hardly cast a glance at the little gifts which we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher had brought a page from a book to read to him, in order to encourage him. He first informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to the town-hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy who has saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictate the description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Then turning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said to him:—
“Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as well as the rest.”
We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated.
“Giuseppe Mazzini was born in Genoa in 1805 and died in Pisa in 1872, a grand, patriotic soul, the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer and apostle of the Italian Revolution; who, out of love for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroically steadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there was noblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to a faithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes. These are almost his exact words:—
“ ‘My friend, you will never more behold your mother on this earth. That is the terrible truth. I do not attempt to see you, because yours is one of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer and conquer for himself. Do you understand what
