A CONFIDENTAL LETTER OF SENECA CLEOMIAS will deliver this safely into your hands; after which, I trust it will meet neither other hands nor eyes save your own. Rather would I, Piso, that you had not confided to me the present matter; your opinions and deterininations on the merits of the case in question, and your resolutions as to how to proceed upon it, seem already made up; and though you at tempt a form of consultation, to my apprehension you rather invite my approval of the course of action you have traced out for yourself, than request my judgment and advice upon that which you should follow. "If you feel strong enough, Esteban," said she as she stopped in the doorway, while the Spaniard arranged the folds of his mantle, "you might go to the merchant Ozorio, and beg of him to wait a few days longer, as our little fellow has not yet finished the number of pictures which he ordered for the seaman's venture. Indeed I do not know what Barthélemi has been about these six months, for he does almost nothing, not even his escutcheons. Don Manuel's escutcheon is not begun, that of the Marquis of Sylva is not finished, those of Donna Inesilla, and the three brothers Henriquez, are in exactly the same state as the first day he got them; and Ozorio's pictures are not a bit more advanced." "I shall be able to work in a few days, Theresina," replied Esteban; "my eyes are better, and then I will help him." bad company or bad habits!" "Does he always stay out for half the day?" "Alas! Esteban, for nearly the whole of it, this long time back." How absurd is this species of self-delusion in men; yet how general! How ably would every cause of trivial injury be pleaded, were the angry passions of the plaintiffs permitted to become their "That will not tell me how he spends his time," advocates! and what sophistry was ever yet so subtle replied Theresina; "he who was formerly so good a or so cunning as that with which the ambition of a workman, and used to be called the Little Escutcheon legal revenge would inspire the pleader? Your over- Painter, and had them finished almost as soon as weening and preposterous anger against your neigh-ordered-Woe is me, should my child have got into bour Strato, its long continuance, and, yet more, its studious concealment from him who has provoked it, almost make you (in my mind) to change places with the culprit, whose small offence seems lost in the larger injury by which, in the way of retribution, you are preparing to overwhelm him. When your neighbour Strato first trespassed upon your estates, and you became sensible of his encroachments, did you apprize him of his aggression? Did you not rather, by an assumed blindness, a pretended inertness, purposely encourage him to repeat the injury, to the increase of your own enmity and the amount of his intended punishment? Ought you not, instead of thus mimicking the sleeping lion, rather to have warned him of the danger he was incurring? What pleasure can a being endowed with the divine gift of reason receive from the indulgence of a mercenary revenge; the award of a fine of yellow dross, wrung from the hard earnings of a necessitous man, whose poverty, more probably than his principles, has been accessory to his offence? It is not in this way the gods deal with us: slow indeed to punish our crimes, they sometimes allow, for the chances of repentance and reparation, a long, a healthful, and a prosperous life; the salutary visitings of memory, of conscience, and of remorse, are frequent for our good, and even when we have reached the very threshold of eternity, the gracious opportunity of atonement is not withdrawn. Piso, rather would I that the Emperor's suspicions of a treasonable secret between us were verified, than be forced to receive the conviction, that a sin so sordid as malice inhabited the bosom of my friend. Accept, I beseech you, from my counsel, the means of bestowing the most perfect and efficient punishment on your enemy; forgive him, and thus at once inflict upon him the sting of remorse and the consciousness of your superiority. BARTHELEMI ESTEBAN MURILLO; Ir was sunrise, and the door of a small house, situated in a retired part of Seville, was gently opened, out of which issued a man still young, whose pale features showed that he was only just recovering from a severe illness; he was followed by a young woman. I "And do you know where he goes, wife?" "I dare not ask him, Esteban; I am afraid of causing him to tell a falsehood." "But why do you take it for granted he would tell a lie, Theresina?" "Perhaps he might only give me an evasive answer, and that would be want of respect to me, and I could not bear that he should