第3章 十月 OCTOBER

始业日 十七日

今天开学了，乡间的三个月，梦也似的过去，又回到了这丘林的学校里来了。早晨母亲送我到学校里去的时候，心还一味只想着在乡间的情形哩。不论哪一条街道，都充满着学校的学生们；书店的门口呢，学生的父兄们都拥挤着在那里购买笔记簿、书袋等类的东西，校役和警察都拼命似的想把路排开。到了校门口，觉得有人触动我的肩膀，原来这就是我三年级时候的先生，是一位头发赤而卷缩、面貌快活的先生。先生看着我的脸孔说：

“我们不再在一处了！安利柯！”

这原是我早已知道的事，今被先生这么一说，不觉重新难过起来了。我们好容易地到了里面，许多夫人、绅士、普通妇人、职工、官吏、女僧侣、男佣人、女佣人，都一手拉了小儿，一手抱了成绩簿，在接待所楼梯旁挤满着，嘈杂得如同戏馆里一样。我重新看这大大的待息所的房子，非常欢喜，因为我这三年来，每月到教室去，都穿过这室的。我的二年级时候的女先生见了我：

“安利柯！你现在要到楼上去了！要不走过我的教室了！”

说着，恋恋地看我。校长先生被妇人们围绕着，头发好像比以前白了。学生们也比夏天的时候长大强壮了许多。才来入一年级的小孩们，不愿到教室里去，像驴马似的倔强着，勉强拉了进去，有的仍旧逃出，有的因为找不着父母，哭了起来，做父母的回了进去，有的诱骗，有的叱骂，先生们也弄得没有办法了。

我的弟弟被编在名叫代尔卡谛的女先生所教的一组里。午前十时，大家进了教室，我们的一级共五十五人。从三年级一同升上来的只不过十五六人。经常得一等奖的代洛西也在里面。一想起暑假中跑来跑去游过的山林，觉得学校里闷得讨厌。又忆起三年级时候的先生来：那是常常对我们笑着的好先生，是和我们差不多大的先生。那个先生的红而缩拢的头发，已不能看见了，一想到此，就有点难过。这次的先生，身材高长，没有胡须，长长地留着花白的头发，额上皱着直纹，说话大声，他瞪着眼一个一个地看我们的时候，眼光竟像要透到我们心里似的。而且还是一位没有笑容的先生。我想：

“唉！一天总算过去了，还有九个月呢！什么用功，什么月试，多么讨厌啊！”

一出教室，恨不得就看见母亲，飞跑到母亲面前去吻她的手。母亲说：

“安利柯啊！要用心啰！我也和你大家用功呢！”

我高高兴兴地回家了。可是因为那位亲爱快活的先生已不在，学校也不如以前的有趣味了。

我们的先生 十八日

从今天起，现在的先生也可爱起来了。我们进教室去的时候，先生已在位上坐着。先生前学年教过的学生们，都从门口探进头来和先生招呼：“先生早安！”“配巴尼先生早安！”大家这样说着。其中也有走进教室来和先生匆忙地握了手就出去的。这可知大家都爱慕这先生。今年也想仍请他教的了。先生也说着“早安！”去拉学生所伸着的手，却是不去看学生的脸孔。和他们招呼的时候，虽也现出笑容，额上直纹一蹙，脸孔就板起来，并且把脸对着窗外，注视着对面的屋顶，好像他和学生们招呼是很苦的。完了以后，先生又把我们一一地注视，叫我们默写，自己下了讲台在桌位间巡回。看见有一个面上生着红粒的学生，就把默写中止，两手托了他的头查看，又把手去摸他的额，问他有没有发热。这时先生后面有一个学生乘着先生不看见，跳上椅子玩起洋娃娃来，恰好先生回过头去，那学生就急忙坐下，俯了头预备受责，先生把手按在他的头上，只是说：“下次不要再做这种事了！”另外一点没有什么。

默写完了以后，先生又沉默了看着我们，好一会儿，用了静而粗大的亲切的声音这样说：

“大家听着！我们从此要同处一年，让我们好好地过这一年吧！大家要用功，要规矩。我没有一个家属，你们就是我的家属，去年以前，我还有母亲，母亲死了以后，我只有一个人了！你们以外，我没有别的家属在世界上，除了你们，我没有可爱的人！你们是我的儿子，我爱你们，请你们也欢喜我！我一个都不愿责罚你们，请将你们的真心给我看看！请你们全班成为一个家族，给我做慰藉，给我做荣耀！我现在并不是想你们用口来答应我，我确已知道你们已在心里答应我‘肯的’了。我感谢你们。”

这时校役来通知放学，我们都很静很静地离开座位。那个跳上椅子的学生，走到先生的身旁，颤抖抖地说：“先生！饶恕我这次！”先生用嘴去亲着他的额说：“快回去！好孩子！”

灾难 二十一日

本学年开始就发生了意外的事情。今天早晨到学校去，我和父亲正谈着先生所说的话。忽然见路上人满了，都奔入校门去。父亲就说：

“有了什么意外的事情了！学年才开始，真不凑巧！”

好容易，我们进了学校，人满了，大大的房子里充满着儿童和家属。听见他们说：“可怜啊！洛佩谛！”从人山人海中，警察的帽子看见了，校长先生的光秃秃的头也看见了。接着又走进来了一个戴着高冠的绅士，大家说“医生来了！”父亲问一个先生：“究竟怎么了？”先生回答说：“被车子轧伤了！”“脚骨碎了！”又一个先生说，原来：名叫洛佩谛的一个二年级的学生，上学来的时候，有一个一年级的小学生，忽然离开了母亲的手，在街路上倒了。这时，街车正往他倒下的地方驶来，洛佩谛眼见这小孩将为车子所轧，大胆地跳了过去，把他拖救出来。不料因为来不及拖出自己的脚，反被车子轧伤了自己。洛佩谛是个炮兵大尉的儿子。正在听他们叙述这些话的时候，突然有一个妇人狂也似的奔到，从人堆里挣扎着进来，这就是洛佩谛的母亲。同时另外一个妇人跑过去，抱了洛佩谛的母亲的头颈啜泣。这就是被救出的小孩的母亲。两个妇人向室内跑去，我们在外边可以听到她们“啊！洛佩谛呀！我的孩子呀！”的哭叫声。

