flower in its lone course over a wintry ocean, to this western world. Its fires were kindled on the rock of Plymouth-the wilderness was gladdened in the light of its smiles. It showed the Puritan how detestable is tyranny, and taught him to cherish the young institutions of freedom with vestal fervor and fidelity. As the tide of population rolled westward, it became interwoven with the very frame-work of society, and, when in the progress of events, the arm of the oppressor assayed to crush a rising nation, its voice was heard loud and clear above the storm of battle. Under its influence was reared, upon broad and deep foundations, the fabric of a republican government, which the blasts of war might shake not more than does the breath of evening the pillars of the Parthenon. The American revolution and consequent independence, formed one of those bright epochs in the history of the world, which "sends its influence far into the future, and stamps its character upon succeeding ages, with the certainty of an overruling destiny."

The present age is distinguished by many peculiarities which portend the final if not speedy triumph of truth. We will notice but one-a spirit of free and rational inquiry. Dogmas in philosophy and religion, which have come down to us, hoary with age and sanctified by time, are no longer received on trust, but boldly discussed and rejected. The temple of antiquity is entered, and the footsteps of the daring intruder may be heard echoing along its sacred penetralia. The mind of man has been roused from its long and dreamless sleep, to a consciousness of its powers and destiny. Bigotry and superstition quail before the eye of reason. Men begin to see that religion does not consist in heartless forms and ceremonies, in gaudy pictures and sacred relics, in burning tapers and holy water. Few can be found at the present day so far behind the spirit of the age as to defend the senseless mummeries of papacy. They rather look for the spirit, the essence of religion-a religion based upon divine revelation and sustained by enlightened reason and sound philosophy. Conscience, that monitor of God, has been rescued from its imprisonment in the grasp of the confessor, and placed once more upon the watchtower of the soul.

The spirit of inquiry is manifested also in the fields of science and literature. The face of nature, which in former ages was an unmeaning blank, appears now written all over in characters of light. In every bud that shoots, in every insect that flutters in the sunbeams, in the rippling stream that winds its way through the verdant valley, in the wild blue lake ruffled by the floating breeze, in the chafed surges of the troubled ocean, in the blasts that bellow in the forest, in the lightnings that dance from cloud to cloud, in the stars that twinkle "in the eternal space," in all these, man now discerns an active, mighty, living energy. The beauty, and order, and harmony of the heavens-what are they

but reflections from the mirror of modern science? What, but this, has disclosed to men in the flickering tapers of the sky, the burning centers of other systems, not unlike our own? What but this has taught the trembling victim of ignorance and superstition, to look at the ill-omened eclipse, and not suffer in imagination, all the horrors of war, pestilence and famine? What but this has bid him gaze at the fiery comet, and not see in it the fearful torch that was to light the last great conflagration? What but this enables him to look into the future, and trace the same comet with unerring certainty along its devious way, and mark the hour, nay, the moment when it shall return from its wanderings? Every department of science has felt the enlightening and elevating power of awakened genius. The old systems of philosophy have been consigned to the grave of the Capulets, and the colossal fabric of Bacon has been built upon their ashes.

The literature of the world, partaking of the spirit of the times, is made the vehicle of thought, of truth and purity, and promises, under the fostering hand of Christianity, to become a powerful auxiliary in advancing the highest interests of mankind. Schools, for the education of all, are beginning to be scattered among the nations, like islands in an archipelago. The factitious distinctions in society are growing fewer and fainter. Woman, no longer regarded as the "thrall of the field or the toy of the harem," a mere blank in the world, is becoming the arbiter of refinement, the cynosure of social intercourse, and, in her sphere, the eloquent advocate of truth and virtue. The free press and free discussion, those brightest jewels in the coronet of liberty, are sending forth a wide and enlightening influence upon the dark places of the earth. Knowledge is spreading among the million, and with it, power is descending from the palaces of the few, to the humble abodes of the many. Men are learning their rights, and kingdoms and dynasties crumble to dust. They are becoming conscious of their power, and the despot

-"feels his title

Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe

Upon a dwarfish thief."

These are some of the evidences of the progress and power of truth. They are some of the signs of the times, which betoken her ultimate triumph. Though assailed on every hand by the passions and prejudices of men, yet,

"As easy might you the intrenchant air

With your keen sword impress, as make her bleed."

She has

"Grasped the mysterious urn of destiny,"

and stands pledged to its commands, as if under the full and stern "Overlook of Necessity.' P. Q.

