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A greasy fellow, with his shirt rolled to his shoulders, stood near the door, commending his shop to the world by slapping on the flank a whole mutton that hung beside him, while, as a customer came in, he dexterously whipped out a slice, had it cut in a twinkling into bits as large as a piece of chalk (I have stopped five minutes in vain, to find a better comparison), strung upon a long iron skewer, and laid on the coals. My friend is an old Constantinopolitan, and had eaten kibaubs before. He entered without hesitation; and the adroit butcher giving his big trowsers a fresh hitch, and tightening his girdle, made a new cut for his "narrow-legged" customers, and wished us a good appetite; (the Turks look with great contempt on our tight pantaloons, and distinguish us by this epithet). We got up on the platform, crossed our legs under us as well as we could, and I cannot deny that the savoury missives that occasionally reached my nostrils, bred a gradual reconciliation between my stomach and my eyes.

In some five minutes, a tin platter was set between us, loaded with piping hot kibaubs, sprinkled with salad, and mixed with bits of bread; our friend the cook, by way of making the amiable, stirring it up well with his fingers as he brought it along. As Modely says in the play, "In love or mutton, I generally fall to without ceremony;" but, spite of its agreeable flavour, I shut my eyes, and selected a very small bit, before I commenced upon the kibaubs.

It was very good eating, I soon found out; and, my fingers once greased (for you are indulged with neither knife, fork, nor skewer in Turkey), I proved myself as good a trencherman as my friend.

The middle and lower classes of Constantinople live between these shops and the cafés. A dish of kibaubs serves them for dinner, and they drink coffee, which costs about half a farthing a cup, from morning till night. We paid for our mess (which was more than any two men could eat at once, unless very hun. gry) sixpence.

We started again with fresh courage, in search of the cistern. We soon found the old one, which is an immense excavation, with a roof, supported by five hundred granite columns, employed now as a place for twisting silk, and escaping from its clamorous denizens, who rushed up after us to the daylight, begging paras, we took one of the boys for a guide, and soon found the object of our search.

Knocking at the door of a half-ruined house, in one of the loneliest streets of

the city, an old, sore-eyed Armenian, with a shabby calpack, and every mark of extreme poverty, admitted us, pettishly demanding our entrance money, before he let us pass the threshold. Flights of steps, dangerously ruinous, led us down, first into a garden, far below the level of the street, and thence into a dark and damp cavern, the bottom of which was covered with water. As the eye became accustomed to the darkness, we could distinguish tall and beautiful columns of marble and granite, with superb Corinthian capitals, perhaps thirty feet in height, receding as far as the limits of our obscured sight. The old man said there were a thousand of them. The number was doubtless exaggerated, but we saw enough to convince us, that here was covered up, almost unknown, one of the most costly and magnificent works of the christian emperors of Con. stantinople.

THE WIDOW.

(For the Parterre.)

They ap

I am no sentimentalist. I cannot weep over a dead ass. Death is the only pause in the toil of that patient longeared tribe; and of all animals the horse and the ass should be the last to affect our sympathies, when dead and freed from the tyrant man. I am no sentimentalist, I have said; and yet I did feel rather sentimental a few days since. Hear the cause. There lived for some time in a little house opposite my lodgings, an old widow, who was supported by an only son, who, I hear, had a situation in some public office. He was a poor sickly attenuated creature; yet though but half a man, was the sole support of his aged mother. peared to live happy and comfortable, until disease fastened its fangs upon the son. He became rapidly worse; and one morning, while shaving, I noted the closed shutters of the little dwelling, and the passing to and fro of those pale cadaverous looking men, whose appearance so well bespeaks their calling, deaths running footmen-the heralds of the grave! The widow's son was dead! This was enough; but mark the sequel. The prop of her age was gone; she was left without the means of subsistence, and the next day-ay, the very next day, a broker was on the premises, noting down the contents of the humble tenement. The brutal landlord had distrained for rent. A cart was at the door-it was filled with furniture an

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Ir stood in the artist's studio: all Florence came to look at it; all examined it with curiosity; all admired it with eagerness; all pronounced it the capo d'opera of Donatello. The whole town were in raptures; and lovely ladies, as they bent from their carriages to answer the salutes of dukes and princes, instead of the common-place frivolities of fashion, said, "Have you seen the new statue by Donatello ?"

Is there an art like that of sculpture? Painting is a brilliant illusion-a lovely cheat. Sculpture, while it represents a reality, is itself a reality. The pencil pours its fervid hues upon perishable canvass, and they fade with the passing air; but the chisel works in eternal marble, and strikes out a creation, immortal as the globe, and beautiful as the soul.

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"The execution of Praxiteles!" said another.

