ut,
instead of blossoms on the shrub, or freshly gathered, with the dewdrops
on their leaves, their worship, nowadays, is best symbolized by the
artificial flower.

The sculptor fancied, moreover (but perhaps it was his heresy that
suggested the idea), that it would be of happy influence to place a
comfortable and shady seat beneath every wayside shrine. Then the weary
and sun-scorched traveller, while resting himself under her protecting
shadow, might thank the Virgin for her hospitality. Nor, perchance,
were he to regale himself, even in such a consecrated spot, with the
fragrance of a pipe, would it rise to heaven more offensively than
the smoke of priestly incense. We do ourselves wrong, and too meanly
estimate the Holiness above us, when we deem that any act or enjoyment,
good in itself, is not good to do religiously.

Whatever may be the iniquities of the papal system, it was a wise and
lovely sentiment that set up the frequent shrine and cross along the
roadside. No wayfarer, bent on whatever worldly errand, can fail to be
reminded, at every mile or two, that this is not the business which
most concerns him. The pleasure-seeker is silently admonished to look
heavenward for a joy infinitely greater than he now possesses. The
wretch in temptation beholds the cross, and is warned that, if he yield,
the Saviour's agony for his sake will have been endured in vain. The
stubborn criminal, whose heart has long been like a stone, feels it
throb anew with dread and hope; and our poor Donatello, as he went
kneeling from shrine to cross, and from cross to shrine, doubtless found
an efficacy in these symbols that helped him towards a higher penitence.

Whether the young Count of Monte Beni noticed the fact, or no, there was
more than one incident of their journey that led Kenyon to believe that
they were attended, or closely followed, or preceded, near at hand, by
some one who took an interest in their motions. As it were, the
step, the sweeping garment, the faintly heard breath, of an invisible
companion, was beside them, as they went on their way. It was like a
dream that had strayed out of their slumber, and was haunting them in
the daytime, when its shadowy substance could have neither density nor
outline, in the too obtrusive light. After sunset, it grew a little more
distinct.

"On the left of that last shrine," asked the sculptor, as they rode,
under the moon, "did you observe the figure of a woman kneeling, with