making any auswer, immediately fixed his eye on the little chest, in which the abovementioned statue was very plainly to be seen; then shaking his head, he turned to the duke, and said, with a scornful sneer, 'My lord, this is one of those things I have so often spoken to your excellency about; depend upon it, the ancients knew nothing of the anatomy of the parts, and for that reason their works abound with errors.' I stood silent, and gave no attention to what he had advanced, but on the contrary turned my back to him. When the fool had made an end of his nonsensical harangue, the duke, addressing himself to me, said, 'Benvenuto, this is quite the reverse of what you awhile ago so much boasted, and seemed to prove by so many specious arguments: so endeavor to defend your own cause. To these words of the duke, which were spoken with great mildness, I answered, My lord, your excellency is to understand that Baccio Bandinello is a compound of every thing that is bad, and so he has always been; insomuch, that whatsoever he looks at is by his fascinating eyes, however superlatively good in itself, immediately converted into something supremely evil: but I, who am inclined to good alone, see the truth through a happier medium; so that all I mentioned awhile ago to your excellency concerning that beautiful figure is strictly and literally true, and what Bandinello has said of it is purely the result of his own innate malevolence.' The duke seemed to hear me with pleasure, and whilst I expressed myself thus, Bandinello writhed himself into a variety of contortions, and made his face, which was by nature very ugly, quite hideous by his frightful grimaces. Immediately the duke, quitting the hall, went down to the groundfloor apartments, and Bandinello after him: the gentlemen of the bed-chamber, pulling me by the cloak, encouraged me to go after him; so we followed the duke till he sat himself down in one of the rooms, and Bandinello and I placed ourselves one on his right, the other on his left. I remained silent, and many of the duke's servants who stood round kept their eyes fixed on Bandinello, tittering when they recollected what I had said to him in the hall above. Bandinello again began to chatter, and said, that when he exhibited his Hercules and Cacus to the public, he really believed there were above a hundred lampoons published against him, which contained all the vilest ribaldry that could enter into the imagination of the rabble. To this I answered, 'My lord, when your great artist, Michael Angelo Buonarotti, exhibited his sacristy, in which so many beautiful figures are to be seen, the members of the admirable school of Florence, which loves and encourages genius wherever it displays itself, published above a hundred sonnets wherein they vie with each other which should praise him most; and as Bandinello deserved all the ill that was said of his work, so Michael Angelo merited the highest encomiums that were bestowed on his performance. Upon my expressing myself thus, Bandinello was incensed to such a degree, that he was ready to burst with fury, and turning to me said, 'What faults have you to find with my statues?' I answered, 'I will soon tell them, if you have but the patience to hear me?' He replied, 'Tell them then.' The duke and all present listened with the utmost attention. I began by premising that I was sorry to be obliged to lay before him all the blemishes of his work, and that I was not so properly delivering my own sentiments, as declaring what was said of it by the ingenious school of Florence. However, as the fellow at one time said something disobliging, at another made some offensive gesture with his hands or his feet, he put me into such a passion that I behaved with a rudeness which I should otherwise have avoided. 666 The ingenious school of Florence,' said I, ‘declares what follows:-If the hair of your Hercules were shaved off, there would not remain skull enough to hold his brains; with regard to his face, it is hard to distinguish whether it be the face of a man or that of a creature something between a lion and an ox; it discovers no attention to what it is about; and it is so badly set upon the neck, with so little art and so ungraceful a manner, that a more shocking piece of work was never seen; his great brawny back resembles the two pommels of an ass's packsaddle; his breasts and their muscles bear no similitude to those of a man, but appear like a sack of melons; as he leans directly against the wall, the small of the back has the appearance of a bag filled with long cucumbers; is impossible to conceive in what manner the two legs are fastened to this distorted figure, for it is hard to distinguish upon which leg he stands, or upon which he exerts any effort of his strength, nor does he appear to stand upon both, as he is sometimes represented by those masters of the art of statuary who know something of their business; it is plain, too, that the statue inclines more than one-third of a cubit forward, and this is the greatest and the most insupportable blunder which pretenders to sculpture are guilty of; as for the arms, they both hang down in the most awkward and ungraceful manner imaginable, and so little art is displayed in them, that people would be almost tempted to think that you never saw a naked man in your life; the right leg of Hercules and that of Cacus touch at the middle of their calves, and, if they were to be separated, not one of them only, but both would remain without a calf in the place where they touch: besides, one of the Hercules's feet is quite buried, and the other seems to have fire under it.' Thus I went on, but the man could no longer stay with