head of the Indian corn, and then roasted. In this state they are exposed for sale at a very reasonable rate: we thought them excellent, but they are seldom seen at the repasts of the rich. They have also a small crustaceous animal resembling our shrimp, but not so well tasted. The meat market is well supplied with beef, mutton, and pork, and in the spring kid is plentiful and cheap; veal is prohibited by law. The beef and mutton are by no means equal to what we have in the markets of Europe; but, though these meats are not of the best quality, they are by no means bad. Perhaps the fault is in a great measure owing to the butcher, and we are always partial to our own method of preparing animal food. Of vegetables and fruits there are few places that can boast such variety as Mexico, and none where the consumption is greater in proportion to the inhabitants. The great market is larger than Covent Garden, but yet 66 unequal to contain the quantity, daily exposed for sale: the ground is entirely covered with every European kind, and, as I have already s ated, with many the very names of which we have scarcely heard. I was never tired of examining these fruits and vegetables. I have taken casts and drawings of all I could procure of the former during my residence: they are very numerous and extraordinary. -- "How few persons in Europe have any idea of the form or appearance, when in a state of life and vegetation, of the various kinds of bananas, plantains, pawpaws, custard-apples, sour sop, citrons, shaddock, ackee, sopotas, avocata, tunnals, pitalli, ciayotte, chennini, genianil, granadilla, pomegranates, dates, annonas, mangoes, starapples, mefons, gourds, tomatas, &c. with which, and many others, this market abounds in succession at various seasons of the year. SKETCHES OF SOCIETY. THE STEP-MOTHER. "SALLY tells me that you are not that, when a second family occupies the same roof, she will conscientiously discharge her common duty to both, and make but one heart and feeling prevail with all the children alike. The scene which had just passed before my eyes filled my mind with deep reflection, and I could not help thinking how momentous a thing it is, to introduce a wife, who is not the parent of her husband's family, into it. What jealousy! what injustice! what strife does not occur from such a union! how many struggles to alienate prior affection, what poutings and strivings to do away with claims of a former date! A man and woman ought to think thrice, before they give a nominal mother to motherless children. Purity is compromised, delicacy is robbed of its celestial bloom, and justice wavers when the buxom widow spurns her lone pillow, to give her children to a father-in law, and herself a second lord. The commencement of such engagements is founded either in passion or in interest, each of which is at variance with the duty they have to perform towards unoffending children, often made enemies from ill treatment, and I am at a loss to account for the preference usually shown to a second family, by the parent of both; the contracting party who has but one family, more naturally leans to it, but the mutual parent sins against nature by such conduct, whilst the other party offends honour and humanity in a minor, although not less dangerous degree. Injustaque noverca applies too generally to the second wife of an uxorious widower, yet it depends on her alone to merit a better name, and it appears to my humble conception, that a woman cannot more effectually endear herself to her husband, than by considering his children and her own as a common stock in love, and by making their interest and happiness one common cause. The stickling for preferences, in any shape, is the beginning of evil, and will end in misery and injustice, the taunts about unequal birth, fortune, beauty, and (often ideal) merits, undermine domestic peace, and often end in enormous crimes. Slighted children run headlong to ruin and despair, take to idle habits and a vicious life, imbibe at an early age, the poison of envy and hatred, fall off from the duty and affection to a first parent, or pine in the wasting agonies of sensibility, wounded by neglect, and engender an indifference as to conduct; for remove the excitement to well-doing, and mental inactivity must ensue, deny the meed of praise, and exertion is blighted for ever. If 66 my poor dear last husband," be a horror and reproach to the second lucky adventurer, who fain would say, "would that he were alive!" surely the "go away you troublesome thing," to the offspring of him whom she is bound to love, honour, and obey, must be equally grating a sound, and as calculated to foster regrets, resentments, and altered feeling, that sensation which takes place of sated ap petite, or of accomplished or disappointed mercenary designs. Nevertheless there is nothing more common in society, and we have daily proofs of