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exception of a gondola slowly gliding your window, and your sublime talent, up the canal, not a soul was in sight. sure to adorn all it deigns to touch, has Zambetto's quick eye saw a shadow be- converted my head into a landscape. hind the projecting blind of the third Pray open--seo for yourself, and adstory of the old palace under which he mire.!! . At this poetio appeal, the door was standing, and presently out came an was opened ; a strong arm caught Zamarm holding a palette, the whole termin- betto by the ear and lugged bim into ating in a mahl-stick and a fistful of

the room. brushes.

“Decidedly an American, from his on“Does it want me--perhaps an er- gaging manners,” thought Zambetto. rand ?” thought Zambetto, as he saw * Was it you, then, you blackguard, the arm begin to beckon in a vio. that gave the howl under my window lent way; "it is either for me or for the just now? What the devil bad you to gondola,” he reasoned, “and so I shall do with star-gazing this time of day?" keep one eye on the barge and the other and the artist dropped his palette and on the window. Ab! two women in seized his mahl-stick.. side? Good! Now let us observe what “Oh, my prince, it was the purest acis going on up stairs; there is that arm cident in the world. Pray, look at me; again—," Suddenly he gave a howl of thanks to your skill I might pass for the pain; something had fallen in his eye; he sign of the green-faced monkey." clapped his hands to his face, and to Answer me, what were you doing his extreme horror (as soon as sight was under my window ?” restored) beheld his hands dyed green. Getting up an appetite, your lord“Oh! I am murdered-cut off in the ship," answered Zambetto. flower of my age!” he cried; "but "No impertinence," cried the artist, strange to say--my blood is remarkably as he approached Zambetto with a huge sticky and of an unusual color-per- brush, steeped in what Zambetto took to haps arising from my extreme youth. be fresh gore, " or I will leave colors on Come, let me see-am I really dead ?" you that will be lasting." He looked about him, and at his feet on " It cannot be possible that your the marble pavement was a large brush signore can find fault with me, for hav. with exceedingly stiff bristles, full of ing so profitably employed my time. paint, and, strange to say, the color Why, to be hungry--is a poor fellow's exactly matched the bue of his faco privilege." There was a smile on the and hands. • Ha!" he cried with min- artist's face at his ludicrous appearance. gled pain and mirth, "there lies, then, Zambetto felt encouraged. the thunder-bolt hurled by the imperious “ I have brought back your brush. I Jove, as my cousin, who does the cho- saw a piece at the Teatro Apollo the ruses at the Fenice, would say. I won- other night, whero a great king picked der what it is worth ? Let me pick it up a paint-brush a greater painter had up;" he stooped and took the brushlet fall," and Zambetto, with a peculiar from the ground, where it had made manner, presented the brush, addinga very artistic daub.

“ It must belong “I am the king—you the painter." up stairs ; I shall return it and request “ Wero there ever such fellows as damages for the loss of my complexion;" these Italians, for complimentary and the next moment Zambetto was speeches ? Strange how cleverly the pounding at a door in the third story. fellow did it. Nice pose--clean limbs

• What is it?'' cried a voice in a neat torse, he might do for a study," slightly ambiguous Italian.

and with this the artist turned his back * Forestiero, though not Tedesco," on Zambetto, and commenced working thought Zambetto, “the answer came at a picture. too quickly for that. Signor—in the On a table was a vase of elegant furor of your divine art—"

proportions, heaped full of fruit. Pome“Clear out!” interrupted a voice in granates, figs, melons, and grapes were English.

temptingly displayed. Zambetto adInglese," thought Zambetto, "and

and mired their artistic arrangoment, watchconsequently crazy. But please your ing the painter, who cleverly copied signoro, in an inspired moment your them; the rich, fresh color just dripping bonor's magical brush, full of the col- from the brush wonderfully imitating or of leaves in spring-time, when na- the over-ripeness of the dewy fruit, an ture looks fresh and budding, fell from effect, alas! so evanescent as to fade

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away in a moment's time; as it was, ceived, for it was mixed up in a bunch Zambetto smacked his lips.

of flowers“What, not gone yet?". exclaimed "Go on, go on," the artist.