do that, either." "But he will perhaps answer you truly and satisfactorily," said Esteban. The mother shook her head. "If he intended that I should know, he would not wait for me to ask him," said she. "However, perhaps I am wrong to suspect him, or to be uneasy at his silence, and his mysterious conduct," added she a moment after. "Are not all his earnings for us? For the six months you were ill, Esteban, was not Barthélemi the sole support of the house? Certainly it was not the produce of my needle merely that paid the physician or apothecary. And if I am uneasy, Esteban, I believe it is the very nature of a mother to be anxious; but to be sure he often returns home very late." "Seville is a quiet place, Theresina; and then the little fellow never has money enough about him to cause any fear of thieves. However, I will scold him, Theresina, I will not let him make you thus uneasy." "Oh! Spray do not scold him, Esteban; Barthélemi is the best gift of Heaven,-Barthélemi is an angel!" said the young mother, with a touching expression of maternal love. "Though God were to overwhelm us with the greatest misfortunes,-though he were to deprive us of health, and plunge us in poverty, yet if he be graciously pleased to leave us this dear child, I would not, I could not complain; there is not such another in the world." "That is the way with all mothers!" said the invalid, smiling. "Just now she was accusing him; I promised to scold him for her, and then she begins to defend him. Be consistent at least, Theresina; either Barthélemi does his duty, and then I, as his father, can have nothing to say, or he neglects it, and in that case it is my place to reprimand him." "He is so very young," said Theresina, "that I am afraid of expecting too much from him.” "He will soon be fourteen!" said the father. "He is barely thirteen," replied the mother; "Barthélemi was born on the 1st of January, 1618, and this is the 8th of March, 1631, just thirteen years, two months, seven days." "Barthélemi is not alone, I hear some noise in his room," said Esteban. "Little Ozorio is with him, his father sends him to study under my son," said the young mother, with an air of pride which made the father smile. "My son Theresina slowly ascended a little wooden staircase, which led to the first story, and opening the door of a room at the top of this staircase, was seized with an involuntary burst of laughter at the scene presented to her view, but, quickly repressing it, she assumed an air of severity, which ill suited the sweet and gentle countenance of the young Spanish mother. An easel stood in the middle of the room, on which was a picture just begun, and not far from the easel was a boy of about ten years old, tied to a chair, and screaming with might and main; while another boy, somewhat taller, was tickling him, repeating in the gravest and most imperative tone, "Laugh, I say,-laugh, laugh!" "What is all this, Barthélemi?" said Theresina, having succeeded in recovering her gravity. "Oh! is it you, mother?" said Barthélemi, turning round. "You can be of such use to me. Will you tickle Meneses whilst I am painting?" 66 No, no, Senora," said Meneses, in a most piteous tone. Pray do not." "To tickle the poor child!" said Theresina, "are you mad, Barthélemi?" 66 Mad! to do as Velasquez did!" said Barthélemi. Velasquez is never out of his mouth," grumbled Meneses. Velasquez is a great painter!" said Barthélemi, "and, please God, so will I be too." "I hope so," replied Theresina; "but most certainly it was not by tickling children that Velasquez acquired the talent which now places him at the head of the Gallo-Spanish school of Madrid." 46 Ah, but Velasquez had a peasant, who laughed or cried whenever he wished," said Barthélemi, "whilst there is no getting any good of Meneses.", "Meneses is not a peasant," said the boy angrily. "He is the son of Senor Ozorio, picture-merchant at the sign of the Palette of Apelles, on the Place de-laPlata, at Seville. My father sends me here to learn, and not to be tickled or beaten from morning till night." If you laughed when I bid you, I should not have tickled you," replied Barthélemi, with the utmost gravity; nor should I be obliged to beat you if you 66 Velasquez-" said Barthélemi. "Velasquez again!” interrupted Theresina. Without appearing to notice the interruption, Barthélemi continued, Velasquez, after having studied under Ferrera the Elder and under François Pacheco, resolved to have no longer any other master than nature, and with this view attached to him a young peasant who accom panied him everywhere, and whom he made to assume every position which he wished to represent, and to laugh and cry at his pleasure, and I am only following his example. Who knows but that Seville will one day make a boast of having given birth to Barthélemi Esteban Murillo?