patience to hear the defects of his figure of Cacus enumerated; one reason was that what I said was true, the other, that I made the duke perfectly acquainted with his real character, as well as the rest of those present, who discovered the greatest symptoms of surprise imaginable, and began to be sensible that all I said was true. The brutish fellow thereupon said, 'O thou slanderer, dost thou say nothing of my design?' I answered that he who drew a good one, could never work ill, and that I was convinced his design was of a piece with his works. Seeing that the duke and all present showed, by their sarcastic looks and gestures, that they thought the censure of his performance to be just, he let his insolence entirely get the better of him, and, turning about to me with the most brutish physiognomy, assailed me with the most infamous epithets. When he expressed himself thus, the duke and all present frowned upon him, and discovered symptoms of the highest displeasure. I, though full of passion, thought it best to treat him with ridicule, and succeeded so well, that none present could contain themselves, but both the duke and all present set up a loud laugh. Though I endeavored to put a good face upon the matter, I was ready to burst with vexation, that one of the most worthless wretches upon earth should have the impudence to affront me in so gross a manner in the presence of a great prince; but the reader should at the same time take into consideration, that on this occasion the duke was affronted and not I, for had I not been in his august presence, I should have killed the villain upon the spot. Perceiving that the noble personages present never once ceased laughing, this low buffoon, to divert them from deriding him, began to change the subject, and said, 'This Benvenuto here goes about making it his boast, that I promised him a block of marble.' 'How,' said I, interrupting him, 'did you not send word by your journeyman, Francis Matteo Fabbro, that if I chose to work in marble, you would make me a present of a piece? Did I not accept that offer, and don't I still require of you the performance of your promise? He replied then, Depend upon it, you shall never have it.' Thereupon I, who was incensed to the highest pitch by his former abuse, being suddenly deprived of my reason, as it were, forgot for a moment that I was in the presence of the duke, and cried out to him in a passion: In plain terms, either send the marble to my house, or think of another world, for I will infallibly send you out of this but immediately recollecting that I was in the presence of so great a prince, I turned with an air of humility to his excellency, and said, 'My lord, one fool makes a hundred; the folly of this man has made me forget your excellency's glory, and myself, for which I humbly beg your lordship's pardon.' The duke addressing himself to Bandinello, asked him whether it was true that he had promised me the marble. Bandinello answered it was. The duke thereupon said to me, 'Return to your work and take a piece of marble to your liking.' I replied that he had promised to send me one to my own house. Terrible words passed upon the occasion and I insisted upon receiving it in that manner and no other." But we should stretch this article beyond all reasonable limits, did we go on any longer quoting scene after scene from this most amusing of autobiographies. Suffice it to say, that in 1570 Benvenuto Cellini at length died at Florence, which he had so greatly contributed to adorn, where he had risen to the very highest honors, and where From the London "Lady's Companion." WOMAN AND HER FRIENDS. he was buried with the greatest funeral pomp. | changed before they can be worthy of the His character is better displayed by his own position in which she would place them. pen, than it could be by the most elaborate How hard it is steadily to say "nay" to the estimate on the part of others. crotchets of some of these benevolent wo men, so eager to help their sex, but so woefully ignorant, as we think, of the way! Pure and warm hearted enthusiasts! worth many times more than the wise woman of the world, who guides herself by a sharp and prudent look-out towards some fashionable centre of authority! Of these last, the less we say the better. I reverence the little word "must,"-I look with respect on the strong decrees that places me where I am,-but have no wish to wear a bracelet of gold as an ornament, when it is in reality a manacle. ONE feels curious to know-one often longs to know-what the fate of women, generally, would be, if the wishes of some, gifted much above the average of their sex, were fulfilled. Wishes for themselves I do not now mean, but aspirations after something for other women,-not quite emancipation-not so odious as that, but something scarcely to be defined better than as just what they have not-just a change, involving an idea of greater dignity, inasmuch as it opens the way to greater freedom of action. What is called "The Woman Question,” is one so strongly to my distaste, that I am not about to introduce it here; but, as I cannot move among my lady-friends, discerning everywhere bright gleams of thought and generous feeling, without speculation on the use and abuse of their good gifts, upon their present weaknesses in practice, and the probable consequences of an enlarged sphere of action, I hope I may put down a few of the thoughts that occur to me. It is certainly a painful thing that we see so many women beating against their barswishing to be one thing or other, rather than what they are. I believe that the tendency of her education being to add greatly to the variety of her mental resources, Woman's