立刻，有一辆马车停在校门口了。校长先生也就抱了洛佩谛出来。洛佩谛把头伏在校长先生肩上，脸色苍白，眼睛闭着。大家都静默了，洛佩谛母亲的哭声也听得出了。不一会儿，校长先生将抱在手里的受伤者给大家看，父兄们、学生们、先生们都齐声说：“洛佩谛！好勇敢！可怜的孩子！”靠近点的先生和学生们，更去吻洛佩谛的手。这时洛佩谛睁开了他的眼说：“我的书包呢？”被救的孩子的母亲拿书包给他看，流着泪说：“让我拿着吧，让我替你拿了去吧。”洛佩谛的母亲脸上现出微笑了。这许多人出了门，很小心地把洛佩谛载入马车，马车就慢慢地开动，我们都默默地走进教室里去。

格拉勃利亚的小孩 二十二日

洛佩谛到底做了非拄了杖不能行走的人了。昨日午后，先生正在说这消息给我们听的时候，校长先生忽然领了一个陌生的小孩到教室里来。那是一个黑色、浓发、大眼而眉毛浓黑的小孩。校长先生将这小孩交给先生，低声地说了一二句什么话就出去了。小孩用他黑而大的眼，看着室中的一切。先生携了他的手向我们说：

“你们大家应该喜欢。今天有一个从五百哩以外的格拉勃利亚的莱奇阿地方来的意大利小孩进了这学校了。因为是远道来的，请你们要特别爱这同胞。他的故乡是名所，是意大利名人的产生地，又是产生强健的劳动者和勇敢的军人的地方，也是我国风景名地之一。那里也有森林，也有山岳，居民都富于才能和勇气。请你们亲爱地对待这小孩，使他忘记自己是离了故乡的，使他知道在意大利无论到什么地方的学校里去，都是同胞。”

先生说着，在意大利地图上指着格拉勃利亚的莱奇阿的位置给我们看。又用了大声叫：“尔耐斯托·代洛西！”——他是每次都得一等奖的学生——代洛西起立了。

“到这里来！”先生说着，代洛西就离了座位走近格拉勃利亚小孩面前。

“你是级长，请对这新学友致欢迎辞！请代表譬特蒙脱的小孩，表示欢迎格拉勃利亚的小孩！”

代洛西听见先生这样说，就抱了那小孩的头颈，用了明亮的声音说：“来得很好！”格拉勃利亚小孩也热烈地吻代洛西的颊。我们都拍手喝彩了。先生虽然说“静些静些！在教室里拍手是不可以的！”而自己也很喜欢。格拉勃利亚小孩也喜欢。一等到先生指定了座位，那个小孩就归座了。先生又说：

“请你们好好记着我方才的话。格拉勃利亚的小孩到了丘林，要同住在自己家里一样。丘林的小孩到了格拉勃利亚，也应该毫不觉得寂寞。实对你们说，我国为此，曾战争了五十年。有三万的同胞，为此战死。所以你们大家要互相敬爱，如果有因为他不是本地人，对于这新学友无礼的，那就是没有资格来见我们的三色旗的人！”

格拉勃利亚小孩回到座位，和他邻席的学生们，有送他钢笔的，有送他画片的，又有送他瑞士的邮票的。

同窗朋友 二十五日

送邮票给格拉勃利亚小孩的，就是我所最喜欢的卡隆。他在同级中身躯最高大，今年十四岁，是个大头宽肩笑起来很可爱的小孩，却已有大人气。我已把同窗的友人认识了许多了，有一个名叫可莱谛的我也欢喜。他着了茶色的裤子，戴了猫皮的帽，常说着有趣的话。父亲是开柴店的，一八六六年，曾在温培尔脱亲王部下打过仗，据说还拿着三个勋章呢。有个名叫耐利的，可怜是个驼背，身体怯弱，脸色常是青青的。还有一个名叫华梯尼的，他时常穿着漂亮的衣服。在我的前面，有一个小孩绰号叫做“小石匠”的，那是石匠的儿子，脸孔圆圆的像苹果，鼻头像个小丐，惯能装兔的脸孔，时常装了引人笑。他虽戴着破絮样的褴褛的帽，却常常将帽像手帕似的卷叠了藏在袋里。坐在“小石匠”的旁边的是一个叫做卡洛斐的瘦长、老鹰鼻、眼睛特别小的孩子。他常常把钢笔、火柴空盒等拿来买卖，把字写在手指甲上，做种种狡猾的事。还有一个名叫卡罗·诺琵斯的傲慢的少年绅士。这人的两旁，有两个小孩，我认为很好的。一个是铁匠的儿子，穿了齐膝的上衣，脸色苍白得好像病人，对于什么都胆怯，永远没有笑容。一个是赤发的小孩，一只手有了残疾，挂牢在项颈里。听说，他的父亲到亚美利加去了，母亲走来走去卖着野菜呢。靠我的左边，还有一个奇怪的小孩，他名叫斯带地，身材短而肥，项颈好像没有的一样。他是个暴躁的小孩，不和人讲话。好像是什么都不知道的，可是，先生的话，他总目不转睛地蹙了眉头、紧闭了嘴听着。先生说话的时候，如果有人说话，第二次他还忍耐着，一到第三次，他就要愤怒起来用脚来蹴了。坐在他的旁边的，是一个毫不知顾忌的有着狡猾相的小孩，他名叫勿兰谛，听说曾经在别校被除了名的。此外，还有一对很相像的兄弟，穿着一样的衣服，戴着一样的帽子。这许多同学之中，相貌最好，最有才能的，不消说要算代洛西了。今年大概还是要他得第一名的。但是我却爱铁匠的儿子，那像病人的泼来可西。据说，他父亲是要打他的，他非常老实，在和人说话的时候，或偶然触犯着别人的时候，他一定要说“对不住”，他常用了亲切而悲哀的眼光看人。至于最长大的和品格最高的，却是卡隆。