-But enough: it is getting late, we must go. Come, Meneses." "And how am I to go, when I can stir neither hand nor foot?" "You are right, I forgot that little impediment to your movements," said Barthélemi, laughingly hastening to unbind his pupil. "Are you going out, my son?" inquired Theresina. May I ask whither?" "Certainly, my dear mamma; only if you will allow me, I will tell you some other time," replied Barthélemi without the slightest embarrassment. "It would take too long to explain just now. Meneses, bring my palette, the box of colours and the parasol." "You have secrets then from your mother, Barthélemi; that is bad," said Theresina, in a tone of soft reproach. "Another time, my dear mamma, another time," said Barthélemi, accompanying each word with a kiss, as if trying to make her forget by his caresses that "Another he was giving no answer to her question, time; this evening or to-morrow; I am in a hurry now. We are going into the fields, Meneses and I; you see there is nothing very alarming in that, my own sweet little mother." "Take your large straw hat, then, and your mantle, Barthélemi; the mantle will shelter you from the cold as well as from the heat. Stay in the shade; but if you are very warm, do not stay long there; get into the sun,-yet take care, for a sun-stroke is to be dreaded." "You are the tenderest of mothers, and the most ingenious in tormenting yourself," said Barthélemi, embracing his mother for the last time, and making his escape, ran off, followed by Meneses. CHAPTER III. The day was closing, and Theresina, sitting in the window with her husband, was making lace, while Esteban was reading, and both seemed wholly engrossed by their respective occupations, but on the part of the young woman it was only seeming. Her thoughts were far away from the bobbins she was so busily twisting. A passing step, the bark of a dog, the cackling of a hen, the opening or shutting of a door, nay, the slightest noise, called up an expression either of expectation or disappointment to the sweet face of the Andalusian. But whether with head put close up to the casement, in eager listening to every noise in the street, or whether bent over her work, her large dark eyes seemed following every movement of the bobbins, her fingers went at the same equal and rapid rate, and might have passed for those of an automaton, set in motion by mechanism. A knock at the door made both the husband and wife start. It is Barthélemi!" said Esteban. "It is neither his step nor his knock," said Theresina, rising to open the door, and returning the next moment followed by a middle-aged man, so miserably clad that at the first glance one would have taken him for a beggar. "Senor Ozorio," said Theresina, announcing him. Esteban rose to greet the merchant, whom he conducted to a chair. "Ouf!" said he, seating himself, "I am come for my son, and I have also a little business with Barthélemi." "Our two sons are gone out together, Senor Ozorio," said Theresina quickly; "they said they wanted to paint from nature, and they are gone into the fields to sketch flowers.' "What an idea!" said the merchant, "with the heat there has been all day! But Meneses and he are both young, and if it is their fancy to work in the heat of the day, why not let them gratify themselves? Young people, now-a-days, are very strange, Senor and Senora. I do not think they would have caught me going to sketch flowers in the fields. In the summer it would have been too warm, and in the winter too cold. Oh! from the very first I always liked to take care of myself. Good people are scarce, you know, and should do so. I seldoin have a cold,-never more than seven or eight in the year; and this was the reason I chose to be a merchant. One is always at home; one is never obliged to go out. I detest what they call exercise. However, I was born a merchant; fancy me, Senora, when I was only ten years old, the age of Meneses, already buying, not pictures, but images, which I sold again at good profit. I was born a merchant, but Meneses, oh! he is not at all like me. I have never seen him either buy or sell anything. Oh! the young people, the young people of the present day!" 66 They are not so bad, after all, Senor Ozorio," said Theresina, who, like all mothers, however she might herself find fault with her child, yet could not bear to have him blamed by others. "If my relation, Jean del Castillo, who gave my son his first lessons in drawing, had not gone to settle at Cadiz, Barthélemi would certainly be