full of money, and the button-holes of his jacket, his pockets, his hat, full of flowers; and there were blossoms on the ground at his feet.
THE DAY OF THE DEAD
(All-Soul's Day)
This day is sacred to the memory 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, worn out 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 bravely sacrificed themselves to cure the children; think of all those who in shipwrecks, in fires, in famines, in moments of supreme danger, have yielded to infants the last morsel of bread, the last place of safety, the last rope of escape from the flames, to expire content with their