义侠的行为 二十六日

卡隆的为人，我看了今日的事情就明白了。今日我因为二年级时候的女先生来问我何时在家，到校稍迟，入了教室，先生还未来。一看，有三四个小孩聚在一处正在戏弄着那赤发的一手有残疾的卖野菜人家的孩子克洛西。有的用三角板打他，有的把栗子壳向他的头上投掷，说他是“残废者”，是“鬼怪”，还将手挂在项颈上来装他的样子给他看。克洛西一个人坐在位子里苍白了脸。用了好像要说：“饶了我吧！”似的眼光，看着他们。他们见克洛西这样，越加得了风头，越加戏弄他。克洛西终于怒了，涨红了脸，身子颤抖着。这时那个脸孔很讨厌的勿兰谛，忽然跳上椅子，装出克洛西的母亲挑菜担的样子来了。克洛西的母亲，因为接克洛西回去，平日时常到学校里来的，现在听说正病在床上，许多学生都曾知道克洛西的母亲的，看了勿兰谛所装的样子，大家笑了起来。克洛西大怒，突然将摆在那里的墨水瓶对准了勿兰谛掷去。勿兰谛很敏捷地避过，墨水瓶恰巧打着了从门外进来的先生的胸部上。

大家都逃到座位里，怕得不做一声，先生变了脸色，走到教桌的旁边，用了严厉的声音问：“谁？”一个人都没有回答。先生又提高了声音说：“谁？”

这时，卡隆好像可怜了克洛西，忽然起立，用了很决心的态度说：“是我！”先生眼盯着卡隆，又转看正呆着的学生们，静静地说：“不是你。”

过了一会儿，又说：“决不加罚，投掷者起立！”

克洛西起立了，哭着说：“他们打我，欺侮我，我气昏了，不知不觉就把墨水瓶投过去了。”

“好的！那么，欺侮他的人起立！”先生说了，四个学生起立了，把头俯着。

“你们欺侮了无辜的人了！你们欺侮了不幸的小孩，欺侮弱者了！你们做了最无谓、最可耻的事了！卑怯的东西！”

先生说着，走到卡隆的旁边，将手摆在他的腮下，托起他俯下着的头来，注视着他的眼说：“你的精神是高尚的！”

卡隆附拢了先生的耳，不知说些什么，先生突然向着四个犯罪者说：“我饶恕你们。”

我的女先生 二十七日

我二年级时候的女先生，准了约期，今日到家里来访我了。先生不到我家已一年，我们很高兴地招待她。先生的帽子旁仍旧罩着绿色的面纱，衣服极朴素，头发也不修饰，她原是没有工夫来打扮这些的。她比去年似乎脸上的红彩薄了好些，头发也白了些，时时咳嗽着。母亲问她：

“那么，你的健康怎样？先生！你如果不再顾着你的身体……”

“一点都没有什么。”先生回答说，带着又喜悦又像忧愁的笑容。

“先生太高声讲话了，为了小孩们太操劳自己的身体了。”母亲又说。

真的，先生的声音，听不清楚的时候是没有的。我还记得：先生讲话，总是连续着一息不停，弄得我们学生连看旁边的工夫都没有了。先生不会忘记自己所教过的学生，无论在几年以前，只要是她教过的总还记得起姓名。听说，每逢月考，她都要到校长先生那里，去询问他们的成绩的。有时又站在学校门口，等学生来了就叫他拿出作文簿给她看，调查他进步得怎样了。已经入了中学校的学生，也常常着了长裤子，带了挂表，去访问先生。今天，先生是领了本级的学生去看绘画展览会，回去的时候，转到我们这里来的。我们在先生那班的时候，每逢星期二，先生常领我们到博物馆去，说明种种的东西给我们听。先生比那时已衰弱了许多了，可是仍非常起劲，遇到学校的事情，就很快活地讲话。两年前，我大病了在床上卧着，先生曾来望过我，先生今日还说要看看我那时所睡的床，这床其实已归我的姐姐睡了的。先生看了一会儿，也没有说什么。先生因为还要去望一个学生的病，不能久留。听说是个马鞍匠的儿子，发着麻疹卧在家里呢。她又夹着今晚非批改不可的课本，据说，晚饭以前，某商店的女主人还要到她那里来学习算术的。

“啊！安利柯！”先生临走的时候，向着我说，“你到了能解难题、作长文章的时候，仍肯爱你以前的女先生吗？”说着，吻我。等到出了门，还在阶沿下再扬了声说：“请你不要忘了我！安利柯啊！”

啊！亲爱的先生！我怎能忘记你呢？我虽成了大人，也一定还记得先生，到校里来拜望你。无论到了何处，只要一听到女教师的声音，就要如同听见你先生的声音一样，想起先生教我的二年间的事情来。啊啊！那两年里面，我由于先生的教导学会了多少的事！那时先生虽有病，身体不健，可是无论何时，都热心地爱护我们，教导我们的。我们书法上有了恶癖，她就很担心。考试委员质问我们的时候，她担心得几乎坐立不安。我们写得清楚的时候，她就真心欢喜。她一向像母亲那样地爱我。这样的好先生，叫我怎样能忘记啊！

贫民窟 二十八日

昨日午后，我和母亲、雪尔维姐姐三人，送布给新闻上所记载的穷妇人。我拿了布，姐姐拿了写着那妇人住址姓名的条子。我们到了一处很高的住宅的屋顶小阁里，那里有长的走廊，沿廊有许多室，母亲到最末了的一室敲了门。门开了，走出一个年纪还轻，白色而瘦小的妇人来。是一向时常看见的妇人，头上常常包着青布。

“你就是新闻上所说的那位吗？”母亲问。

“呃，是的。”

“那么，有点布在这里，请你收了。”

