again sang the hymn to the dead in the Crimea, but this time with so much dash, with a strength of affection which came so directly from the heart, that the audience hardly applauded at all, but went away in deep emotion, slowly and quietly.
In a few moments the whole street was thronged. In front of the entrance to the theatre was the chimney-sweep, with his prize book bound in red, and all around were gentlemen talking to him. Many exchanged greetings from the opposite side of the street,—workmen, boys, policemen, teachers. My teacher of the second grade came out in the midst of the crowd, between two artillery-men. And there were workmen's wives with babies in their arms, who held in their tiny hands their father's diploma, and exhibited it to the crowd in their pride.
MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS
While we were at the Theatre Victor Emanuel, my poor schoolmistress died. She died at two o'clock, a week after she had come to see my mother. The principal came to the school yesterday morning to announce it to us; and he said:—
“Those of you who were her pupils know how good she was, how she loved her boys; she was a mother to them. Now, she is no more. For a long time a terrible malady has been sapping her life. If she had not been obliged to work to earn her bread, she could have taken care of herself, and perhaps recovered. At all events, she could have prolonged her life for several
