Tessa, Our Little Italian Cousin

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Our Little Italian Cousin

Little Cousin Series

Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents


By Mary Hazelton Wade

(unless otherwise indicated)

Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Arabian Cousin
By Blanche McManus
Our Little Armenian Cousin
By Constance F. Curlewis
Our Little Australian Cousin
Our Little Brazilian Cousin
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Brown Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin
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Our Little Chinese Cousin
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Our Little Egyptian Cousin
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Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Greek Cousin
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Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
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Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
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By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Swedish Cousin
By Claire M. Coburn
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Our Little Italian Cousin

Mary Hazelton Wade

Illustrated by
L. J. Bridgman


L. C. Page & Company

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Many people from other lands have crossed the ocean to make a new home for themselves in America. They love its freedom. They are happy here under its kindly rule. They suffer less from want and hunger than in the country of their birthplace.

Their children are blessed with the privilege of attending fine schools and with the right to learn about this wonderful world, side by side with the sons and daughters of our most successful and wisest people.

Among these newer-comers to America are the Italians, many of whom will never again see their own country, of which they are still so justly proud. They will tell you it is a land of wonderful beauty; that it has sunsets so glorious that both artists and poets try to picture them for us again and again; that its history is that of a strong and mighty people who once held rule over all the civilized world; that thousands of travellers visit its shores every year to look upon its paintings and its statues, for it may truly be called the art treasure-house of the world.

When you meet your little Italian cousins, with their big brown eyes and olive skins, whether it be in school or on the street, perhaps you will feel a little nearer and more friendly if you turn your attention for a while to their home, and the home of the brave and wise Columbus who left it that he might find for you in the far West your own loved country, your great, grand, free America.


III.The Story of Æneas38
V.Saint Peter’s64
VI.The Christening75
VII.The Twins86
VIII.The Carnival101
IX.The Buried City115

List of Illustrations

Beppo walked by her side19
In the Palace Garden33
In St. Peter’s64
Were soon in the midst of a merry crowd106
It was a strange place122

Our Little Italian Cousin



There comes babbo! There comes babbo!” cried Tessa, as she ran down the narrow street to meet her father, with baby Francesca toddling after her.

The man was not alone,—Beppo and the donkey were with him. They were very tired, for it was a hard trip from the little village on the hilltop to the great city, miles away, and back again. The donkey was not of much help on the homeward journey, either. Poor little patient beast! he was getting old now, and he felt that his day’s work was done when he had carried a load of nuts and vegetables to Rome in the morning. But when he had to bring Beppo back again, he felt a little bit sulky. So it was no wonder that he stood quite still every few minutes and did not seem to hear his little master scold.

“Get up, Pietro, get up. We shall be late to supper,” Beppo would say, but the donkey would not move till Beppo’s father used the whip. He did not strike hard enough to hurt the poor creature, though. Oh no, the kind man would not do that, he was too gentle. But he must make the donkey know the whip was there, or they would never get home.

When they had crossed the wide plain and reached the foot of the hill, Beppo got down and walked. It was too hard on Pietro to make him carry even a little boy now.

They came up the narrow road slowly till they reached the village. And just as the sunset spread over the sky, and gave a glory even to the stones, Tessa caught sight of them.

“My darling Tessa,” said her father. “My dear little Francesca.” Tired as he was, he took the two children in his arms and hugged them as though he had been away many days. Yet he had left them at five o’clock that very morning.

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