那妇人非常欢喜，好像说不出答谢的话来。这时我瞥见有一个小孩，在那没有家具的暗腾腾的小室里，背向了外，靠着椅子好像在写字。仔细一看，确是在那里写字，椅子上摊着纸，墨水瓶摆在地板上。我想，这样黑暗的屋子里，如何能写字呢。忽然看见那小孩长着赤发，穿着破的上衣，才恍然悟到：原来这就是那卖菜人家的儿子克洛西，就是那一只手有残疾的克洛西。乘他母亲正收拾东西的时候，我轻轻地将这告诉了母亲。

“不要做声！”母亲说，“如果他觉得自己的母亲，受朋友的布施，多么难为情呢。不要做声！”

可是，恰巧这时克洛西回过头来了。我不知要怎样才好，克洛西对着我微笑。母亲背地里向我背后一推，我就进去抱住克洛西，克洛西立起来握我的手。

克洛西的母亲对我母亲说：

“我只是娘儿两个。丈夫这七年来一直在亚美利加，我又生了病。不能再挑了菜去卖，什么桌子等类的东西都已卖尽，弄得这孩子读书都为难，要点盏小小的灯也不能够，眼睛也要有病了。幸而教科书、笔记簿有市公所送给，总算勉强地进了学校。可怜！他到学校去是很欢喜的，但是……像我这样的不幸的人，是再没有的了！”

母亲把钱包中所有的钱都拿出来给了她，吻了克洛西，出来几乎哭了。于是对我说：

“安利柯啊！你看那个可爱的孩子！他不是很刻苦地用着功吗？像你，是什么都自由的，还说用功苦呢！啊！真的！那孩子一日的勤勉，比你一年的勤勉，价值不知要大多少呢！像那小孩，总是应该受一等奖的哩！”

学校 二十八日

爱儿安利柯啊！你用功怕难起来了，像你母亲所说的样子。我还未曾看到你有高高兴兴勇敢地到学校里去的样子过。但是我告诉你：如果你不到学校里去，你每日要怎样地乏味，怎样地疲倦啊！只要这样过了一星期，你必定要合了手来恳求把你再送入学校里去吧！因为游戏虽好，每日游戏就要厌倦的。

现在的世界上，无论何人，没有一个不学习的。你想！职工们劳动了一日，夜里不是还要到学校里去吗？街上店里的妇人们、姑娘们劳动了一星期，星期日不是还要到学校里去吗？兵士们在白天做了一天的勤务，回到营里不是还要读书吗？就是瞎子和哑子，也在那里学习种种的事情。监狱里的囚犯，不是也同样地在那里学习读书写字等的功课吗？

每天早晨上学去的时候，你要这样想想：此刻，这个市内，有和我同样的三万个小孩都正在上学去。又，同在这时候，世界各国有几千万的小孩也正在上学去。有的正三五成群地经过着清静的田野；有的正行走在热闹的街道；也有的沿了河或湖在那里走着的吧。在猛烈的太阳下走着的也有，在寒雾蓬勃的河上驶着短艇的也有吧。从雪上乘了橇走的，渡溪的，爬山的，穿过了森林，渡过了急流，踯躅行着冷静的山路的，骑了马在莽莽的原野跑着的也有吧。也有一个人走着的，也有两个人并肩走的，也有成了群排了队走着的。穿着各种的服装，说着各样的语言，从被冰锁住的俄罗斯以至椰子树深深的阿拉伯，不是有几千万数都数不清楚的小孩，都夹了书，学着同样的事情，同样地在学校里上学吗？你想想这无数小孩所组成的团体？又想想这大团体怎样在那里做大运动！你再试想：如果这运动一终止，人类就会退回到野蛮的状态了吧。这运动才是世界的进步，才是希望，才是光荣。要奋发啊！你就是这大军队的兵士，你的书本是武器，你的一级是一分队，全世界是战场，胜利就是人类的文明，安利柯啊！不要做卑怯的兵士啊！

——父亲

少年爱国者（每月例话） 二十九日

做卑怯的兵士吗？决不做！可是，先生如果每日把像今日那种有趣的话讲给我们听，我还要更加欢喜这学校呢。先生说，以后每月要讲一次像今天这样的高尚的少年故事给我们听，并且叫我们笔记下来。下面就是今天所讲的《少年爱国者》的故事：

一只法兰西轮船从西班牙的巴塞罗那开到意大利的热那亚来。船里乘客有法兰西人、意大利人、西班牙人，还有瑞士人。其中有个十一岁的少年，服装褴褛，远离了人们，只像野兽似的用白眼把人家看着。他所以用这种眼色看人，也不是无因。原来他是于两年前被他在乡间种田的父母，卖给戏法班了的，戏法班里的人打他，骂他，叫他受饿，强迫他学会把戏，带了他到法兰西、西班牙一带跑，一味虐待，连食物都不十分供给他。这戏法班到了巴塞罗那的时候，他因为受不住虐待与饥饿，终于逃出，到意大利领事馆去请求保护。领事很可怜他，叫他乘入这只船里，并且给他一封到热那亚的出纳官那里去的介绍信，意思是要送他回到残忍的父母那里去。少年遍体受伤，非常衰弱，因为是住着二等舱的，人们都以为奇怪，大家对着他看。有人和他讲话，他也不回答，好像是把一切的人都憎恶了的。他的心已变歪到这地步了。

有三个乘客种种地探问他，他才开了口。他用了在意大利语中夹杂法兰西语和西班牙语的乱杂的言语，大略地把自己的经历讲了。这三个乘客虽不是意大利人，却也听懂了他的话，于是就一半因为怜悯，一半因为吃酒以后的高兴，给他少许的金钱，一面仍继续着和他谈话。这时有大批的妇人，也正从舱室走出，来到这里，她们听了少年的话，也就故意要人看见似的拿出若干的钱来掷在桌上，说：“这给了你！这也拿了去！”

