vulgar minds. Here audiences of impressionable Greeks were affected to tears by the passion of Eschylus, the pathos of Euripides, and the tender grace of Sophocles. Here Demosthenes poured out that fiery eloquence which spell-bound the passions of an unruly democracy. Here was nurtured that pure and beautiful philosophy which has coloured with its radiant hues so much of the literature of England.

"Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground;

No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould,
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around,
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told."

At every step the traveller is arrested by some memorial of the glorious past, which, though mute, is eloquent. Every stone preaches a forcible sermon. What monuments are here of the genius of the sculptor and the architect, though now shattered into fragments, and worn with the corroding touch of Time! How magnificent must have been the spectacle when the superb structures, whose remains now lie before us, rose up in all their beauty, with the gleam of marble and the sheen of precious metals, to greet the sunlight of a Grecian sky! Alas, how are the mighty fallen! Where are now the pride, and wealth, and power of the once august Athena? The glory of empires passes away, and Time

writes upon each gray mossy stone the mournful epigraph-Hic Jacet.

Into the city of Themistocles and Phidias, Cimon and Miltiades, let us enter with respect. Let us thank, from earnest and overflowing hearts, the mother of our arts and sciences-let us thank her who taught them to Rome, and through Rome to the civilized world-let us thank the ideal country of genius, and poetry, and romance -and muse over the traces of her vanished splendour as a son who, in the decayed beauty of his mother's countenance, seeks those smiles and that expression which once commanded love and admiration. O pilgrim, speak not a word of barrenness or desolation! Athens shall live for ever, shall be ever young in the imagination of the poet; and her Acropolis-that "noblest pedestal on which past ages have been able to plant the statue of humanity"-shall appear to us always radiant with glittering columns and with pediments blue as the azure of heaven! It is "an enchanted island sacred to the Arts," where dwell the shadows of the heroes of bygone days.

The foundations may still be traced of the long and massive wall with which Themistocles united the city of Athens and its harbour of the Piræus. We pass under the elevated ramparts,

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and under the black rocks, which serve as a base for the Parthenon-and before us rises the "heaven-kist" Acropolis. It can only be approached on one side; in every other direction the passage is blocked up by masses of abrupt rock or by a solid wall. The vestibules, which the Greeks call Propylæa, are enriched with white marble. Nothing of that age survives which is more remarkable for the immense size of the stones or the fineness of the workmanship. Neither at Corinth nor at Eleusis may the Propylæa, beautiful as they are, be compared with the magnificent vestibule which conducts the traveller into the great Athenian Acropolis.

"Six columns," says an accurate authority, "whose base is fixed on the intermediate landingplace or terrace, sustain the pediment, and form the centre of the façade. This central intercolumniation is much larger than those of the sides or wings. The five entrances pierced in these inter-columniations diminish in height on each side of the middle one, so that they are of three different degrees of elevation. The ceilings, of white marble, were divided into compartments adorned with the richest sculpture. But this vestibule, once so gorgeous, is now in a state of deplorable degradation. The Turks, during their barbarous rule, walled up the inter

columniations, and masked with batteries the ancient entrance. The ruins which escaped their hand are, however, sufficient to afford an idea of the Propylæa as they existed in the days of Athenian glory." This edifice, built from the designs of Mnesicles, about 457 B.C., occupied five years in its erection, and cost between £450,000 and £500,000.

The grand staircase of the Propylæa extends, on the right, to an elevated wall which serves as a foundation for the small temple of the Wingless Victory (Níkn 'ATTEрos). Demolished in 1687 by the Turks to make room for a battery, it has been replaced stone by stone-a true labour of love-by two German architects. It is a graceful structure-rather a chapel than a templewhich stood in front of the sacred area, and which Athens dedicated to her tutelary divinity, Athena or Minerva. Pausanias informs us that the Athenians gave no wings to Victory, because they would prevent her flying away from them. But it is unnecessary to recur to so ingenious an explanation. The Wingless Victory was not invented until Tradition had grown obscure in its recollections. Minerva was forgotten; men saw Victory only; and as everywhere she was represented in the guise of a youthful virgin with long wings of gold, they