ture of which
ridiculous ignorance has been shown by many recent writers, was, in
fact, principally a religious and typical donation, (symbolical of the
gifts of the Holy Spirit,) conferred by the heads of convents--and that
part of the ceremony which was political, was republican, not regal.)
said Nina, adding, with woman's tender wit, "the brightest association
of all!"

"Follies seem these thoughts to others, and to philosophy, in truth, they
are so," said Rienzi; "but all my life long, omen and type and shadow
have linked themselves to action and event: and the atmosphere of other
men hath not been mine. Life itself a riddle, why should riddles amaze
us? The Future!--what mystery in the very word! Had we lived all through
the Past, since Time was, our profoundest experience of a thousand ages
could not give us a guess of the events that wait the very moment we are
about to enter! Thus deserted by Reason, what wonder that we recur to
the Imagination, on which, by dream and symbol, God sometimes paints
the likeness of things to come? Who can endure to leave the Future all
unguessed, and sit tamely down to groan under the fardel of the Present?
No, no! that which the foolish-wise call Fanaticism, belongs to the same
part of us as Hope. Each but carries us onward--from a barren strand to
a glorious, if unbounded sea. Each is the yearning for the GREAT BEYOND,
which attests our immortality. Each has its visions and chimeras--some
false, but some true! Verily, a man who becomes great is often but made
so by a kind of sorcery in his own soul--a Pythia which prophesies that
he shall be great--and so renders the life one effort to fulfil the
warning! Is this folly?--it were so, if all things stopped at the grave!
But perhaps the very sharpening, and exercising, and elevating the
faculties here--though but for a bootless end on earth--may be designed
to fit the soul, thus quickened and ennobled, to some high destiny
beyond the earth! Who can tell? not I!--Let us pray!"

While the Senator was thus employed, Rome in her various quarters
presented less holy and quiet scenes.

In the fortress of the Orsini lights flitted to and fro, through the
gratings of the great court. Angelo Villani might be seen stealing from
the postern-gate. Another hour, and the Moon was high in heaven; toward
the ruins of the Colosseum, men, whose dress bespoke them of the lowest
rank, were seen creeping from lanes and alleys, two by two; from these