its baneful effects; here we have a fine youth prematurely hurried into the service of his country, to be killed off, or sacrificed to the yellow fever, merely because he stood in the way of Master Jackey, the produce of a second marriage: there we see loveliness and tender age a victim to rashness, an out-cast, a run-a-way, because the daughter of her who lies, perhaps, in a new made grave, sins by inheriting her mother's beauty, and is a contrast to a plain step-mother, who must rule the roast, unrivalled and uncontrolled. In one family, the child of the first matrimonial engagement flies home from having lost a father's heart-in another, a wretched daugh ter marries the first being that asks her, merely to escape the tyranny of a strange woman, placed in usurped authority over her. In lower life, step-fathers cruelly chastising the wife's children, disgust the beholder -and base women, breaking the spirit of the children given in charge to them by the laws of society, awaken horror in an honest breast: doubtful and dangerous however, as these repeated nuptials are, it is possible to perform the double duties thus imposed, and there are some rare examples to justify the remark. "What is a step-mother?" said Irish Pat to a neighbour countryman, "why," says Booney, "a step-mother is a step towards being a mother, and yet no mother at all, at all." Bravo! Master Pat, but we will examine another picture. Lady Hartly ventured upon a widower of forty, he had five children du premier lit, and a second family of the same number was the consequence of the second engagement. Sir John was a sportsman, and so completely neglected all of them, that he could not be accused of a preference to any one of them, "there take them away when they have had a glass of wine," was his daily order at dessert time, touching the second breed, "I shall be glad when the vacation is over, and the brats return to school (or college)," was his remark concerning the first, whenever they were at home; but his mild matron-like lady was a mother to all without prejudice, preference, or injustice; she would play with the former like a child and a school companion, and was the tender nurse and preceptress of the latter. To reconcile one to another, to establish the closest links of affection and amity between them, to recommend them to their father, to minister to their innocent pleasures, and to conceal their trivial faults, occupied her whole time, and they repaid her with the sincerest love. The lovely Laura married her guardian, a handsome man of fifty, for whom (on account of his age and the parental office which he had discharged towards her) she entertained more respect and esteem than admiration or impassioned feeling. He had a son of twentyone years of age, an officer of Light Dragoons, wild, expensive, and fond of pleasure, but of a good temper and feeling heart; he might have beheld any other step-mother with envy and mistrust, or he might have viewed a beautiful young woman thus paired, with regret, or a criminal flame: but Laura was cast in such a gentle mould, that to know her was to be her friend, and she fulfilled her duties as a wife and as a mother in such a manner, as to captivate every one connected with the family. She never addressed Theodore by any other name than “ my son ;" and he found in her a mother, a sister, and a friend. Proud of her elegant form and good taste in dress, he was her frequent attendant in public; convinced of her benevolent mind, she was his adviser and confidant, ever sweetening and mellowing down the least rigid word or action of her husband towards his first-born. When he exceeded his pay and allowance, her purse made up the deficiency; and whenever he had committed an error, she was his apologist in the first instance, his directress in the second, and his consolatrix in care; and when no remedy could be found for what had occurred, it was delightful to see the two together. As a proof of the mutual sentiment existing between them, I remember him one day introducing her to a foreign nobleman thus Voila ma belle mere, vraiment belle, elle est non seulement ma mere, mais ma meilleure amie." The play upon the words belle mere, makes all translation fall short of the original, but it does not hinder it from being copied from that life, which would be a blessing to society, and is what is advised by PHILO-SPECTATOR. Aug. 1, 1824. (New Mon.) THE DEAN OF SANTIAGO. A Tale from the Conde Lucanor. Good stories seem to be imperishable. They are, it is true, doomed to undergo many transmutations, and to appear embodied under different forms; but the informing spirit which captivates our attention, is the same, whatever language they speak. tale may be often traced through every nation of Europe, till we lose it among the wild traditions of the North, or the romantic lore of the East. There was a period in the growth of society at