“Absent-like, she dropped some leaves * Please, my master," replied Zam. into the canal, and then-only then-I betto, in his most dulcet tones of Vene- discovered my mistake." tian dialect, eluding every unnecessary • Which way did they go ?” apsiconsonant, “strange to say, by the most ously inquired the artist. remarkable accident in the world, I have • Please, sir, at that precise moment not breakfasted as yet, nor from present I was struck blind. It might have been appearances am I likely to do so; but, from the lady's beauty, it might have hungry as I am, I must positively de- been from other causes; suffice it to say, clare, I should infinitely prefer plucking when I again saw the light of day, the a grape from off that purple cluster that gondola had disappeared, as if by en80 gracefully hangs down in your pic- chantment." ture there, to taking a real one; for “ It served you right. Do you know yours undoubtedly are riper, sweeter what a visitation of Providence is ? That fruit." The artist looked pleased. “But,” is what you got." added Zambetto, “ it may arise from the • Zambetto is a good Christian, and green veil which at present disturbs believes in miracles." my vision.” The painter frowned, and • Well, Zambetto, I am sorry for your Zambetto prudently ceased. Take face, which is too good a one to be this, jackanapes, and rub your face spoiled. Now, what are you good for? with it," said the artist, handing a Hop up here;" Zambetto jumped on a sponge. Zambetto scoured away, and, stand. “Now put one leg under youafter a moment, the charming oval, the 80—double the other one-right. Stretch morry, black eyes, the well-formed out your arms—not so, you awkward nose, the sprightly mouth of the pure booby. There, that is something like it. Venetian type shone fortb.

Now, be good enough to look up at the “Now that your eyes are open, tell ceiling, and show the white of your eyes me wbat they saw down stairs ?

- very good. Recollect you are not to "Absolutely nothing-only a gon- look comical; you will please to imagine dola"

yourself some poor devil half starved, “Ab-indeed ?" asked the artist and that somebody is holding a bunch quite indifferently.

of grapes, or a slice of melon, over your * Nothing particular about the gon- head." Here,” said the artist, taking a dola, only two ladies inside."

bunch of grapes and hanging it on the ** Are you sure of that ?" inquired the easel, within an inch of Zambetto's artist, more interested.

nobe; “there, look at this. First-rate“Sure, your honor ?" and Zambetto you have it exactly." looked inquisitively at the artist's face, "I can't do it; it's more than human “Sure? I don't know. Perhaps you nature can stand. I am too hunwould not have liked me to have seen anything, and, accordingly, I am in a * You don't say so ?” cried the artist state of doubt."

enthusiastically ; “I am delighted to • No, answer me straightforwardly." hear it; you are perfection-admirable

• I did, then, see two ladies--one was -splendid-a master-piece !" old, the other young, and, consequent- "No wonder," sighed poor Zambetto, ly, beautiful." Zambetto watched the it is no acting on my part." effect.

Could anything be moro natural,” Right," cried the painter enthusias- went on the artist, not heeding him, as tically

ho took a crayon and dashed some rapid Well, the old lady-" went on strokes on the paper.

Superb!- that Zambetto, looking innocently stupid. fellow there would make a model for

• Tell me about the young one, you Murillo's beggar-boys. What a pity he rascal."

is not older, he then might do for a Tan. "Well, the young lady, as she passed, talus-just a moment more, I am putjust pulled the curtain back an inch or ting in the grapes, and now," he add80, and ob ! your signore, such a lovely od kindly, " that will do, and, Zambetto, hand-60 white I would have sworn it belp yourself." was a lily; and I might have been de- • By all the stars, my breakfast !''


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cried Zambetto, as the hungry model to hang a turkey stuffed with chestnuts clutched the prize.

(a disb I have heard of, but never seen) “Here is a slice of bread," said the within my reach, I shouldn't feel like artist dividing a loaf, “ and when you the character. Might I dare to give have done, you will find a cup of coffee to your illustrious genius a word of behind that picture."

humble advice ? Supposing you wanted “Coffee, your grace? This is not a to paint some merry fellow, such as breakfast, it is," bere be choked with a I have seen in the opera-ballets, those big bit of crust,” it-iy--a perfect ban. little spirits with pointed ears, that look quet. Wben I have done, may I kiss so jolly, cram full as they are with wine the band of my kind host?"

and good cheer. Oh! I could do that," * Clear out!” cried the artist in Eng- and instantly Zambetto sprang to his lish;“stop your humbug." He, however, feet, and stood an admirable copy of a watched, with evident pleasure, Zambetto dancing faun. devouring the bread and grapes, and “ Bravissimo!” exclaimed the artist, smiled at the gusto with which he sa- carried away by the change.

“ You roured his coffee.

are right-splendid-here you go-do The repast ended, Zambetto mused not budge, for your life! Open your a moment, evidently composing some mouth, a trifle wider; show those white grand complimentary speecb. The teeth of yours. You can't make your painter went to the door and locked it. ears a bit longer, can you? I say, Zam

Zambetto, do not imagine I have betto, what shall I do with my first done with you. You will hop up there sketch ? I must positively starve you again, and pose exactly as you did be. again in order to finish it.” fore ; when I have finished, providing Oh, your signore !" I am pleased with you, this shall be “I must, absolutely. Don't look sad, yours," and he drew a small coin from you rascal, or you will spoil my work. his pocket. Zambetto's eyes glistened. Cheer up, I shall keep you well fed for There were dinner and supper for the this picture here, and starve you for the day, a ticket for the theatre, one one- other. Lent one day, carnival the hundredth of a share in the lottery, not counting lots of other minor pleasures The painter was soon absorbed in his in perspective; so, with a bound, he re- work; as to Zambetto, his mind was so sumed his former position, doubled his full of the pleasant things he was going legs under him, stretched out bis arms, to do with the piece of money, that be and gazed fixedly at the ceiling. kept on the broad grin for a full

The painter recommenced tho study. hour.