TIME rolled on, and gaiety had prevailed even more than its wont, in the castle of Savoy. The peculiar relation the Lady Florence had sustained from childhood towards her cousin, was now known to be dissolved, and few of the proudest of Italy's nobility but gladly knelt at the shrine of one of its fairest daughters. And the lady! while moving in a brilliant circle-the loved, the admired of all-no haunting remembrance seemed to dim the luster of her eye, or quell her tones of gladness and mirth. The cheek and lip were unblanched as ever; and they who judged

from the outward appearance, oft breathed a sigh for woman's faith and woman's devotion.

But the lady, in her hours of retirement, was not the careless being she seemed when many eyes were bent upon her. Ofttimes when the sun was throwing his last beams on the mountain tops, did she linger in that very spot where she last heard the manly tones of him who was now an exile, she knew not where; and last, too, wept her passionate farewell over Bianca, the foster sister, the cherished friend of her childhood and youth —then, did the unrepressed tears, the utter abandonment to grief, prove, that a sorrow concealed from the world may be none the less bitter.

Of her princely father, immersed in the duties belonging to his high station, she saw little; and the maiden who succeeded Bianca, failed in her assiduous endeavors to win the confidence that had been reposed in her predecessor. One bright afternoon, as her mistress reclined on a pile of rich cushions, Lisa, the while, twining rich gems in her raven tresses, a sweet, melancholy air, came floating up from the court yard below. The lady started from her reverie

"Hearken, maiden; did you hear that strain? Methinks it is sweeter than aught I have heard these many days."

"And call you that rare music, lady!" replied Lisa. "Why, it is one of those gloomy airs the heretics on yonder mountains, sing in their Sabbath assemblings. The poor deluded creatures! how I pity them! no gay dances, no merry-makings on Sunday eve, no recreations, save what they find in listening to the drawling of their ghost-like leaders, and singing psalms more fitting a funeral than a holiday"

It is uncertain how much longer Lisa would have continued her invectives had not the lady, with an unusual impatience of manner, interrupted her.

"Thy words please me not, maiden; for know"-and her tones grew gentle as before-" that the days of my childhood were spent in the Vaudois valleys, beneath the roof of a humble pastor. His wife was my foster mother, and his daughter, the loved companion of whom you have often heard me speak.

At this moment, a page entered, saying, that an aged man craved a few minutes audience with the Lady Florence.

"Know you aught of his errand, Adolph ?"

"His appearance bespeaks a minstrel; but he bade me say, he had rich and rare jewels, fit only for such as thee; and shouldst thou refuse his request, he bade me give thee this ring, and in truth, 'tis of exquisite workmanship."

The lady took the ring; and well was it that Lisa was too much occupied with admiring the jewel to heed at all the deathlike paleness of her young mistress."

"Bid him hither, Adolph ?"

A few minutes had elapsed, when, conducted by the page, a venerable man, attired in the rude garb of a wandering harper, entered the boudoir with low and respectful obeisance. The lady signed him to be seated, and then, with forced calmness of manner, interrogated him.

"Art thou a pilgrim, aged man ?"

"Yes, lady, I have come a long and weary way."

"Hast thou no home?"

"Nay, lady, the wandering minstrel hath no resting place on earth; and no companion save this harp: it once gave forth sweet sounds, and now methinks is scarcely injured by time."

"Thou speakest in praise of thy instrument, but hath thy skill failed in thine old age?" inquired the lady, who perceived that the minstrel wished to allay suspicion of his errand in the minds of her attendants.

"Ah, much I fear me, it hath," was the reply; "but if aught could awake to life and energy a minstrel's lyre, thy voice, noble lady, surely would prevail."

"Harper, thou hast learned flattery in courts; an air on thy harp executed as best thou art able, would please me more. Meantime, I will look over thy jewels. Adolph, bring them hither."

The page obeyed; but the minstrel was evidently disturbed by the curiosity of Lisa, who like many of her country women delighted in fine array.

"Look here! fair maiden; I have a collection, which will suit thee better."

So saying, he produced a box of fancy goods of glittering hues, though not of costly materials. Lisa took it joyfully, and retired to a distant part of the room, where she was soon joined by Adolph, and in their mirth they quickly forgot the presence of the harper. Not so the lady; her hand trembled, so she could scarce unclasp the lid; and the air poured forth by the minstrel, was in no way suited to tranquillize her feelings. As the laughter of her attendants grew louder, she motioned the harper to approach

nearer.

"Tell me, I pray you," said she, in low and agitated tones, "know you aught of the owner of this ring?"

"Yes, lady; but earthly places will soon know him no more forever. This ring he sent thee as a token of his unchanged love. And this book," continued the minstrel, as he drew from the folds of his mantle an elegantly bound volume,-"this pearl above all price, he beseeches thee to accept, as the last, best gift of a dying cousin.”

The lady knew it was the Bible; but she took it with trembling hand, while her cheek was pale as freshly fallen snow.