sentatives of our
century."

And has not this prediction of Montesquieu's been in some sort
fulfilled?--Historians have styled the seventeenth century the century of
Louis XIV. Could not the eighteenth be with more justice designated the
century of Voltaire and Madame de Pompadour? For if these two characters
be carefully studied, the entire spirit of the age will in them be found
faithfully depicted.

But, O vanity of vanities! Madame de Pompadour, with all her wit, and
grace, and beauty, after having strutted and fretted her little hour on
life's fitful stage, has vanished from the theater of the world into
utter oblivion, leaving, literally speaking, scarcely a trace behind. In
the words of Diderot we may ask, "What now remains of this woman, the
dispenser of millions, who overthrew the entire political system of
Europe, and left her country dishonored, powerless, and impoverished,
both in mind and resources? The Treaty of Versailles, which will last as
long as it can; a statue by Bouchardon, which will be always admired; a
few stones engraved by Gay, which will astonish a future generation of
antiquarians; a pretty little picture by Vanloo; and a handful of ashes."

* * * * *

From Eliza Cook's Journal.

THE CHURCH OF THE VASA D'AGUA.

One very hot evening, in the year 1815, the curate of San Pedro, a
village distant but a few leagues from Seville, returned very much
fatigued to his poor home; his worthy housekeeper, Senora Margarita,
about seventy years of age, awaited him. However much any one might have
been accustomed to distress and privation among the Spanish peasantry, it
was impossible not to be struck with the evidence of poverty in the house
of the good priest. The nakedness of the walls, and scantiness of the
furniture, were the more apparent, from a certain air about them of
better days. Senora Margarita had just prepared for her master's supper
an olla podrida, which notwithstanding the sauce, and high sounding name,
was nothing more than the remains of his dinner, which she had disguised
with the greatest skill. The curate, gratified at the odor of this savory
dish, exclaimed,--

"Thank God, Margarita, for this dainty dish. By San Pedro, friend, you
may well bless your stars to find such a supper in the house of your
host."

At the word host, Margarita raised her eyes, and beheld a stranger who
Accompanied her master. The face of the old dame assumed suddenly