The second begins with a description of morning. The sun shines through the glass of the casement mended with paper, yet the morning rays are bright and glorious. Little Abel glides into his father's room. He is told that he must go to the house of his preceptor to-day, for he must learn to read and write. Abel is "more pretty than strong;" he is to be an homme de lettres, as his little arms would fail him if he were to handle the rough stones of his father's trade. Father and son embraced each other.
For a few days all goes well, but on the fourth, a Sunday, a command comes from the master mason that if Hilaire does not return to his work to-morrow, his place shall be given to another. This news spreads dismay and consternation among them all. Hilaire declares that he is cured, tries to rise from his bed, but falls prostrate through weakness. It will take a week yet to re-establish his health.
The soul of little Abel is stirred. He dries his tears and assumes the air of a man; he feels some strength in his little arms. He goes out, and proceeds to the house of the master mason. When he returns, he is no longer sorrowful: "honey was in his mouth, and his eyes were smiling." He said, "My father, rest yourself: gain strength and courage; you have the whole week before you. Then you may labour. Some one who loves you will do your work, and you shall still keep your place." Thus ends the second part.
The third begins: "Behold our little Abel, who no longer toils at the school-desk, but in the workshop. In the evenings he becomes again a petit monsieur; and, the better to deceive his father, speaks of books, papers, and writings, and with a wink replies to the inquiring look of his mother (et d'un clin d'oeil repond aux clins des yeux de sa mere). Four days pass thus. On the fifth, Friday, Hilaire, now cured, leaves his house at mid-day. But fatal Friday, God has made thee for sorrow!"
The father goes to the place where the masons are at work. Though the hour for luncheon has not arrived, yet no one is seen on the platforms above; and O bon Dieu! what a crowd of people is seen at the foot of the building! Master, workmen, neighbours—all are there, in haste and tumult. A workman has fallen from the scaffold. It is poor little Abel. Hilaire pressed forward to see his beloved boy lie bleeding on the ground! Abel is dying, but before he expires, he whispers, "Master, I have not been able to finish the work, but for my poor mother's sake do not dismiss my father because there is one day short!" The boy died, and was carried home by his sorrowful parent. The place was preserved for Hilaire, and his wages were even doubled. But it was too late. One morning death closed his eyelids; and the good father went to take another place in the tomb by the side of his son.
Jasmin dedicated this poem to Lamartine, who answered his dedication as follows:—
"Paris, 28th April, 1849.
"My dear brother,—I am proud to read my name in the language which you have made classic; more proud still of the beautiful verses in which you embalm the recollection of our three months of struggle with the demagogues against our true republic. Poets entertain living presentiments of posterity. I accept your omen. Your poem has made us weep. You are the only epic writer of our time, the sensible and pathetic Homer of the people (proletaires).
"Others sing, but you feel. I have seen your son, who has three times sheltered me with his bayonet—in March and April. He appears to me worthy of your name.—LAMARTINE."
Besides the above poems, Jasmin composed Le Pretre sans Eglise (The Priest without a Church), which forms the subject of the next chapter. These poems, with other songs and impromptus, were published in 1851, forming the third volume of his Papillotos.