少年低声答谢了，把钱收入袋里，苦郁的脸上到这时才现出喜欢的笑容。他回到自己的床位里，拉拢了床幕，卧了静静地自己沉思：有了这些钱，可以在船里买点好吃的东西，饱一饱两年来饥饿的肚子；到了热那亚，可以买件上衣换上，又拿了钱回家，比空手回去也总可以多少好见于父母，多少可以得着像人的待遇。在他，这金钱竟是一注财产。他在床上正沉思得高兴，这时那三个旅客围坐在二等舱的食桌边，在那里谈论着。他们一面饮酒，一面谈着旅行中所经过的地方的情形。谈到意大利的时候，一个说意大利的旅馆不好，一个攻击火车。酒渐渐喝多了，他们的谈论也就渐渐地露骨了。一个说，与其到意大利，还是到北极去好，意大利住着的都是骗子、土匪。后来又说意大利的官吏是不识字的。

“愚笨的国民！”一个说。

“下等的国民！”另一个说。

“强盗……”

还有一个正在说出“强盗”的时候，忽然银币、铜币像雹子一般落到他们的头上和肩上，同时在桌上地板上滚着，发出可怕的声音来。三个旅客愤怒了举头看时，一把铜币又被飞掷到脸上来了。

“拿回去！”少年从床幕里探出头来怒叫，“我不要那说我国坏话的人的东西。”

烟囱扫除人 十一月一日

昨天午后，到近地一个女子小学校里去。因为雪尔维姐姐的先生说要看《少年爱国者》的故事，所以就拿了去给她看。那学校有七百人光景的女孩，我去的时候正是放课，学生们因为从明天起接连有“万圣节”、“万灵节”两个节日，正在欢喜高兴地回去。我在那里看见一件很美的事：在学校那一边的街路角里，立着一个脸孔墨黑的烟囱扫除人。他还是个小孩，一手靠着了壁，一手托着头，在那里啜泣。有两三个三年级女学生走近去问他：“怎么了？为什么这样哭？”但是他总不回答，仍旧哭着。

“来！快告诉我们，怎么了？为什么哭的？”女孩子再问他，他才渐渐地抬起头来。那是一个像小孩似的脸孔，哭着告诉她们，说扫除了好几处烟囱，得着三十个铜币，不知在什么时候从口袋的破洞里漏出去了。说着又指破洞给她们看。他说，如果没有这钱是不能回去的。

“师父要打的！”他这样说着仍旧哭了起来。又把头俯伏在臂上，像是很为难的样子。女学生们围住了看着他，正在代他可怜，这时其余的女学生也夹了书包来了。有一个帽子上插着青羽的大女孩从袋里拿出两个铜币来说：

“我只有两个，再凑凑就好了。” “我也有两个在这里。”一个着红衣的接着说。“大家凑起来，三十个左右是一定有的。”又叫其余的同学们：“亚马里亚！璐迦！亚尼那！一个铜币，你们哪个有钱吗？请拿出来！”

果然，有许多人是为买花或笔记本都带着钱的，大家都拿出来了。小女孩也有拿出一个半分的小铜币的。插青羽的女孩将钱集拢了大声地数：

八个，十个，十五个，但是还不够。这时，恰巧来了一个像先生样的大女孩，拿出一个当十银币来，大家都高兴了。还不够五个。

“五年级的来了！她们一定有的。”一个说。五年级的女孩一到，铜币立刻集起许多了。大家还都急急地向这里跑来。一个可怜的烟囱扫除人，被围住了立在美丽的衣服、随风摇动的帽羽、发丝带、卷毛之中，那样子真是好看。三十个铜币不但早已集齐，而且还多出了许多了。没有带钱的小女孩，挤入大女孩的群中将花束赠给少年作代替。这时，忽然校役出来，说：“校长先生来了！”那女学生们就麻雀般的四方走散，烟囱扫除人独自立在街路中，欢喜地拭着眼泪，手里装满了钱，上衣的纽孔里、衣袋里、帽子里都装满了花，还有许多花在他的脚边散布着。

万灵节 二日

安利柯啊！你晓得万灵节是什么日子吗？这是祭从前死去的人的日子。小孩在这天，应该纪念已死的人，——特别应纪念为小孩而死的人。从前死过的人有多少？即如今天，又有多少人正在将死？你曾把这想到过吗？不知道有多少做父亲的在劳苦之中失去了生命呢！不知道有多少做母亲的为了养育小孩，辛苦伤身，非命地早入坟墓呢！因不忍见自己的小孩陷于不幸，绝望了自杀的男子，不知有多少！因失去了自己的小孩，投水悲痛，发狂而死的女人，不知道有多少！安利柯啊！你今天应该想想这许多死去的人啊！你要想想：有许多先生因为太爱学生，在学校里劳作过度，年纪未老，就别了学生们而死的！你要想想：有许多医生为了要医治小孩们的病，自己传染了病菌牺牲而死的！你要想想：在难船、饥馑、火灾及其他非常危险的时候，有许多人是将最后的一口面包，最后的安全场所，最后从火灾中逃身的绳梯，让给了幼稚的小灵魂，自己却满足于牺牲而从容瞑目了的！

啊！安利柯啊！像这样死去的人，差不多数也数不尽。无论哪里的墓地，都眠着成千成百的这样神圣的灵魂。如果这许多的人能够暂时在这世界中复活，他们必定要呼唤那自己将壮年的快乐、老年的平和、爱情、才能、生命贡献过的小孩们的名字的。二十岁的妻，壮年的男子，八十岁的老人，青年的，——为幼者而殉身的这许多无名的英雄——这许多高尚伟大的人们墓前所应该撒的花，靠这地球，是无论如何不够长的。你们小孩们是这样地被爱着的，所以，安利柯啊！在万灵节一日，要用了感谢报恩的心，去纪念这许多亡人。这样，你对于爱你的人们，对于为你劳苦的人们，自会更亲和、更有情了吧。你真是幸福的人啊！你在万灵节，还未曾有想起来要哭的人呢。

——母亲

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. Monday, 17th.