danger is now rather more from the head than the heart; she is looking more for a field of activity for her mind, some way of using her expanded and enlarged powers, than for a settlement or an object of affection; and thus it is that any weakness in the logical powers, any great inconsistency resulting from partial training, is of the most mischievous effect. Now and then we note some thoroughly noble-minded, and, in herself, happy and privileged woman, taking up the cause of aspirants after greater liberty, rather than aiding them to be more fit for that liberty,-coupling her own honored and unsuspected name with the names of the vain and ambitious, whose motives, whose whole mode of thinking and being, must be One grand consideration, meanwhile, which damps my ardor, and disables me from responding to the eager endeavors after greater outward liberty for women, is the all but universal faintness of their grasp at a subject, and a great predominance of the faculty of Wonder among them. So few even of those I most love and respect among women, possess truly calm minds, that I can scarcely call to mind the individual whom I have not, at one time or other, known to be victimized by this rapidly acting power. Most frequently it takes the form of a catch at something a little out of the common way, in character or circumstance, something which is agreeable, simply because of that novelty, or for associated novelties. In other minds, it is merely egotism carried into the region of the wonderful. Whether the object brought out by it be in itself massive or minute; whether the question be of missionary enterprises, or whether it has to do with one's flowers, or the cultivation of a field or two, any thing which, being done in rather a new way, may stimulate the fancy, will do Far more serious things are behind. It is but too true that, possessing, in general, as I have said, but a faint grasp of a subject, women are fond of rushing into very complex things. If there be subjects requiring, in the examination and discussion, the nicest possible judgment, the rarest combi nation of mental and moral science, the deepest seriousness, the clearest and the calmest thought, those will be caught at by the eager, rushing energy of impetuous women,-those are the heights they will try to scale,-those the depths they seek to fathom, -those the studies they will think they have | tellectual vegetation." Concentration of mastered, and those the grand truths they thought on any subject,-high views of are bound to proclaim, aloud and always, knowledge,-aspirations after every form of for the benefit of the human race. To them the greatest of all evils seems to be delay. They cannot wait; extempore duty must be done it is better to make mischief than to be quiet. And thus, to be courageous and bold, or, at least, to seem so, is their favorite virtue. True it is that not many may attain this measure of self-confidence; still, by the few, numbers are misled; and many, only third-rates among awakened women, spend, through their means, miserable lives, waging petty warfare against the thoughts and the habits of those who live around them; stretching after things they cannot, and neglecting the duties they can compass. Would we look at this matter quietly, I am persuaded we should regard it as furnishing the best and strongest reasons for a more enlarged education of women. I am not prepared to place any absolute barrier between woman and the pursuit of any respect able professional object, but this I certainly feel, that it is cruel to wish her a wider sphere unless you bestow on her a more equal cultivation, meaning by "equal," nothing identical, but only that the nature of the woman should be as carefully attended to as that of the man. I have no great idea that merely governess-taught girls will ever be hopeful subjects. From a training committed, in almost all points, to women, there will come merely a repetition of the old errors -self-consciousness in the many, boldness and breaking loose in the few. Nature's way is best. The minds of both men and women should be combined to make an education good; the imagination of the woman receiving qualification from the intellect of the man. It is matter of just remark-even complaint-that, while our day is favored beyond example with a wide diffusion of knowledge, such as it is, it is spread out so thinly. There are so few people, women especially, of whom we can say that they do any one thing VERY WELL INDEED. They seldom seem to select an object of pursuit, and stand by it. A little of every thing-that is the general fashion. With all our clever sharp-shooting, we do not often obtain accurate remarks upon subjects even which have formed a large part of a woman's education; still seldomer do we find "in truth, are but too rare. Young women turn from a school-life as if education was finished; and, if anxious after duty, still think of moral duty chiefly as it concerns their families and the poor of the parish. The pursuit of art is regarded as a mere pleasure,—an amusement. Painting a picture is a pleasant way of spending an hour; and if the picture is pretty, it can be framed. But a rare thing it is to find them entertaining the idea of art as something that is worthy of reverend love. If you speak of conscience in connection with music or painting, they know not what you mean. As there is nothing to them sacred in the conceptions of genius, nor fixed in the laws of sound or of vision, in orderly obedience to which every true artist must move, so they cannot conceive that when this obedience is faithfully rendered in the cultivation of art, it is a proof of the presence of a