now a great painter." "No, Senora Theresina," said the merchant to her, with the hesitation of one who is going to say something unpleasant, "no, your son is certainly a very fine boy, and gives you all his earnings, and he does not colour badly, but you must not let this turn your head, or make you fancy that because he daubs some escutcheons, and does some little pictures passably enough, that Murillo will arrive at anything more-no, illusions are pleasant, but this one would be too great-Murillo will gain a livelihood, do you see, by making pictures for America, because there the people are not too highly civilized, and provided they see colours, plenty of colours on the canvass, provided the men are painted with their nose nearly in the middle of their face, and that they are able clearly to distinguish two arms and two legs, and provided their landscapes have green in them, which stands for trees, and blue, which stands for water, and yellow, which they know is meant for a sky with full blaze of sun, the Americans are content; but it is not so in Spain-they look for much more." who for some moments had been in the attitude of listening, and, rising quickly, the fond mother hastened to the door, which she had opened before her son had knocked. So you are come at last!" said in the same breath the merchant and Senor Esteban to the two children, who now entered the room with Theresina. Having kissed his father's hand and made inquiries after his health, the tallest of the two children, a handsome boy, with a dark complexion and slight graceful figure, addressed the merchant. "We have just been at your house, Senor Ozorio," said he; "I had taken Meneses thither, but as we were told that you were here, Meneses in his turn escorted me.' "And my pictures?" demanded the merchant. "Half of them are ready, Senor Ozorio; my father can tell you." "Half of them! Half of them! That will not do, I must have all, Barthélemi." "Stay, do not be angry, my old customer," said little Murillo gaily, "you shall have them in a month." "In a month! I tell you, I must have them tomorrow, Barthélemi." They are not finished, Senor Ozorio, and were you to go on till to-morrow, saying, I must have them to-morrow, I could not give them to you." "I will give you eight days." "That is not enough, Senor." "Listen, Barthélemi,-do you want me to tell my opinion?-for six months you have not been like yourself, nevertheless I must acknowledge, you have never before made me wait so long for anything I ordered. What! you must now get a week to finish a picture!" In a short time it will be quite different, Senor Ozorio," said Barthéleni, laughing; "I am in hopes that it will soon take me three months only to finish one." "Great Goodness!—and how will you do them, then? "Oh, my dear sir, I will do them better." "Look, Barthélemi, none of your jokes, I beg of you; quantity, not quality is what I want; so pray do not trouble yourself about having them good, only give me enough of them." "But what becomes of my art?" cried the young painter. "And of my money?" said the merchant, chinking his long purse. "Senor Ozorio," said Murillo, with an almost comic seriousness," you must resign yourself, for I will henceforth give you none but good pictures." 66 But, you little obstinate creature, you give me quite good enough, and what need you care provided I buy them, and pay for them?-Pay down on the nail too. He will only do good pictures, forsooth, -only good pictures! muttered the merchant angrily. "That child will ruin my trade; who in the world can have been putting these things into his head, giving him such fancies?-Only good pictures, indeed!" "Oh! because, do you see, Senor Ozorio, six months ago, I went to Senor Antolinez—” "Antolinez!" cried Ozorio, "you know Senor Antolinez!" "His son is about my age," replied Barthélemi. "Pardon me for interrupting your conversation," said Esteban, who until then had been, as well as his wife, content to remain silent, during the conversation between the merchant and his son. "But why, Senor Ozorio, do you appear alarmed at my son's being acquainted with Senor Antolinez? Is he not a respectable man?” "Quite so, Senor Esteban." "Or is he a man capable of setting a bad example to my son?" "His conduct is most exemplary, Senor Esteban." "Or of giving bad advice, Senor Ozorio?" "He would certainly never give him any but what was good." "What do you mean then, Senor Ozorio?" "Oh! that is my secret, Senor Esteban; you must know, it is Antolinez who buys my pictures, upon which I always have a loss,-a trifling one, it is true, but nevertheless, a loss, and the little fellow would only have to tell-you understand-the