“Well it is fair-rather-but pshaw! " That will do now. I have finished," not like the first sketch. I say, Zam- said the artist, at last. Here is the betto, that's not it, you dog-look hun. Szwanziger. Come here to-morrow, gry, just as you did before, I tell you." and, mind you, fasting ;" and he showed

"I will try, your signore. Will this Zambetto the door. do? Something like a poodle begging “ Am I to come when your signore for a lump of sugar ?"

drops something on my head? Might “ No, no-not at all the expression," I take the privilege of ducking ?" exclaimed the disappointed artist.

Enough of that. I should particu• Is this better ?'' and Zambetto, anx- larly advise you to look straight before ious to please, tried exceedingly hard to you." look miserable, and could not.

“Into the canal ?" inquired Zambetto. “No, you imp--you are purposely try- 6. This seems like most excellent quaring my patience. There is a smirk on ters; true, a trifle of suffering, but then your countenance; a suppressed smile the wages," he thought to himself ; that makes the expression hypocritical, I " and not to look into gondolas !" addmight call it a sort of digestive ease- ed Zambetto aloud, as be neared the thut won't do, I tell you, look starvod !" window. “ I know that gondola among roared the artist, now in a rage.

a thousand, and, by the holy Saint Marc, "I can't,” responded Zambetto, in there comes the very same boat; the despair. Your honor found me hun- lady puts out her hand and drops the gry and miserable, and now, thanks to whole bouquet in the water. Shall I run his bounty, I am happy and contented, down and got it, signore ?" and try as hard as I can, were you even “ No," answered the painter hurried

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ly. “What happens now! Look, use cidedly revengeful, going through the those prying eyes of yours!"

pantomime of sticking somebody. The gondola stops at the third “What do you mean?" inquired the house opposite; the lady mounts the painter. steps. What a lovely foot. Ah, a big “ Nothing. That would be a tragedy fat man, an officer, from his being so - this is a comedy-a lazzis-nothing stiff, comes out to help her in-she

So now, good master, viva! takes his hand"

here have I breakfasted, and here will “The villain !" exclaimed the paint I dine and sup. My stomach is so over

joyed, that my back absolutely itches • The scoundrel with the red mous- for the necessary drubbing the lackey tache looks this way; fortunately he always catches in those farces of Gol. can see nothing; he offers bis hand doni." again and see how daintily she just

II. takes the tip of his finger, and—" • The angel!"

NOTHING could have been more patu“ Yes-à second Venus-and now ral. they have gone in. The play is over, Vandyke Brown (his father was a and let us go home. No-by my mo

millionaire in the white-lead business), ther, I see her at her window; she looks from his youth, inherited a taste for the wistfully this way,"

fine arts. As an infant, he invariably re“What, what? Does she draw to quested to be taken to the wax-works; the curtains of her chamber ?"

as be grow older, his tastes improved, “Yes, yes, your honor--but you and when of a Saturday, after school, be must be a magician—" The artist no spent his holiday in the Art Academy of longer beard him; he was striding up Swopopolis, he got disgusted. The Saland down the room, exclaming in such vators, Raphaels, Caraccis, " the Spanish a barbarous language, that Zambetto schools," and " unknowns," all nicely set it down for American.

framed and labeled, failed to inspire “Please your highness, this beats him. Though rather an overbearing any of Goldoni's comedies I have youth, he did try to humble himself beseen them all."

fore the tar-colored things, the big and “ Since you are so well informed,” little crackled pictures, so copiously angrily responded the artist, “you catalogued, and still they bored him. must recollect the babblers and listen. “What,” he cried, “after my book of ers are always cudgeled."

painters--are these the works that “ And serve them right at the same make men famous ? Though I appretime, the lover always has a servant of ciate the spirit that inspired their pur. this kind, sometimes this servant is chase, I wager these things to be but the hero of the play," and Zambetto wooden-nutmeg and pine-ham concerns. drew himself up with pride.

When I grow older, I vow I shall see “ You may be right."

for myself." And 80 he did. At “This servant is peculiarly shrewd twenty-five, Brown had visited the last and clever"

picture in the Escurial, had found out the “In Goldoni-yes."