spirit without which no high love of truth, no lofty self-sacrifice, is possible. They who have ever had the happiness of knowing living examples of the following out of high art, know what a quiet and holy tone it may give to the whole character,—how it is philosophy and poetry, and even religion,-how it may draw from the smallest and the vastest things perpetual nourishment and extension. From Dickens' "Household Words." LONDON SPARROWS. T. A NICE light dinner at my club, to-day— no politics after it-too wise for that-bad for digestion at my age. I will go home at once. As the evening is fine, I will take Cockspur Street in my way, in order to have a look at the window of Squires' (late Colnaghi and Puckle's) print-shop. How it shines with rich effects of light and shade! Now, let me see. What is that? My spectacles. So, I thought it was his. Carlo Dolce's "Madonna colle Stelle." How beautiful! how more than beautiful! A divine light, like an inward tear, gleams in the eye, as though the soul were melting with grief, too sacred to be allowed to gush forth upon the cheek, far less to fall upon the earth. Moreover, the deep sorrow is tempered with a resigned and loving sweetness—a looking | other side of me, and close under my elbow? upward to One whose presence to her in- Another poor little imp of about ten years spired vision, or rapt and devout imagina of age. How extremely plain-not to say tion, gives balm and consolation to her mute ugly-street-children often are! Their hard heart's anguish. A window full of prints life and the characters of their parents, like this, and those of Paul and Dominic causes it. This child, who is now staring in Colnaghi, and one or two others at the window upon a print of Sir Robert Peel, and flattening his nose against the glass, has a forehead "villainous low," with dark eyes, and short dark hair, and his diminutive face, both in features and expression, is uncommonly like one end of a cocoanut. What a sad lot for these children to be left thus,-perhaps even turned adrift by their parents to wander about the streets, and pick up, here and there, a precarious crumb! And now, as I turn round, I see But what is this fidgeting behind methis twitching at my coat-skirts? I turn round. Nobody is behind me. There is nobody close to me. Some people passing by-but not near. I must have fancied it. Any thing new in the window, since I last came by. Yes-"Les Saintes Femmes vont au tombeau du Christ." The painter, judging by those two heads, for I don't recollect the design-must be Raphael. Let me see -my spectacles again. "Charles Landell, pinxit!" Astonishing audacity! The delib-three others, apparently in the same wretcherate imitation in style and character of two of the heads, and the direct robbery of the third! This latter one is Raphael's "St. Anne." Why, I know it as well as I know my own face, and better. It is in Raphael's "Holy Family" entitled "La Perle," and was, some years ago, in possession of the King of Spain. The cool and barefaced way in which artists continually purloin There, again!-certainly something pushed along close behind me; yet there's no crowd, nor any one at my side. To be sure, at the other end of the window-front there is a little urchin looking in at a print. It could not have been he. How earnestly he gazes at Raphael's "Madonna, with the infant Christ!" But now I look again at him, what a face he has! what bad features and expression. How can he feel any sympathy with what he gazes upon. It must be mere curiosity. Yet how intent he seems. He is very diminutive, and cannot be above eight or nine years of age; yet he has the face of a bad man of fifty. He has a sallow complexion, a retreating forehead, with dirty light hair, very coarse and short. No cap; so that I see the shape of his head, which is very small, and compressed in front and at the sides, and rises behind very high, and expands. His nose is mean and pinched, with a sharp ridge, his eyes very small, his cheek-bones and the lower jaw very large for such a child; his mouth also is large, and projects, and his chin juts out sharply the little Tartar. But what is this on the ed outcast condition-two boys and a girl. The elder boy seems not to care much about it; he has, no doubt, become more accustomed to his lot. He is between twelve and thirteen. His voice is hoarse, cracked, and discordant; perhaps by some street-cry. He has a large projecting nose, red pulpy lips, a long chin, and a long throat, uncovered. No collar-indeed, now I look again, no shirt; and he wears a greasy jacket and trowsers, both much too small for him; so that his large red hands and wrists, swollen with chilblains, hang listlessly far below the end of his sleeves; and his long, thin ankles, and large unshapely feet are so far below the end of his trowsers as to give the appearance of the legs and feet of a bird. He is whistling a sort of jig tune, and beating time with one of his heels. Poor boy !-I dare say he would be very glad to work if he had an opportunity. A girl, of about twelve, stands on one side of him. She is so scantily clad as to be scarcely decent. Her shoulder-blades stick up, she is so meagre, and she shivers with the cold. But I do not like the expression of her face; for, though I pity her eager, hungry look, and evidently bad state of health, I cannot help seeing that she has very much the look of a sickly rat. On the other side of the elder boy stands a younger one-of some ten years of age. He is very pale, and has fair hair, a rueful mouth, rather dropping at the corners, large sad eyes, with very long lashes, and an expression at once timid, yet indifferent-innocent, and guilty. Guilty!-of |