“Oh, an imaginary being, of course. But take care, Senor Gonzalo,” continued Sebastian, with a mischievous glance at his easel, “for it must be the Zombi who has sketched the left arm of your St. John to such a length that, if the right resembles it, he will be able to untie his shoe-strings without stooping.” “Do you know, gentlemen,” said Isturitz, as he glanced at the painting, “that the remarks of Sebastian are extremely just, and much to the point.” “Oh, they say that negroes have the faces of asses, and the tongues of parrots,” rejoined Gonzalo, in a tone of indifference. “With this distinction,” observed Ferdinand, “that the parrot repeats by rote, while Sebastian shows judgment in his remarks.” “Like the parrot, by chance,” retorted Gonzalo. “Who knows,” said Mendez, who had not digested the Naples yellow, “that from grinding the colors, he may one day astonish us by showing that he knows one from another.” “To know one color from another, and to know how to use them, are two very different things,” replied Sebastian, whom the liberty of the studio allowed to join in the conversation of the pupils; and truth obliges us to confess that his taste was so exquisite, his eye so correct, that many of them did not disdain to follow the advice he frequently gave them respecting their paintings. Although they sometimes amused themselves by teasing the little mulatto, he was a great favorite with them all; and this evening, on quitting the studio, each, giving him a friendly tap on the shoulder, counselled him to keep a strict watch and catch the Zombi, for fear of the lash. (_To be continued._) Peter Pilgrim’s Account of his Schoolmates. No. 2.