To-day is the first day of school. These three months of vacation in the country have passed like a dream. This morning my mother conducted me to the Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third elementary course: I was thinking of the country and went unwillingly. All the streets were swarming with boys: the two book-shops were thronged with fathers and mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, and copy-books, and in front of the school so many people had collected, that the beadle and the policeman found it difficult to keep the entrance disencumbered. Near the door, I felt myself touched on the shoulder: it was my master of the second class, cheerful, as usual, and with 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 in with difficulty. Ladies, gentlemen, women of the people, workmen, officials, nuns, servants, all leading boys with one hand, and holding the promotion books in the other, filled the anteroom and the stairs, making such a buzzing, that it seemed as though one were entering a theatre. I beheld again with pleasure that large room on the ground floor, with the doors leading to the seven classes, where I had passed nearly every day for three years. There was a throng;the teachers were going and coming. My schoolmistress of the first upper class greeted me from the door of the class-room, and said:—

“Enrico, you are going to the floor above this year. I shall never see you pass by any more!” and she gazed sadly at me. The director was surrounded by women in distress because there was no room for their sons, and it struck me that his beard was a little whiter than it had been last year. I found the boys had grown taller and stouter. On the ground floor, where the divisions had already been made, there were little children of the first and lowest section, who did not want to enter the class-rooms, and who resisted like donkeys: it was necessary to 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 to go back and comfort and reprimand them, and the teachers were in despair.

My little brother was placed in the class of Mistress Delcati: I was put with Master Perboni, up stairs on the first floor. At ten o'clock we were all in our classes: fifty-four of us; only fifteen or sixteen of my companions of the second class, among them, Derossi, the one who always gets the first prize. The school seemed to me so small and gloomy when I thought of the woods and the mountains where I had passed the summer! I thought 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 one of us, and I grieved that I should no longer see him there, with his tumbled red hair. Our teacher is tall; he has no beard; his hair is gray and long; and he has a perpendicular wrinkle on his forehead: he has a big voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one after the other, as though he were reading our inmost thoughts; and he never smiles. I said to myself: “This is my first day. There are nine months more. What toil, what monthly examinations, what fatigue!” I really needed to see my mother when 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 school does 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 coming in, and when he was already seated at his post, some one of his scholars of 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!” Some entered, touched his hand, and ran away. It was evident that they liked him, and would have liked to return to him. He responded, “Good morning,” and shook the hands which were extended to him, but he looked at no one; at every greeting his smile remained serious, with that perpendicular wrinkle on his brow, with his face turned towards the window, and staring at the roof of the house opposite; and instead of being cheered by these greetings, he seemed to suffer from them. Then he surveyed us attentively, one after the other. While he was dictating, he descended and walked among the benches, and, catching sight of a boy whose face was all red with little pimples, he stopped dictating, took the lad's face between his hands and examined it; then he asked him what was the matter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead, to feel if it was hot. Meanwhile, a boy behind him got up on the bench, and began to play the marionette. The teacher turned round suddenly; the boy resumed his seat at one dash, and remained there, with head hanging, in expectation of being punished. The master placed one hand on his head and said to him:—

“Don't do so again.” Nothing more.

Then he returned to his table and finished the dictation. When he had finished 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 it well. Study and be good. I have no family; you are my family. Last year I had still a mother: she is dead. I am left alone. I have no one but you in all the world; I have no other affection, no other thought than you: you must be my sons. I wish you well, and you must like me too. I do not wish to be obliged to punish any one. Show me that you are boys of heart: our school shall be a family, and you shall be my consolation and my pride. I do not ask you to give me a promise on your word of honor; 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. We all left our seats very, very quietly. The boy who had stood up on the bench 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 I was repeating to my father these words of our teacher, when we perceived that the street was full of people, who were pressing close to the door of the schoolhouse. Suddenly my father said:“An accident! The year is beginning badly! ”

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

Over their heads, at the end of the room, we could see the helmet of a policeman, and the bald head of the director; then a gentleman with a tall hat entered, and all said, “That is the doctor.” My father inquired of a master, “What has happened? ”—“A wheel has passed over his foot,” replied the latter. “His foot has been crushed,” said another. He was a boy belonging to the second class, who, on his way to school through the Via Dora Grossa, seeing a little child of the lowest class, who had run away from its mother, fall down in the middle of the street, a few paces from an omnibus which was bearing down upon it, had hastened boldly forward, caught up the child, and placed it in safety; but, as he had not withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel of the omnibus had passed over it. He is the son of a captain of artillery. While we were being told this, a woman entered the big hall, like a lunatic, and forced her way through the crowd: she was Robetti's mother, who had been sent for. Another woman hastened towards her, and flung her arms about her 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 my Giulio! My child! ”

At that moment a carriage stopped before the door, and a little later the director made his appearance, with the boy in his arms; the latter leaned his head on his shoulder, with pallid face and closed eyes. Every one stood very still; the sobs of the mother were audible. The director paused 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, poor child!” and they threw kisses to him; the mistresses and boys who were near him kissed his hands and his arms. He opened his eyes and said,“My portfolio!” The mother of the little boy whom he had saved showed it to him and said, amid her tears, “I will carry it for you, my dear little angel; I will carry it for you.” And in the meantime, the mother of the wounded boy smiled, as she covered her face with her hands. They went out, placed the lad comfortably in the carriage, and the carriage drove away. Then we all entered school in silence.

THE CALABRIAN BOY. Saturday, 22d.

Yesterday afternoon, while the master was telling us the news of poor Robetti, who will have to go on crutches, the director entered with a new 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 in dark clothes, with a black morocco belt round his waist. The director went away, after speaking a few words in the master's ear, leaving beside the latter the boy, who glanced about with his big black eyes as though frightened. The master took him by the hand, and said to the class: “You ought to be glad. To-day there enters our school a little Italian born in Reggio, in Calabria, more than five hundred miles from here. Love your brother who has come from so far away. He was born in a glorious land, which has given illustrious men to Italy, and which now furnishes her with stout laborers and brave soldiers;in one of the most beautiful lands of our country, where there are great forests, and great mountains, inhabited by people full of talent and courage. Treat him well, so that he shall not perceive that he is far away from the city in which he was born; make him see that an Italian boy, in whatever Italian school he sets his foot, will find brothers there.” So saying, he rose and pointed out on the wall map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, in Calabria. Then he called loudly:—

“Ernesto Derossi! ”—the boy who always has the first prize. Derossi rose.

