At midnight in the rotunda, the step of the traverser grows stealthy, and he speaks in whispers. The historic walls, which so oft have looked upon the dead, answer step and voice in hollow accents until the belated visitor finds himself looking fearfully for some demon—some spirit—to leap up in his path, or drop leopard-like from above. Behind each arch lurks, then, the Quasimodo of the Capitol. Can the spirit which Victor Hugo conjured up for Notre-Dame have sought refuge among the secret passages of the dome ? Is Quasimodo alive; and does he now unsuspected lurk in and defend the mighty precincts of the Capitol as he once hovered about and defended Notre-Dame ? Who knows ? Who knows ?

The baptism of pocahontas.

" Egypt would have taken him for a God of this temple ; the Middle Ages believed him to be its demon ; he was in fact its soul. So much was this the case that to those who know that Quasimodo has existed, Notre-Dame is now solitary, inanimate, dead. They feel that something has disappeared. That vast body is empty—it is a skeleton—the spirit has quitted it—they see the place thereof, but that is all. It is like a skull, which still has holes for the eyes, but no eyesight".