanother a little picture; and two days before her death, she said to thehead-master that he was not to allow the smallest of them to go to herfuneral, because she did not wish them to cry.

She has done good, she has suffered, she is dead! Poor mistress, leftalone in that dark church! Farewell! Farewell forever, my kind friend, sad and sweet memory of my infancy!

THANKS.

Wednesday, 28th.

My poor schoolmistress wanted to finish her year of school: she departedonly three days before the end of the lessons. Day after to-morrow we goonce more to the schoolroom to hear the reading of the monthly story, _Shipwreck_, and then--it is over. On Saturday, the first of July, theexaminations begin. And then another year, the fourth, is past! And ifmy mistress had not died, it would have passed well.

I thought over all that I had known on the preceding October, and itseems to me that I know a good deal more: I have so many new things inmy mind; I can say and write what I think better than I could then; Ican also do the sums of many grown-up men who know nothing about it, andhelp them in their affairs; and I understand much more: I understandnearly everything that I read. I am satisfied. But how many people haveurged me on and helped me to learn, one in one way, and another inanother, at home, at school, in the street, --everywhere where I havebeen and where I have seen anything! And now, I thank you all. I thankyou first, my good teacher, for having been so indulgent andaffectionate with me; for you every new acquisition of mine was a labor, for which I now rejoice and of which I am proud. I thank you, Derossi, my admirable companion, for your prompt and kind explanations, for youhave made me understand many of the most difficult things, and overcomestumbling-blocks at examinations; and you, too, Stardi, you brave andstrong boy, who have showed me how a will of iron succeeds ineverything: and you, kind, generous Garrone, who make all those whoknow you kind and generous too; and you too, Precossi and Coretti, whohave given me an example of courage in suffering, and of serenity intoil, I render thanks to you: I render thanks to all the rest. But aboveall, I thank thee, my father, thee, my first teacher, my first friend, who hast given me so many wise counsels, and hast taught me so manythings, whilst thou wert working for me, always concealing thy sadnessfrom me, and seeking in all ways to render study easy, and lifebeautiful to me; and thee, sweet mother, my beloved and blessed guardianangel, who hast tasted all my joys, and suffered all my bitternesses, who hast studied, worked, and wept with me, with one hand caressing mybrow, and with the other pointing me to heaven. I kneel before you, aswhen I was a little child; I thank you for all the tenderness which youhave instilled into my mind through twelve years of sacrifices and oflove.

SHIPWRECK.

(_Last Monthly Story. _)

One morning in the month of December, several years ago, there sailedfrom the port of Liverpool a huge steamer, which had on board twohundred persons, including a crew of sixty. The captain and nearly allthe sailors were English. Among the passengers there were severalItalians, --three gentlemen, a priest, and a company of musicians. Thesteamer was bound for the island of Malta. The weather was threatening.

Among the third-class passengers forward, was an Italian lad of a dozenyears, small for his age, but robust; a bold, handsome, austere face, of Sicilian type. He was alone near the fore-mast, seated on a coil ofcordage, beside a well-worn valise, which contained his effects, andupon which he kept a hand. His face was brown, and his black and wavyhair descended to his shoulders. He was meanly clad, and had a tatteredmantle thrown over his shoulders, and an old leather pouch on across-belt. He gazed thoughtfully about him at the passengers, the ship, the sailors who were running past, and at the restless sea. He had theappearance of a boy who has recently issued from a great familysorrow, --the face of a child, the expression of a man.

A little after their departure, one of the steamer's crew, an Italianwith gray hair, made his appearance on the bow, holding by the hand alittle girl; and coming to a halt in front of the little Sicilian, hesaid to him:--

"Here's a travelling companion for you, Mario. " Then he went away.

The girl seated herself on the pile of cordage beside the boy.

They surveyed each other.

"Where are you going?" asked the Sicilian.

The girl replied: "To Malta on the way of Naples. " Then she added: "I amgoing to see my father and mother, who are expecting me. My name isGiulietta Faggiani. "

The boy said nothing.

After the lapse of a few minutes, he drew some bread from his pouch, andsome dried fruit; the girl had some biscuits: they began to eat.

"Look sharp there!" shouted the Italian sailor, as he passed rapidly; "alively time is at hand!"

