ednesday, 25th.

The boy who wrote the best composition of all on our country was Derossi, as usual. And Votini, who thought himself sure of the first medal—I like Votini well enough, although he is rather vain and does polish himself up a trifle too much,—but it makes me scorn him, now that I am his neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is of Derossi. He would like to vie with him; he studies hard, but he cannot do it by any possibility, for the other is ten times as strong as he is on 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 does not allow it to be perceived. Votini, on the other hand, betrays himself: he complains of his difficulties at home, and says that the master is unjust to him; and when Derossi replies so promptly and so well to questions, as he always does, his face clouds over, he hangs his head, pretends not to hear, or tries to laugh, but he laughs awkwardly. And thus everyone knows about it, so that when the master praises Derossi they all turn to look at Votini, who chews his venom, and the little mason makes a hare’s face at him. To-day, for instance, he was put to the torture. The head-master entered the school and announced the result of the examination,—“Derossi ten tenths and the first medal.”

Votini gave a huge sneeze. The master looked at him: it was not hard to understand the matter. “Votini,” he said, “do not let the serpent of envy enter your body; it is a serpent which gnaws at the brain and corrupts the heart.”

Every one stared at him except Derossi. Votini tried to make some answer, but could not; he sat there as though turned to stone, and with a white face. Then, while the master was conducting the lesson, he began to write in large characters on a sheet of paper, “I am not envious of those who gain the first medal through favoritism and injustice.” It was a note which he meant to send to Derossi. But, in the meantime, I perceived that Derossi’s neighbors were plotting among themselves, and whispering in each other’s ears, and one cut with penknife from paper a big medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. But Votini did not notice this. The master went out for a few moments. All at once Derossi’s neighbors rose and left their seats, for the purpose of coming and solemnly presenting the paper medal to Votini. The whole class was prepared 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 carry it.”

Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. At that moment the master returned, and resumed the lesson. I kept my eye on Votini. He had turned as red as a coal. He took his sheet of paper very, very quietly, as though in absence of mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put it into his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out under the bench. When school broke up, Votini, who was a little confused, let fall his blotting-paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely picked it up, put it in his satchel, and helped him to buckle the straps. Votini dared not raise his eyes.