"You will draw votaries from the Venus," whispered a soft Italian girl, as she turned her melting eyes on the oldman. "The Apollo will hereafter draw his bow unheeded," cried an artist, whom many thought the best of his day.—

Among the crowds who flocked to the studio of Donatello, there was a youth who had given some promise of excellence. Many said, that, with intense study, he might one day make his name heard beyond the Alps, and some went so far as to hint, that in time he might tread close on his heels, even, of Donatello himself; but these were sanguine men, and great friends of the young man; besides, they spoke at random. They called this student Michael Angelo.—

He had stood a long time, regarding it with fixed eyes and folded arms. He walked from one position to another;

measured it, with his keen glances, from head to foot; regarded it before, behind, and studied its profiles from various points. The venerable Donatello saw him, and awaited his long and absorbed examination with the flattered pride of an artist, and the affectionate indulgence of a father. At length, Michael Angelo stopped once more before it, inhaled a long breath, and broke the profound silence. "It wants only one thing," muttered the gifted boy.

"Tell me," cried the successful artist, "what it wants. This is the first censure which my Saint George has elicited. Can I improve! Can I alter? Is it in the clay or the marble? Tell me ?"

But the critic had disappeared.Donatello knew the mighty genius of Michael Angelo. He had beheld the flashes of the sacred fire, and watched the development of the "God within him."

"Diobolo !" cried the old man; "Michael Angelo gone to Rome? and not a word of advice about my statue. The scapegrace! but I shall see him again, or, by the mass, I will follow him to the eternal city. His opinion is worth that of all the world. But one thing?' He looked at it again—he listened to the murmurs of applause which it drew from all who beheld it-a placid smile settled on his face- but one thing?' what can it be?"

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Years rolled by. Michael Angelo remained at Rome, or made excursions to other places, but had not yet returned to Florence. Wherever he had been, men regarded him as a comet-something fiery terrible-tremendous-sublime. His fame spread over the globe. What his chisel touched, it hallowed. spurned the dull clay, and struck his vast and intensely-brilliant conceptions at once from the marble. Michael Angelo was a name to worship-a spell in the arts-an honour to Italy-to the world. What he praised, lived-what he condemned, perished.—

He

As Donatello grew old, his anxiety grew more powerful to know what the inspired eyes of the wonderful Buonarotti had detected in his great statue.—

At length, the immortal Florentine turned his eyes to his native republic, and, as he reached the summit of the hill which rises on the side of the Porta Romana, he beheld the magnificent and glorious dome, and Campanile shining in the soft golden radiance of the setting sun, with the broad-topped tower of the Palazzo Vecchio lifted in the yellow light, even as to-day it stands.

Ah, Death! can no worth ward thee. Must the inspired artist's eyes be dark, his hand motionless, his heart still, and his inventive brain as dull as the clay he models? Yes, Donatello lies stretched on his last couch, and the light of life passing from his eyes. Yet, even in that awful hour, his thoughts ran on the wishes of his past years, and he sent for Buonarotti.

His friend came instantly.

"I am going, Michael. My chisel is idle. My vision is dim; but I feel thy hand, noble boy, and I hear thy kind breast sob. I glory in thy renown. I predicted it, and I bless my Creator that I have lived to see it; but, before I sink into the tomb, I charge thee, on thy friendship-on thy religion, answer my question truly."

"As I am a man, I will."

"Then tell me, without equivocation, what is it that my Saint George wants?" "The gift of speech," was the reply.— A gleam of sunshine fell across the old man's face.

The smile lingered on his lips long after he lay cold as the marble upon which he had so often stamped the conceptions of his genius.

The statue remains-the admiration of posterity; and adorns the exterior of the Cheiesa d'Or Sun Micheles.

NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS.

CALAVAR, or the Knight of the Conquest. A Romance of Mexico. 2 vols. 12mo. We have obtained an early copy of this interesting Historical Romance, from Messrs. Carey and Lea, of Philadelphia. It is from the pen of Dr. Bird, the author of several dramatic pieces of repute in his own country. The subject is the Conquest of Mexico by Cortes and the Spaniards; and the leading incident of the extract we make, is one of the last desperate but hopeless struggles of the Mexicans, against their terrible invaders.

"The same solitude, which had covered the city the preceding evening, now seemed again to invest it. Corses

were here and there strewn in the street, as of fugitives dying in their flight; and once a wounded man was seen staggering blindly along, as if wholly insensible to the approach of his foes. The sight of this solitary wretch did more to disarm the fury of Don Amador, than did the spectacle of thousands lying dead on the square; and certain grievous reflections, such as sometimes assailed him, after a battle, were beginning to intrude upon his mind, when a cavalier, darting for

ward with a loud cry, and couching his lance, as if at a worthier enemy, thrust the wounded barbarian through the body, and killed him on the spot. A few hidalgos, and most of the footmen, rewarded this feat of dexterity with a loud cheer; but there were many, who, like the neophyte, met the triumphant looks of the champion, Alvarado, with glances of infinite disgust and frowning disdain.