The wind continued to increase, the steamer pitched heavily; but the twochildren, who did not suffer from seasickness, paid no heed to it. Thelittle girl smiled. She was about the same age as her companion, but wasconsiderably taller, brown of complexion, slender, somewhat sickly, anddressed more than modestly. Her hair was short and curling, she wore ared kerchief over her head, and two hoops of silver in her ears.

As they ate, they talked about themselves and their affairs. The boy hadno longer either father or mother. The father, an artisan, had died afew days previously in Liverpool, leaving him alone; and the Italianconsul had sent him back to his country, to Palermo, where he had stillsome distant relatives left. The little girl had been taken to London, the year before, by a widowed aunt, who was very fond of her, and towhom her parents--poor people--had given her for a time, trusting in apromise of an inheritance; but the aunt had died a few months later, runover by an omnibus, without leaving a centesimo; and then she too hadhad recourse to the consul, who had shipped her to Italy. Both had beenrecommended to the care of the Italian sailor. --"So, " concluded thelittle maid, "my father and mother thought that I would return rich, andinstead I am returning poor. But they will love me all the same. And sowill my brothers. I have four, all small. I am the oldest at home. Idress them. They will be greatly delighted to see me. They will come inon tiptoe--The sea is ugly!"

Then she asked the boy: "And are you going to stay with your relatives?"

"Yes--if they want me. "

"Do not they love you?"

"I don't know. "

"I shall be thirteen at Christmas, " said the girl.

Then they began to talk about the sea, and the people on board aroundthem. They remained near each other all day, exchanging a few words nowand then. The passengers thought them brother and sister. The girlknitted at a stocking, the boy meditated, the sea continued to growrougher. At night, as they parted to go to bed, the girl said to Mario, "Sleep well. "

"No one will sleep well, my poor children!" exclaimed the Italian sailoras he ran past, in answer to a call from the captain. The boy was on thepoint of replying with a "good night" to his little friend, when anunexpected dash of water dealt him a violent blow, and flung him againsta seat.

"My dear, you are bleeding!" cried the girl, flinging herself upon him. The passengers who were making their escape below, paid no heed to them. The child knelt down beside Mario, who had been stunned by the blow, wiped the blood from his brow, and pulling the red kerchief from herhair, she bound it about his head, then pressed his head to her breastin order to knot the ends, and thus received a spot of blood on heryellow bodice just above the girdle. Mario shook himself and rose:

"Are you better?" asked the girl.

"I no longer feel it, " he replied.

"Sleep well, " said Giulietta.

"Good night, " responded Mario. And they descended two neighboring setsof steps to their dormitories.

The sailor's prediction proved correct. Before they could get to sleep, a frightful tempest had broken loose. It was like the sudden onslaughtof furious great horses, which in the course of a few minutes split onemast, and carried away three boats which were suspended to the falls, and four cows on the bow, like leaves. On board the steamer there arosea confusion, a terror, an uproar, a tempest of shrieks, wails, andprayers, sufficient to make the hair stand on end. The tempest continuedto increase in fury all night. At daybreak it was still increasing. Theformidable waves dashing the craft transversely, broke over the deck, and smashed, split, and hurled everything into the sea. The platformwhich screened the engine was destroyed, and the water dashed in with aterrible roar; the fires were extinguished; the engineers fled; huge andimpetuous streams forced their way everywhere. A voice of thundershouted:

"To the pumps!" It was the captain's voice. The sailors rushed to thepumps. But a sudden burst of the sea, striking the vessel on the stern, demolished bulwarks and hatchways, and sent a flood within.

All the passengers, more dead than alive, had taken refuge in the grandsaloon. At last the captain made his appearance.

"Captain! Captain!" they all shrieked in concert. "What is taking place?Where are we? Is there any hope! Save us!"

The captain waited until they were silent, then said coolly; "Let us beresigned. "

One woman uttered a cry of "Mercy!" No one else could give vent to asound. Terror had frozen them all. A long time passed thus, in a silencelike that of the grave. All gazed at each other with blanched faces. Thesea continued to rage and roar. The vessel pitched heavily. At onemoment the captain attempted to launch one life-boat; five sailorsentered it; the boat sank; the waves turned it over, and two of thesailors were drowned, among them the Italian: the others contrived withdifficulty to catch hold of the ropes and draw themselves up again.

After this, the sailors themselves lost all courage. Two hours later, the vessel was sunk in the water to the height of the port-holes.

