Truly has my mind, shut out as I am from commune with the busy world—truly has my mind been deeply, solemnly affected by the wondrous events which are passing in those realms, the pages of whose history are printed in blood. I see the hand of God in all. I trace the fulfillment of prophecies contained in the Book of books. I am oppressed by a sensation of awe as I read the words of inspiration and discern their truth in these latter days. Was not the heart of Louis Philippe before his sudden and terrible overthrow as stout as the heart of the King of Assyria? Did not he, too, say of his monarchy, his rule and his riches—not only to himself, but even to the stranger in his land— “By the strength of my hand I have done it and by my wisdom; for I am prudent; and I have removed the bounds of the people, and have robbed their treasures, and I have put down the inhabitants like a valiant man; and my hand hath found as a nest the riches of the people.” And was he not likewise cast down? Was not a burning kindled under his glory like the burning of a fire? “And behold at evening-tide, trouble, and before the morning he _was_ not.” “This is the portion of them that spoil us,” shouted the people of France at the overthrow of the family of Orleans. “This is the portion of them that spoil us, and the lot of them that rob us.” * * * * * ROME. BY R. H. STODDARD. In the heart of Rome eternal, the Coliseum stands sublime, Lofty in the midst of ruins, like a temple built to Time. Vast, colossal, ’tis with piles of broken arches reared on high, But the dome is gone, and nothing roofs it but the summer sky. And the walls are rent, and gaping wide, and crumbling fast away, And the columns waste, but moss and grasses cover their decay. When the sky of June was bluest, melting as the eye of love, And the breezes from Campagnia bore the city’s hum above; Poring o’er the rich and classic authors of the Age of Gold, Virgil, Horace, Terence, Plautus, Livy and historians old, I imagined Rome restored as in the glorious days of yore, Peopled by the great and mighty, as it shall be nevermore. I beheld the Past before me, and the fallen circus rose, And the leaning columns righted, and the ruins seemed to close; Flags were streaming on the lofty walls, and standards of renown, Plucked from out some hostile army, or some sacked and burning town; Proud patricians filled the boxes, judges, senators, in white, Consuls from remotest provinces, and hosts of ladies bright; And the emperor sat among them, in his regal purple proud, And below a countless sea of heads, the common plebeian crowd; Wrestlers struggled in the ring, and athlete and equestrians bold, And the steeds and dashing chariots raised a cloud of dusty gold;