"As the party approached the neighbourhood of the great temple, they began to perceive in the streets, groups of men, who, being altogether unarmed, commonly fled at the first sight of the Christians; though, sometimes, they stood aside, with submissive and dejected countenances, as if awaiting any punishment the Teuctly might choose to inflict upon them. But Cortes, reading in this humility the proofs of penitenee, or willing to suppose that these men had not shared in the hostilities of the day, commanded his followers not to attack them; and thus restrained, they rode slowly and cautiously onward, their fury gradually abating, and the fears which had been excited by the late assault, giving place to the hope, that it indicated no general spirit, and no deep-laid plan, of insurrection.

"The groups of Mexicans increased, both in numbers and frequency, as the Christians proceeded, but still they betrayed no disposition to make use of the arms, which were sometimes seen in their hands; and the Spaniards, regulating their own conduct by that of the barbarians, rode onward with so pacific an air, that a stranger, arriving that moment in the city, might have deemed them associated together on the most friendly terms, and proceeding in company, to take part in some general festivity. Nevertheless, the same stranger would have quickly observed, that these friends, besides keeping as far separated as the streets would allow, and even, where that was possible, removing from each other's presence entirely, eyed each other, at times, with looks of jealousy, which became more marked as the Mexicans grew more numerous. In truth, the feelings which had so quickly passed from rage to tranquillity, were now in danger of another revulsion; and many an eye was riveted on the countenance of the general, as if to read a confirmation of the common anxiety, as, ever and anon, it turned from the prospect of multitudes in front, to the spectacle of crowds gathering, at a distance, on the rear.

"All that is needful,' whispered, rather than spoke, Don Hernan, though

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nor bar gave security to the sanctity of the interior.

his words were caught by every ear, 'is to trust in God, and our sharp spears. There is, doubtless, some idolatrous rite "Notwithstanding the fears of the about to be enacted in the temple, which general, he beheld no Mexicans lurking draws these varlets thitherward; and the among the terraces, or peering from the gratitude with which they remember our windows, but his anxiety was not the exploits of this morning, will account less goading for that reason; for having for their present hang-dog looks. If now drawn nigh to the great square, it they mean any treachery, such as a decoy seemed to him that he had, at last, thrust and ambuscado, why, by my conscience! himself into that part of the city, where we must e'en allow them their humour, all the multitudes of Tenochtitlan were and punish them when 'tis made manifest. assembled to meet him, and whether I counsel my friends to be of good heart; for purposes of pacification or vengeance, for, I think, the dogs have had fighting he dared not inquire. enough to-day. Nevertheless, I will not quarrel with any man, who keeps his hands in readiness, and puts his eyes and ears to their proper uses.'

"As if to set them an example, Don Hernan now began to look about him with redoubled vigilance; and it was remarked that he passed no house, without eyeing its terrace keenly and steadfastly, as if dreading more to discover an enemy in such places than in the street. This was, in fact, a situation from which an enemy might annoy the Spaniards with the greatest advantage, and at the least possible risk.

"The houses of this quarter were evidently inhabited by the rich, perhaps by the nobles of Mexico. They were of solid stone, spacious, and frequently of two floors, lofty, and their terraces crowned with battlements and turrets. Each stood separated from its neighbour by a little garden or alley, and sometimes by a narrow canal, which crossed the great street, and was furnished with a strong wooden bridge, of such width that five horsemen could pass it at a time. Often, too, the dwelling of some man of power stood so far back, as to allow the canal to be carried quite round it, without infringing upon the street; but more frequently it was fronted only with a little bed of flowers. The stones of which such structures were composed were often sculptured into rude reliefs, representing huge serpents, which twined in a fantastic and frightful manner about the windows and doors, as if to protect them from the invasion of robbers. Indeed, these were almost the only defences; for the green bulrush lying across the threshold, could deter none but a Mexican from entering; and, perhaps, none but a barbarian would have seen, in the string of cacao berries, or of little vessels of earthenware, hanging at the door, the bell to announce his visitation. A curtain commonly hung flapping at the entrance; but neither plank

"The appearance of things, as the party issued upon the square, and faced the House of Skulls, was indeed menacing. That enormous pyramid, which Don Amador had surveyed, with awe, in the gloom of evening, was now concealed under a more impressive veil ;-it was invested and darkened by a cloud of human beings, which surged over its vast summit, and rolled along its huge sides like a living storm. The great court that surrounded it, was also filled with barbarians; for though the Coatepantli, or Wall of Serpents, with its monstrous battlements and gloomy towers, concealed them from the eye, there came such a hum of voices from behind, as could not have been produced alone, even by the myriads that covered the temple. In addition to these, the great square itself was alive with Mexicans; and the sudden sight of them brought a thrill of alarm into the heart of the bravest cavalier.