A terrible spectacle was presented meanwhile on the deck. Motherspressed their children to their breasts in despair; friends exchangedembraces and bade each other farewell; some went down into the cabinsthat they might die without seeing the sea. One passenger shot himselfin the head with a pistol, and fell headlong down the stairs to thecabin, where he expired. Many clung frantically to each other; womenwrithed in horrible convulsions. There was audible a chorus of sobs, ofinfantile laments, of strange and piercing voices; and here and therepersons were visible motionless as statues, in stupor, with eyes dilatedand sightless, --faces of corpses and madmen. The two children, Giuliettaand Mario, clung to a mast and gazed at the sea with staring eyes, asthough senseless.

The sea had subsided a little; but the vessel continued to sink slowly. Only a few minutes remained to them.

"Launch the long-boat!" shouted the captain.

A boat, the last that remained, was thrown into the water, and fourteensailors and three passengers descended into it.

The captain remained on board.

"Come down with us!" they shouted to him from below.

"I must die at my post, " replied the captain.

"We shall meet a vessel, " the sailors cried to him; "we shall be saved!Come down! you are lost!"

"I shall remain. "

"There is room for one more!" shouted the sailors, turning to the otherpassengers. "A woman!"

A woman advanced, aided by the captain; but on seeing the distance atwhich the boat lay, she did not feel sufficient courage to leap down, and fell back upon the deck. The other women had nearly all fainted, andwere as dead.

"A boy!" shouted the sailors.

At that shout, the Sicilian lad and his companion, who had remained upto that moment petrified as by a supernatural stupor, were suddenlyaroused again by a violent instinct to save their lives. They detachedthemselves simultaneously from the mast, and rushed to the side of thevessel, shrieking in concert: "Take me!" and endeavoring in turn, todrive the other back, like furious beasts.

"The smallest!" shouted the sailors. "The boat is overloaded! Thesmallest!"

On hearing these words, the girl dropped her arms, as though struck bylightning, and stood motionless, staring at Mario with lustreless eyes.

Mario looked at her for a moment, --saw the spot of blood on herbodice, --remembered--The gleam of a divine thought flashed across hisface.

"The smallest!" shouted the sailors in chorus, with imperiousimpatience. "We are going!"

And then Mario, with a voice which no longer seemed his own, cried: "Sheis the lighter! It is for you, Giulietta! You have a father and mother!I am alone! I give you my place! Go down!"

"Throw her into the sea!" shouted the sailors.

Mario seized Giulietta by the body, and threw her into the sea.

The girl uttered a cry and made a splash; a sailor seized her by thearm, and dragged her into the boat.

The boy remained at the vessel's side, with his head held high, his hairstreaming in the wind, --motionless, tranquil, sublime.

The boat moved off just in time to escape the whirlpool which the vesselproduced as it sank, and which threatened to overturn it.

Then the girl, who had remained senseless until that moment, raised hereyes to the boy, and burst into a storm of tears.

"Good by, Mario!" she cried, amid her sobs, with her arms outstretchedtowards him. "Good by! Good by! Good by!"

"Good by!" replied the boy, raising his hand on high.

The boat went swiftly away across the troubled sea, beneath the darksky. No one on board the vessel shouted any longer. The water wasalready lapping the edge of the deck.

Suddenly the boy fell on his knees, with his hands folded and his eyesraised to heaven.

The girl covered her face.

When she raised her head again, she cast a glance over the sea: thevessel was no longer there.

JULY.

THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER.

Saturday, 1st.

SO the year has come to an end, Enrico, and it is well that you should be left on the last day with the image of the sublime child, who gave his life for his friend. You are now about to part from your teachers and companions, and I must impart to you some sad news. The separation will last not three months, but forever. Your father, for reasons connected with his profession, is obliged to leave Turin, and we are all to go with him.

We shall go next autumn. You will have to enter a new school. You are sorry for this, are you not? For I am sure that you love your old school, where twice a day, for the space of four years, you have experienced the pleasure of working, where for so long a time, you have seen, at stated hours, the same boys, the same teachers, the same parents, and your own father or mother awaiting you with a smile; your old school, where your mind first unclosed, where you have found so many kind companions, where every word that you have heard has had your good for its object, and where you have not suffered a single displeasure which has not been useful to you! Then bear this affection with you, and bid these boys a hearty farewell. Some of them will experience misfortunes, they will soon lose their fathers and mothers; others will die young; others, perhaps, will nobly shed their blood in battle; many will become brave and honest workmen, the fathers of honest and industrious workmen like themselves; and who knows whether there may not also be among them one who will render great services to his country, and make his name glorious. Then part from them with affection; leave a portion of your soul here, in this great family into which you entered as a baby, and from which you emerge a young lad, and which your father and mother loved so dearly, because you were so much beloved by it.

