It is very delightful, in a breezy day, to see the masses of white cloud float over the opening, and then the sunshine fall through it again, fitfully, as it does now.

Would it be any wonder if we were to see angels hovering there, partly in and partly out, with genial, heavenly faces, not intercepting the light, but only transmuting it into beautiful colors?
Look at that broad, golden beam--a sloping cataract of sunlight--which comes down from the aperture and rests upon the shrine, at the right hand of the entrance!" "There is a dusky picture over that altar," observed the sculptor.

"Let us go and see if this strong illumination brings out any merit in it." Approaching the shrine, they found the picture little worth looking at, but could not forbear smiling, to see that a very plump and comfortable tabby-cat--whom we ourselves have often observed haunting the Pantheon--had established herself on the altar, in the genial sunbeam, and was fast asleep among the holy tapers.

Their footsteps disturbing her, she awoke, raised herself, and sat blinking in the sun, yet with a certain dignity and self-possession, as if conscious of representing a saint.
"I presume," remarked Kenyon, "that this is the first of the feline race that has ever set herself up as an object of worship, in the Pantheon or elsewhere, since the days of ancient Egypt.

See; there is a peasant from the neighboring market, actually kneeling to her! She seems a gracious and benignant saint enough." "Do not make me laugh," said Hilda reproachfully, "but help me to drive the creature away.