"The people of Tenochtitlan, thus, as it were, hunted by their invaders, even to their sanctuaries, turned upon them with frowns, yet parted away from before them in deep silence. Nevertheless, at this spectacle, the Christians came to an immediate stand, in doubt whether to entangle themselves farther, or to take counsel of their fears, and retreat, without delay, to their quarters. While they stood yet hesitating, and in some confusion, suddenly, and with a tone that pierced to their inmost souls, there came a horrid shriek from the top of the pyramid; and fifty Castilian voices exclaimed, 'A sacrifice! a human sacrifice!

and under the cross of Christ, that we raised on the temple!'

"The place of God is defiled by the rites of hell!' cried Cortes, furiously, his apprehensions vanishing, at once, before his fanaticism. 'Set on, and avenge! Couch your lances, draw your swords, and if any resist, call on God, and slay!' So saying, he drew his sword,

spurred his dun steed, and rushed toward the temple.

"The half-naked herds fled, yelling, away from the infuriated Christian, opening him a free path to the walls; and had that fearful cry been repeated, there is no doubt he would have led his followers even within the Coatepantli, though at the risk of irretrievable and universal destruction. Before, however, he had yet reached the wall, he had time for reflection; and, though greatly excited, he could no longer conceal from himself the consequences of provoking the pagans at their very temple, and during the worship of their god. He was, at this moment, well befriended, and numerously, indeed; but at a distance from the garrison, without cannon, and almost without musketry, surrounded by enemies whom the eye could not number, and who had not feared to assail him, even when fortified in a situation almost impregnable, and assisted by three times his present force, as well as several thousand bold Tlascalans; and in addition to all these disadvantages, there came neither such sound of trumpet, nor such distant commotion among the Indians, as might admonish him of the approach of Sandoval.

"He checked his horse, and waving to his followers to halt, again cast his eyes around on the multitude, as if to determine in what manner to begin his retreat, for he felt that this measure could be no longer delayed. The Mexicans gazed upon him with angry visages, but still in silence. Not an arm was yet raised; and they seemed prepared to give him passage, whichever way he might choose to direct his course.

"While hesitating an instant, Don Hernan perceived a stir among the crowds, close under the Wall of Serpents, accompanied by a low but general murmur of voices; and immediately the eyes of the pagans were turned from him toward the Coatepantli, as if to catch a view of some sight still more attractive and important. His first thought was, that these movements indicated the sudden presence of Sandoval and his party; a conceit that was, however, immediately put to flight by the events which ensued. "The murmurs of the multitude were soon stilled, and the pagans that covered the pyramid were seen to cast their eyes earnestly down to the square, as the sound of many flutes, and other soft wind-instruments, rose on the air, and crept, not unmusically, along the Wall of Serpents, and thence to the ears of

the Spaniards. Before these had yet time to express their wonder at the presence of such peaceful music amidst a scene of war and sacrifice, the crowd slowly parted asunder, and they plainly beheld (for the Mexicans had opened a wide vista to the principal gate), a procession, seemingly of little children, clad in white garments, waving pots of incense, conducted by priests, in gowns of black and flame colour, and headed by musicians and men bearing little flags, issue from the throng, and bend their steps toward the savage portal. In the centre of the train, on a sort of litter, very rich and gorgeous, borne on men's shoulders, and sheltered by a royal canopy of green and crimson feathers, stood a figure, which might have been some maiden princess, arrayed for the festival, or, as she seemed to one or two of the more superstitious Castilians, some fiendish goddess, conjured up by the diabolical arts of the priests, to add the inspiration of her presence to the wild fury of her adorers. She stood erect, her body concealed in long flowing vestments of white, on which were embroidered serpents, of some green material; in her hand she held a rod, imitative of the same reptile; and on her forehead was a coronet of feathers, surrounding what seemed a knot of little snakes, writhing round a star, or sun, of burnished gold.

"As this fair apparition was carried through their ranks, between the great wall and the House of Skulls, the Mexicans were seen to throw themselves reverently on the earth, as if to a divinity; and those that stood most remote, no sooner beheld her than they bowed their heads with the deepest humility.

"Meanwhile, the Spaniards gazed on with both admiration and wonder, until the train had reached the open portal; at which place, and just as she was about to be concealed from them for ever, the divinity, priestess, or princess, whichever she was, turned her body slowly round, and revealed to them a face of a paler hue than any they had yet seen in the new world, and, as they afterward affirmed, of the most incomparable and ravishing beauty. At this sight, all uttered exclamations of surprise, which were carried to the ears of the vision: but Don Almador de Leste, fetching a cry that thrilled through the hearts of all, broke from the ranks, as if beset by some sudden demon, and dashed madly toward the apparition.

"Before the Spaniards could recover from their astonishment, the members of

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