School is a mother, my Enrico. It took you from my arms when you could hardly speak, and now it returns you to me, strong, good, studious; blessings on it, and may you never forget it more, my son. Oh, it is impossible that you should forget it! You will become a man, you will make the tour of the world, you will see immense cities and wonderful monuments, and you will remember many among them; but that modest white edifice, with those closed shutters and that little garden, where the first flower of your intelligence budded, you will perceive until the last day of your life, as I shall always behold the house in which I heard your voice for the first time.

THY MOTHER.

THE EXAMINATIONS.

Tuesday, 4th.

Here are the examinations at last! Nothing else is to be heard underdiscussion, in the streets in the vicinity of the school, from boys, fathers, mothers, and even tutors; examinations, points, themes, averages, dismissals, promotions: all utter the same words. Yesterdaymorning there was composition; this morning there is arithmetic. It wastouching to see all the parents, as they conducted their sons to school, giving them their last advice in the street, and many mothersaccompanied their sons to their seats, to see whether the inkstand wasfilled, and to try their pens, and they still continued to hover roundthe entrance, and to say:

"Courage! Attention! I entreat you. "

Our assistant-master was Coatti, the one with the black beard, whomimics the voice of a lion, and never punishes any one. There were boyswho were white with fear. When the master broke the seal of the letterfrom the town-hall, and drew out the problem, not a breath was audible. He announced the problem loudly, staring now at one, now at another, with terrible eyes; but we understood that had he been able to announcethe answer also, so that we might all get promoted, he would have beendelighted.

After an hour of work many began to grow weary, for the problem wasdifficult. One cried. Crossi dealt himself blows on the head. And manyof them are not to blame, poor boys, for not knowing, for they have nothad much time to study, and have been neglected by their parents. ButProvidence was at hand. You should have seen Derossi, and what troublehe took to help them; how ingenious he was in getting a figure passedon, and in suggesting an operation, without allowing himself to becaught; so anxious for all that he appeared to be our teacher himself. Garrone, too, who is strong in arithmetic, helped all he could; and heeven assisted Nobis, who, finding himself in a quandary, was quitegentle.

Stardi remained motionless for more than an hour, with his eyes on theproblem, and his fists on his temples, and then he finished the wholething in five minutes. The master made his round among the benches, saying:--

"Be calm! Be calm! I advise you to be calm!"

And when he saw that any one was discouraged, he opened his mouth, asthough about to devour him, in imitation of a lion, in order to make himlaugh and inspire him with courage. Toward eleven o'clock, peeping downthrough the blinds, I perceived many parents pacing the street in theirimpatience. There was Precossi's father, in his blue blouse, who haddeserted his shop, with his face still quite black. There was Crossi'smother, the vegetable-vender; and Nelli's mother, dressed in black, whocould not stand still.

A little before mid-day, my father arrived and raised his eyes to mywindow; my dear father! At noon we had all finished. And it was a sightat the close of school! Every one ran to meet the boys, to askquestions, to turn over the leaves of the copy-books to compare themwith the work of their comrades.

"How many operations? What is the total? And subtraction? And theanswer? And the punctuation of decimals?"

All the masters were running about hither and thither, summoned in ahundred directions.

My father instantly took from my hand the rough copy, looked at it, andsaid, "That's well. "

Beside us was the blacksmith, Precossi, who was also inspecting hisson's work, but rather uneasily, and not comprehending it. He turned tomy father:--

"Will you do me the favor to tell me the total?"

My father read the number. The other gazed and reckoned. "Brave littleone!" he exclaimed, in perfect content. And my father and he gazed ateach other for a moment with a kindly smile, like two friends. My fatheroffered his hand, and the other shook it; and they parted, saying, "Farewell until the oral examination. "

"Until the oral examination. "

After proceeding a few paces, we heard a falsetto voice which made usturn our heads. It was the blacksmith-ironmonger singing.