which the imagination had a peculiar aptitude to conceive novel and striking combinations of characters and events-of moral actions and chances; of the power of the human will, and the external motives which oppose or modify it. At that period it was that the main store of tales was created, which every succeeding age and nation have made to undergo the changes which suited the originals to their own taste and notions. Indeed, the great difficulty in the invention of a tale appears to arise from the fewness of extraordinary situations which the world affords. Whatever, therefore, offers the means of introducing some source of novelty into a narrative, presents an opportunity of forming an interesting tale. Such means, however, decrease as the refinement of society advances. In the trammels of civilized life, the imagination is shorn of her wings, the judgment becomes sceptical and fastidious, the heart is rendered cold and cautious. We do not mean to ATHENEUM VOL. 2. new series. 6 question the higher advantages by which these losses are compensated; but merely state a fact which the observation of society at different stages makes obvious. It will be evident that we do not speak of the modern novels, in which the interest chiefly arises from the play of the human passions which the complicated machinery of society puts into motion; but of the more simple species of tales, the offspring of pure imagination. The characters of the primitive tale and the modern novel are as distinct as the two states of society which produce them. The former springs from fancy, in the youth of mankind; the latter is the fruit of dear-bought experience, at an advanced period of the world. But though the states and dispositions of the human mind which respectively give birth to these two kinds of composition, have little in common, man's taste for both is nearly permanent. There occurs, indeed, a temporary fastidiousness, which will not be amused with stories that delighted our forefathers; but the artificial excitement which, for a time, unfits society for every thing not seasoned up to its feverish palate, gradually disappears; or, what is more probable, the source of our morbid cravings being exhausted by the very means invented to gratify them, the mind returns to a more natural state, and feels refreshed by what it at one time loathed as tame and insipid. This relapse into a youthful taste may be observed no less in the mass of society, than in individuals. The analogy may still be traced farther, if we observe that the revived taste of society for the primitive sports of imagination, not unlike the renovated zest for the amusements of childhood, which often appears on the decline of life, is a taste of sympathy, not of action. Society, after its maturity, may turn with pleasure to the contemplation of the simple play of fancy in which she delighted when young; but, contented with a mere review of her childish toys, she would be ashamed at the attempt to contrive new ones of the same sort. If partiality to a favourite author does not bias our judgment, the story of the Dean of Santiago, which we subjoin, in a free translation from the Spanish of Prince Don Juan Manuel, is one of the finest specimens of this species of composition. But we must defer making any observations on its peculiar character till our readers have the story itself before them. THE DEAN OF SANTIAGO. IT was but a short hour before noon when the Dean of Santiago alighted from his mule at the door of Don Illan, the celebrated magician of Toledo. The house according to old tradition, stood on the brink of the perpendicular rock, which, now crowned with the Alcázar, rises to a fearful height over the Tagus. A maid of Moorish blood led the Dean to a retired apartment, where Don Illan was reading. The natural politeness of a Castillian had rather been improved than impaired by the studies of the Toledan sage, who exhibited nothing either in his dress or person that might induce a suspicion of his dealing with the mysterious powers of darkness. "I heartily greet your Reverence," said Don Illan to the Dean," and feel highly honour ed by this visit. Whatever be the object of it, let me beg you will defer stating it till I have made you quite at home in this house. I hear my housekeeper making ready the noonday meal. That maid, sir, will show you the room which has been prepared for you; and when you have brushed off the dust of the journey, you shall find a canonical capon steaming hot upon the board." The dinner, which soon followed, was just what a pampered Spanish canon would wish it-abundant, nutritive, and delicate." No, no," said Don Illan, when the soup and a bumper of Tinto had recruited the Dean's spirits, and he saw him making an attempt to break the object of his visit, no business, please your Reverence, while at dinner. Let us enjoy our meal at present; and when we have discussed