Simon Pures, the Salvator Rosas, the “ And, though exposed to all the Caraccis, and bad bowed before them; drubbings intended for bis master, would no longer a modest youth, he had poohbe killed before divolging his secret. poohed Ruskin, had dined with TheoSay you are the lover--an unhappy phile Gautier, and was on the eve of one, of course—and I that clever valet as going into the desert after Horace gay as a lark, and who intends to keep Vernet, when he lingered a day in 80, providing the meals are good, and Vienna. There was one picture that the wages in proportion."

he wished to examine, and his artistic Zambetto, you have a good face. traps wanted replenishing; for Brown I bave half a mind to try you."

had become quite a crack amateur, that " Is it that Austrian who is to be is to say, when the fit was on him. bothered ?"

He was selecting his materials at a “He is my rival.”

color-shop, when a hired drosky drove “Out of that pure affection I feel up before the shop door, and a lady for his whole race. I would do it with- entered. Brown saw her hand a medulout wages,” here Zambetto luoked de. lion to the shopman.

Can this bo




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copied ?" asked a sweet voice in an Ital- gratitude wore worth anything, you ian-German.

would be repaid a thousand-fold.' “Certainly, that is to say-for I No matter for the remuneration. perceive this to be executed in the first Your address, if you please ?" style of art—if you would be willing to “My address ?" she seemed to hesi. pay the price for it;" and the inan tate, “I never thought of that. Here mentioned a considerable sum.

to-morrow at seven o'clock, and now, • How soon can I have it?" she anx

generous Englishman" iously inquired.

“No, American." You will be obliged to wait some • American, then." and she looked at time for it—the person who does this bim earnestly with her deep-blue kind of work for us, is out of town." eyes, “I thank you." She gave the

“I must have it immediately-is word to her coachman—in a moment there no one who could do this for me

was gone, and Vandyke was left in the in a day, for I must have it to-inorrow streot with the picture in his hand. “I evening.”

am a fool not to follow ber. Heavens “In a day! Impossible! To copy wbat a lovely face !" For a moment that any way faithfully, the artist would he hurried in the direction of the carbe forced to begin now and work inces- riage ; suddenly he paused. If I folsantly-perbaps then could not finish it. low. I may lose five hours of SeptemWhat you ask is impossible;" and, re- ber light, and my honor, which is enturning the miniature, he paid no more gaged.” To rush home to the Hotel attention to her.

de St. Petersburgh, was the affair of a Vapdyke saw a tear glisten from moment. "Perhaps her · portrait," under the veil the lady wore, as, convul- said Brown, as be commenced work, sively clasping the picture, sbe lingered more likely a man's head-some stuyet a moment, then burried out. Brown's pid commonplace affair, with unctuous sympathy was excited; he followed bair, and a gold chain. Yes, a man's her with his eyes, and saw her mount head. Um-a fair head-a splendid the carriage steps. “Some lover whose bead—I must do it justice. Her lover, portrait she must return; to solace her I suppose-the douce take it, how poor little heart she would keep a copy;" handsome he is !" he shook his fist at he mused. Unconsciously he was in it. There is energy in it-couragethe street; the lady was giving a direction a slight inclination towards the unatto the coachman; as Brown put his head tainable—but nothing tricky_every in the carriage window, the lady gave a line is truth and honor. Can such a cry of alarm—when Brown said, Mad- face as this have--have-? If it wasame, I am an artist, a poor one, it is I could kill him. Well, to work." true, but most ready to serve you. With more than one tinge of jealousy, “Will you give me the medallion ?" Brown worked away at his task, feel. Brown bad a singularly musical voice. ing himself every moment more and She hesitated a moment, then answered, more in love with the dark blue eyes. "Will you undertake it can you sit up “ Finished !” be exultingly cried the all day and night at it-will you labor next day, as, late in the afternoon, he faithfully—?" probably to see whether gave the miniature the last delicate the aid came from an honest face, she touch. “ Not bad either-quite dewithdrew the veil, and the loveliest type cent. What's the clock ? an hour to in Brown's gallery of ideal beauty-the spare ? Well done-worked against dark-blue eye of the Saxon, combined time, and beat the daguerreotype. Now with the rich skin and raven hair of the for a case to it." He found a' case Italian—a style that Caracci only at- which fitted it nicely. - “ Forty mintempts for his angels, was disclosed. utes to spare ! a mouthful to eat-a

"I give you my word, that if it be bottle of wine ; for it just strikes me, I within the range of possibility, I will have not tasted a morsel since yestermake & copy by to-morrow night. day.” At a quarter before seven he Your address, if you please,” cried had put on his last Paris suit-chosen Vandyke, enthusiastically, as he took his neatest gloves--given his hair its the portrait from her trembling hand. most dandified curl-brushed his fresh

“Double what the shopman men- est hat, and, with the pictures in his tioned as the price-shall be yours," pocket, hurried to the rendezvous. she added falteringly, “and, if my

He was before his time. Five min.

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