“Come here,” said the master. Derossi left his bench and stepped up to the little table, facing the Calabrian.

“As the head boy in the school,” said the master to him, “bestow the embrace of welcome on this new companion, in the name of the whole class—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 their hands. “Silence!” cried the master; “don't clap your hands in school!” But it was evident that he was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleased also. 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 case might occur, that a Calabrian boy should be as though in his own house at Turin, and that a boy from Turin should be at home in Calabria, our country fought for fifty years, and thirty thousand Italians died. You must all respect and love each other; but any one of you who should give offence to this comrade, because he was not born in our province, would render himself unworthy of ever again raising his eyes from the earth when he passes the tricolored flag.”

Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, when his neighbors presented him with pens and a print; and another boy, from the last bench, sent him a Swiss postage-stamp.

MY COMRADES. Tuesday, 25th.

The boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Calabrian is the one who pleases me best of all. His name is Garrone: he is the biggest boy in the class: he is about fourteen years old; his head is large, his shoulders broad; he is good, as one can see when he smiles; but it seems as though he always thought like a man. I already know many of my comrades. Another one pleases me, too, by the name of Coretti, and he wears 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 of 1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, and they say that he has three medals. There is little Nelli, a poor hunchback, a weak boy, with a thin face. There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fine Florentine plush, and is named Votini. On the bench in front of me there is 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; he possesses a special talent: he knows how to make a hare's face, and they all get him to make a hare's face, and then they laugh. He wears a little ragged cap, which he carries rolled up in his pocket like a handkerchief. Beside the little mason there sits Garoffi, a long, thin, silly fellow, with a nose and beak of a screech owl, and very small eyes, who is always trafficking in little pens and images and match-boxes, and who writes the lesson on his nails, in order that he may 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 sympathetic to me, —the son of a blacksmith-ironmonger, clad in a jacket which reaches to his knees, who is pale, as though from illness, who always has a frightened air, and who never laughs;and one with red hair, who has a useless arm, and wears it suspended from his neck; his father has gone away to America, and his mother goes about peddling pot-herbs. And there is another curious type, —my neighbor on the left, —Stardi—small and thickset, with no neck, —a gruff fellow, who speaks to no one, and seems not to understand much, but stands attending to the master without winking, his brow corrugated with wrinkles, and his teeth clenched; and if he is questioned when the master is speaking, he makes no reply the first and second times, and the third time he gives a kick: and beside him there is a bold, cunning face, belonging to a boy named Franti, who has already been expelled from another district. There are, in addition, two brothers who are dressed exactly alike, who resemble each other to a hair, and both of whom wear caps of Calabrian cut, with a peasant's plume. 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 like Precossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger, the one with the long jacket, who seems sickly. They say that his father beats him; he is very timid, 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 is the biggest and the nicest.

A GENEROUS DEED. Wednesday, 26th.

It was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like. When I entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upper first 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 tormenting poor Crossi, the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whose mother sells vegetables. They were poking him with rulers, hitting him in the face with chestnut shells, and were making him out to be a cripple and a monster, by mimicking him, with his arm hanging from his neck. And he, alone on the end of the bench, and quite pale, began to be affected by it, gazing now at one and now at another with beseeching eyes, that they might leave him in peace. But the others mocked him worse 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 a bench, and pretending that he was carrying a basket on each arm, he aped the mother of Crossi, when she used to come to wait for her son at the door; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi lost his head, and seizing an inkstand, he hurled it at the other's head with all 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 constrained voice:—

“Who did it? ”

No one replied.

The master cried out once more, raising his voice still louder, “Who is it? ”

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 in a 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 no provocation;you have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have struck a weak person who could not defend himself. You have committed one of the basest, the most shameful acts with which a human creature can stain himself. Cowards! ”

Having said this, he came down among the benches, put his hand under Garrone's chin, as the latter stood with drooping head, and having made him raise it, he looked him straight in the eye, and said to him, “You are 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-day just as I was on the point of going out with my mother to carry some linen to a poor woman recommended by the Gazette. It was a year since I had seen her in our house. We all made a great deal of her. She is just the same as ever, a little thing, with a green veil wound about her bonnet, carelessly dressed, and with untidy hair, because she has not time 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 of yourself! ”

“It does not matter,” the other replied, with her smile, at once cheerful and melancholy.

“You speak too loud,” my mother added; “you exert yourself too much with your boys.”

That is true; her voice is always to be heard; I remember how it was when I went to school to her; she talked and talked all the time, so that the boys might not divert their attention, and she did not remain seated a moment. I felt quite sure that she would come, because she never forgets her pupils; she remembers their names for years; on the days of the monthly examination, she runs to ask the director what marks they have won; she waits for them at the entrance, and makes them show her their compositions, in order that she may see what progress they have made; and many still come from the gymnasium to see her, who already wear long trousers and a watch. To-day she had come back in a great state of excitement, from the picture-gallery, whither she had taken her boys, just as she had conducted them all to a museum every Thursday in years gone by, and explained everything to them. The poor mistress has grown still thinner than of old. But she is always brisk, and always becomes animated when she speaks of her school. She wanted to have a peep at the bed on which she had seen me lying very ill two years ago, and which is now occupied by my brother; she gazed at it for a while, and could not speak. She was obliged to go away soon to visit a boy belonging to her class, the son of a saddler, who is ill with the measles; and she had besides a package of sheets to correct, a whole evening's work, and shehas still a private lesson in arithmetic to give to the mistress of a shop before nightfall.

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

IN AN ATTIC. Friday, 28th.

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

“Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so?” asked my mother.

“Yes, signora, I am.”

“Well, we have brought you a little linen.” Then the woman began to thank us and bless us, and could not make enough of it. Meanwhile I espied in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling in front of a 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 inkstand on the floor. How did he manage to write thus in the dark? While I was saying this to myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarse jacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable-pedler, the boy with the useless arm. I told my mother softly, while the woman was putting away the things.