the Olla, the capon, and a bottle of Yepes, it will be time enough to turn to the cares of life." 66 The ecclesiastic's full face had never beamed with more glee at the collation on Christmas eve, when, by the indulgence of the church, the fast is broken at sunset, instead of continuing through the night, than it did now under the influence of Don Julian's good humour and heart-cheering wine. Still it was evident that some vehement and ungovernable wish had taken possession of his mind, breaking out now and then in some hurried motion, some gulping up of a full glass of wine without stopping to relish the flavour, and fifty other symptoms of absence and impatience, which at such a distance from the ca thedral could not be attributed to the afternoon bell. The time came at length of rising from table, and in spite of Don Julian's pressing request to have another bottle, the Dean, with a certain dignity of manner, led his good-natured host to the recess of an oriel window, looking upon the river." Allow me, dear Don Julian," he said, " to open my heart to you; for even your hospitality must fail to make me completely happy till I have obtained the boon which I came to ask. I know that no man ever possessed greater power than you over the invisible agents of the universe. I die to become an adept in that wonderful science, and if you will receive me for your pupil, there is nothing I should think of sufficient worth to repay your friendship."-" Good Sir," replied Don Julian," I should be extremely, loth to offend you; but permit me to say, that in spite of the knowledge of causes and effects which I have acquired, all that my experience teaches me of the heart of man is not only vague and indistinct, but for the most part unfavourable. I only guess, I cannot read their thoughts, nor pry into the recesses of their minds. As for yourself, I am sure you are a rising man and likely to obtain the first dignities of the church. But whether, when you find yourself in places of high honour and patronage, you will remember the humble personage of whom you now ask a hazardous and important service, it is impossible for me to ascertain.”— "Nay, nay," exclaimed the Dean, "but I know myself, if you do not, Don Julian. Generosity and friendship (since you force me to speak in my own praise) have been the delight of my soul even from childhood. Doubt not, my dear friend, (for by that name I wish you would allow me to call you,) doubt not, from this moment, to command my services. Whatever interest I may possess, it will be my highest gratification to see it redound in favour of you and yours."" My hearty thanks for all, worthy Sir," said Don Julian. "But let us now proceed to business the sun is set, and, if you please, we will retire to my private study." Lights being called for, Don Julian led the way to the lower part of the house; and dismissing the Moorish maid near a small door, of which he held the key in his hand, desired her to get two partridges for supper, but not to dress them till he should order it: then unlocking the door, he began to descend by a winding staircase. The Dean followed with a certain degree of trepidation, which the length of the stairs greatly tended to increase: for, to all appearance, they reached below the bed of the Tagus. At this depth a comfortable neat room was found, the walls completely covered with shelves, where Don Julian kept his works on Magic; globes, planispheres, and strange drawings, occupied the top of the bookcases. Fresh air was admitted, though it would be difficult to guess by what means, since the sound of gliding water, such as is heard at the lower part of a ship when sailing with a gentle breeze, indicated but a thin partition between the subterraneous cabinet and the river." Here, then," said Don Julian, offering a chair to the Dean,and drawing another for himself towards a small round table, "we have only to choose among the elementary works of the science for which you long. Suppose we begin to read this small volume. The volume was laid on the table, and opened at the first page, containing circles, concentric and eccentric, triangles with unintelligible characters, and the well known signs of the planets.-"This," said Don Julian, " is the alphabet of the whole science. Hermes, called Trismegistus" The sound of a small bell within the chamber made the Dean almost leap out of his chair. "Be not alarmed," said Don Julian; "it is the bell by which my servants let me know that they want to speak to me." Saying thus, he pulled a silk string, and soon after a servant appeared with a packet of letters. It was addressed to the Dean. A courier had closely followed him on the road, and was that moment arrived at Tole do. 66 "Good Heavens !" exclaimed the Dean, having read the contents of the letter; my great uncle, the Archbishop of Santiago, is dangerously ill. This is, however what the secretary |