price at which I buy them from him-and—” "You are afraid they would begin to understand each other, and do without you as a go-between," added Esteban. "Make your mind easy, Senor Ozorio, my son is incapable of such bad feeling, and will never, merely to get a little higher price from a man who would only buy from him once in the year, quarrel with him who for two years has given us our livelihood. You have been our only support for two years, Senor Ozorio." "Yes, that is true, with the pictures and the escutcheons of the boy; but I must say, he makes a return for what I have done by giving lessons gratuitously to my son; however I am just as glad that you do me justice." "Have I permission to go on?" said Barthélemi, availing himself of the silence occasioned by this answer. "Yes, you may go on," said his father to him. "And where do you study?" inquired his mother. ، It is well said, that children never think of anything but mischief," said Ozorio. ،، What is the necessity, may I ask you, of going into the fields in order to paint a rose, a pink, or a poppy? Give me a brush and palette, and I will engage to do any of them with my eyes shut." "But very badly," said Barthélemi. "Well enough for such a price as I give for them." "But when my pictures are better, you will pay me higher, Senor Ozorio." "Not a maravédis more, my lad." “ Then I will do them better, were it only for my own satisfaction, Senor Ozorio, and to hear myself complimented by judges of the art, such as Senor Moga, for instance. I made a sketch yesterday which I showed him this evening. Oh! if you knew what he said to me,-that I had something of Velesquez in my touches, and in my chiaro-scuro." "Have you that sketch here?" demanded the merchant. | Barthélemi went for a piece of canvass, which he had laid on the ground on entering the room. 46 "Here it is!" said he, handing it to the merchant, who gave an involuntary smile of satisfaction, but quickly substituted for it a contemptuous sneer. Bad, bad," said he, protruding the lower lip much beyond the limits of the upper, "bad, very badbadly designed. This arm is too short, and then it is as highly coloured as if it were not a mere sketch, what will it be when finished? it will be scarcely possible to get this picture off hand. How much do you ask for it?" "As you think it so bad, you had better not take it, Senor Ozorio,” said Barthélemi. "Since I buy all you do, this may go with the others and as you may be in want of cash,—I have not given you any for a long time-I have six ducats about me, if you want them; but remember, it is only to oblige you. Well, is it a bargain?" Astonished at the readiness with which Senor Ozorio had just offered six ducats, Barthélemi began to suspect that his picture must be worth much more, and quickly answered, "I say ten." "Your appetite grows by being fed, my boy," replied Ozorio, who saw that he had committed himself; "because I offer you at once the enormous sum of six ducats, your head is turned. Pooh! pooh! you believe yourself to be already a second Velesquez; but the more I look at the picture, the more I perceive I was wrong, and to prove it to you, as you had not the wit to take me at my first word, I will now only give you four ducats." "I have said ten, Senor Ozorio." "Here, will you take five for it? and that is only for your father's sake." I have said ten, Senor Ozorio," repeated Barthélemi. 46 “ Stay-I come back to my first offer, to please your mother, who I am sure will be glad to see it sometimes in my shop-window. Well! what say you to six?" ، I have said ten, and I will not go back of my word, Senor Ozorio," replied Barthélemi; “but, indeed, to speak freely to you, I should like very much to keep it: it is my first composition, and besides, I prayed so earnestly to God while doing this picture that I cannot but hope it will be the means of bringing me good luck.” "Well! six ducats; is not that luck, little one?" said Ozorio. 66 “ It is money, Senor; but I am decided; I will not give it for less than I said.” "And I will not give a maravédis more." "Then why need we wrangle any more, since both our minds are made up? I am resolved to keep my picture." "You will be sorry for it yet, you little fool," said the merchant, rising to take leave. "Come, Meneses. Good evening, Esteban. Your servant, Senora." "Father, I want to speak to you to-morrow," said Barthélemi, in a whisper to his father; then, tenderly embracing his mother, he retired to bed. (To be continued.) LET grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love, which hath ends, will have an end; whereas, that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.-Dryden. |