“Hush!” replied my mother; “perhaps he will feel ashamed to see you giving 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 and embrace 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, “alone with this boy, my husband in America these seven years, and I sick in addition, so that I can no longer make my rounds with my vegetables, and earn a few cents. We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino to do his work on. When there was a bench down at the door, he could, at least, write on the bench; but that has been taken away. He has not even a little light so that he can study without ruining his eyes. And it is a mercy that I can send him to school, since the city provides him with books 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, and almost wept as we went out. And she had good cause to say to me: “Look at that poor boy; see how he is forced to work, when you have every comfort, and yet study seems hard to you! Ah! Enrico, there is more merit in the work which he does in one day, than in your work for a year. 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 more willing 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 shall tell you one; I shall give it to you in writing, and it will always be the tale of a fine and noble deed performed by a boy. This one is called The Little Patriot of Padua. Here it is. A French steamer set out from Barcelona, a city in Spain, for Genoa;there were on board Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. Among the rest was a lad of eleven, poorly clad, and alone, who always held himself aloof, like a wild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. He had good reasons for looking at every one with forbidding eyes. Two years previous to this time his parents, peasants in the neighborhood of Padua, had sold him to a company of mountebanks, who, after they had taught him how to perform tricks, by dint of blows and kicks and starving, had carried him all over France and Spain, beating him continually and never giving him enough to eat. On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer able to endure ill treatment and hunger, and being reduced to a pitiable condition, he had fled from his slave-master and had betaken himself for protection to the Italian consul, who, moved with compassion, had placed him on board of this steamer, and had given him a letter to the treasurer of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to his parents—to the parents who had sold him like a beast. The poor lad was lacerated and weak. He had been assigned to the second-class cabin. Every one stared at him; some questioned him, but he made no reply, and seemed to hate and despise every one, to such an extent had privation and affliction saddened and irritated him. Nevertheless, three travellers, by dint of persisting in their questions, succeeded in making him unloose his tongue; and in a few rough words, a mixture of Venetian, French, and Spanish, he related his story. These three travellers were not Italians, but they understood him; and partly out of compassion, partly because they were excited with wine, they gave him soldi, jesting with him and urging him on to tell them other things; and as several ladies entered the saloon at the moment, they gave him some more money for the purpose of making a show, and cried: ‘Take this! Take this, too! ' as they made the money rattle on the table.

“The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low voice, with his surly mien, but with a look that was for the first time smiling and affectionate. Then he climbed into his berth,drew the curtain, and lay quiet, thinking over his affairs. With this money he would be able to purchase some good food on board, after having suffered for lack of bread for two years;he could buy a jacket as soon as he landed in Genoa, after having gone about clad in rags for two years; and he could also, by carrying it home, insure for himself from his father and mother a more humane reception than would have fallen to his lot if he had arrived with empty pockets. This money was a little fortune for him; and he was taking comfort out of this thought behind the curtain of his berth, while the three travellers chatted away, as they sat round the dining-table in the second-class saloon. They were drinking and discussing their travels and the countries which they had seen; and from one topic to another they began to discuss Italy. One of them began to complain of the inns, another of the railways, and then, growing warmer, they all began to speak evil of everything. One would have preferred a trip in Lapland; another declared that he had found nothing but swindlers and brigands in Italy; the third said that Italian officials do not know how to read.

“‘It's an ignorant nation, ' repeated the first. ‘A filthy nation, ' added the second. ‘Ro—' exclaimed the third, meaning to say ‘robbers'; but he was not allowed to finish the word: a tempest of soldi and half-lire descended upon their heads and shoulders, and leaped upon the table and the floor with a demoniacal noise. All three sprang up in a rage, looked up, and received another handful of coppers in their faces.

“‘Take back your soldi! ' said the lad, disdainfully, thrusting his head between the curtains of his berth; ‘I do not accept alms from those who insult my country.'”

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. November 1st.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the girls' school building, near ours, to give the story of the boy from Padua to Silvia's teacher, who wished to read it. There are seven hundred girls there. Just as I arrived, they began to come out, all greatly rejoiced at the holiday of All Saints and All Souls; and here is a beautiful thing that I saw: Opposite the door of the school, on the other side of the street, stood a very small chimney-sweep, his face entirely black, with his sack and scraper, with one arm resting against the wall, and his head supported on his arm, weeping copiously and sobbing. Two or three of the girls of the second grade approached him and said, “What is the matter, that you weep like this?” But he made no reply, and went on crying.

“Come, tell us what is the matter with you and why you are crying,” the girls repeated. And then he raised his face from his arm, —a baby face, —and said through his tears that he had been to several houses to sweep the chimneys, and had earned thirty soldi, and that he had lost them, that they had slipped through a hole in his pocket, —and he showed the hole, —and he did not dare to return home without the money.

“The master will beat me,” he said, sobbing; and again dropped his head upon his arm, like one in despair. The children stood and stared at him very seriously. In the meantime, other girls, large and small, poor girls and girls of the upper classes, with their portfolios under their arms, had come up; and one large girl, who had a blue feather in her hat, 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 shall certainly find thirty soldi among the whole of us”; and then they began to call out:—

“Amalia! Luigia! Annina! —A soldo. Who has any soldi? Bring your soldi here! ”

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 feather collected all, and counted them in a loud voice:—

“Eight, ten, fifteen!” But more was needed. Then one larger than any of them, who seemed to be an assistant mistress, made her appearance, and gave half a lira; and all made much of her. Five soldi were still lacking.

“The girls of the fourth class are coming; they will have it,” said one girl. The members of the fourth class came, and the soldi showered down. All hurried forward eagerly; and it was beautiful to see that poor chimney-sweep in the midst of all those many-colored dresses, of all that whirl of feathers, ribbons, and curls. The thirty soldi were already obtained, and more kept pouring in; and the very smallest who had no money made their way among the big girls, and offered their bunches of flowers, for the sake of giving something. All at once the portress 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, his pockets, his hat, were full of flowers; and there were even flowers on the 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.