THE LAST EXAMINATION.

Friday, 7th.

This morning we had our oral examinations. At eight o'clock we were allin the schoolroom, and at a quarter past they began to call us, four ata time, into the big hall, where there was a large table covered with agreen cloth; round it were seated the head-master and four othermasters, among them our own. I was one of the first called out. Poormaster! how plainly I perceived this morning that you are really fond ofus! While they were interrogating the others, he had no eyes for any onebut us. He was troubled when we were uncertain in our replies; he grewserene when we gave a fine answer; he heard everything, and made us athousand signs with his hand and head, to say to us, "Good!--no!--payattention!--slower!--courage!"

He would have suggested everything to us, had he been able to talk. Ifthe fathers of all these pupils had been in his place, one after theother, they could not have done more. They would have cried "Thanks!"ten times, in the face of them all. And when the other masters said tome, "That is well; you may go, " his eyes beamed with pleasure.

I returned at once to the schoolroom to wait for my father. Nearly allwere still there. I sat down beside Garrone. I was not at all cheerful;I was thinking that it was the last time that we should be near eachother for an hour. I had not yet told Garrone that I should not gothrough the fourth grade with him, that I was to leave Turin with myfather. He knew nothing. And he sat there, doubled up together, with hisbig head reclining on the desk, making ornaments round the photographof his father, who was dressed like a machinist, and who is a tall, large man, with a bull neck and a serious, honest look, like himself. And as he sat thus bent together, with his blouse a little open infront, I saw on his bare and robust breast the gold cross which Nelli'smother had presented to him, when she learned that he protected her son. But it was necessary to tell him sometime that I was going away. I saidto him:--

"Garrone, my father is going away from Turin this autumn, for good. Heasked me if I were going, also. I replied that I was. "

"You will not go through the fourth grade with us?" he said to me. Ianswered "No. "

Then he did not speak to me for a while, but went on with his drawing. Then, without raising his head, he inquired:

"And shall you remember your comrades of the third grade?"

"Yes, " I told him, "all of them; but you more than all the rest. Who canforget you?"

He looked at me fixedly and seriously, with a gaze that said a thousandthings, but he said nothing; he only offered me his left hand, pretending to continue his drawing with the other; and I pressed itbetween mine, that strong and loyal hand. At that moment the masterentered hastily, with a red face, and said, in a low, quick voice, witha joyful intonation:--

"Good, all is going well now, let the rest come forwards; _bravi_, boys!Courage! I am extremely well satisfied. " And, in order to show us hiscontentment, and to exhilarate us, as he went out in haste, he made amotion of stumbling and of catching at the wall, to prevent a fall; hewhom we had never seen laugh! The thing appeared so strange, that, instead of laughing, all remained stupefied; all smiled, no one laughed.

Well, I do not know, --that act of childish joy caused both pain andtenderness. All his reward was that moment of cheerfulness, --it was thecompensation for nine months of kindness, patience, and even sorrow! Forthat he had toiled so long; for that he had so often gone to givelessons to a sick boy, poor teacher! That and nothing more was what hedemanded of us, in exchange for so much affection and so much care!

And, now, it seems to me that I shall always see him in the performanceof that act, when I recall him through many years; and when I havebecome a man, he will still be alive, and we shall meet, and I will tellhim about that deed which touched my heart; and I will give him a kisson his white head.

FAREWELL.

Monday, 10th.

At one o'clock we all assembled once more for the last time at theschool, to hear the results of the examinations, and to take our littlepromotion books. The street was thronged with parents, who had eveninvaded the big hall, and many had made their way into the class-rooms, thrusting themselves even to the master's desk: in our room they filledthe entire space between the wall and the front benches. There wereGarrone's father, Derossi's mother, the blacksmith Precossi, Coretti, Signora Nelli, the vegetable-vender, the father of the little mason, Stardi's father, and many others whom I had never seen; and on all sidesa whispering and a hum were audible, that seemed to proceed from thesquare outside.

The master entered, and a profound silence ensued. He had the list inhis hand, and began to read at once.

"Abatucci, promoted, sixty seventieths. Archini, promoted, fifty-fiveseventieths. "--The little mason promoted; Crossi promoted. Then he readloudly:--

"Ernesto Derossi, promoted, seventy seventieths, and the first prize. "

All the parents who were there--and they all knew him--said:--

"Bravo, bravo, Derossi!" And he shook his golden curls, with his easyand beautiful smile, and looked at his mother, who made him a salutewith her hand.

Garoffi, Garrone, the Calabrian promoted. Then three or four sent back;and one of them began to cry because his father, who was at theentrance, made a menacing gesture at him. But the master said to thefather:--

"No, sir, excuse me; it is not always the boy's fault; it is often hismisfortune. And that is the case here. " Then he read:--

"Nelli, promoted, sixty-two seventieths. " His mother sent him a kissfrom her fan. Stardi, promoted, with sixty-seven seventieths! but, athearing this fine fate, he did not even smile, or remove his fists fromhis temples. The last was Votini, who had come very finely dressed andbrushed, --promoted. After reading the last name, the master rose andsaid:--

"Boys, this is the last time that we shall find ourselves assembledtogether in this room. We have been together a year, and now we partgood friends, do we not? I am sorry to part from you, my dear boys. " Heinterrupted himself, then he resumed: "If I have sometimes failed inpatience, if sometimes, without intending it, I have been unjust, or toosevere, forgive me. "

"No, no!" cried the parents and many of the scholars, --"no, master, never!"

"Forgive me, " repeated the master, "and think well of me. Next year youwill not be with me; but I shall see you again, and you will alwaysabide in my heart. Farewell until we meet again, boys!"


So saying, he stepped forward among us, and we all offered him ourhands, as we stood up on the seats, and grasped him by the arms, and bythe skirts of his coat; many kissed him; fifty voices cried in concert:

"Farewell until we meet again, teacher!--Thanks, teacher!--May yourhealth be good!--Remember us!"

When I went out, I felt oppressed by the commotion. We all ran outconfusedly. Boys were emerging from all the other class-rooms also. There was a great mixing and tumult of boys and parents, bidding themasters and the mistresses good by, and exchanging greetings amongthemselves. The mistress with the red feather had four or five childrenon top of her, and twenty around her, depriving her of breath; and theyhad half torn off the little nun's bonnet, and thrust a dozen bunches offlowers in the button-holes of her black dress, and in her pockets. Manywere making much of Robetti, who had that day, for the first time, abandoned his crutches. On all sides the words were audible:--

"Good by until next year!--Until the twentieth of October!" We greetedeach other, too. Ah! now all disagreements were forgotten at thatmoment! Votini, who had always been so jealous of Derossi, was the firstto throw himself on him with open arms. I saluted the little mason, andkissed him, just at the moment when he was making me his last hare'sface, dear boy! I saluted Precossi. I saluted Garoffi, who announced tome the approach of his last lottery, and gave me a little paper weightof majolica, with a broken corner; I said farewell to all the others. Itwas beautiful to see poor Nelli clinging to Garrone, so that he couldnot be taken from him. All thronged around Garrone, and it was, "Farewell, Garrone!--Good by until we meet!" And they touched him, andpressed his hands, and made much of him, that brave, sainted boy; andhis father was perfectly amazed, as he looked on and smiled.

Garrone was the last one whom I embraced in the street, and I stifled asob against his breast: he kissed my brow. Then I ran to my father andmother. My father asked me: "Have you spoken to all of your comrades?"

I replied that I had. "If there is any one of them whom you havewronged, go and ask his pardon, and beg him to forget it. Is there noone?"

"No one, " I answered.

"Farewell, then, " said my father with a voice full of emotion, bestowinga last glance on the schoolhouse. And my mother repeated: "Farewell!"

And I could not say anything.

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

The original language and spelling have been retained, except wherenoted. Minimal typographical errors concerning punctuation have beencorrected without notes.

The signatures at the end of the following sections

MY MOTHER. POETRY. GARIBALDI. ITALY. MY FATHER. THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER.

are missing in the original text and have been added according to theItalian editions of the book.

The [oe] ligature has been rendered as "oe".

The following changes were made to the original text (the original textis on the first line, the correction is on the following line):

97: two battalions of Italian infantry and two cannon two battalions of Italian infantry and two cannons

117: replied, that the the man was a mason who had replied, that the man was a mason who had

177: Feruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning

201: with the wound on his neck, who was with Garabaldi, with the wound on his neck, who was with Garibaldi, 292: which anounced the field artillery; and then the which announced the field artillery; and then the

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