Mr. Pittakes took us up to the eastern end of the edifice, and pointed out some excavations, undertaken within a few years, with the view of examining the substructure. The workmen have brought to light what a spirited writer has called the work-shop of the Parthenon. Huge heaps of chippings from the marbles, unfinished drums of columns, apparently abandoned on account of some defect in the stone, are mingled with traces of works made by all the nations who have ruled here in succession. Not least remarkable was the discovery of a quantity of burnt wood still lower down, at a depth of fifteen or twenty feet below the present surface of the ground. These timbers, from their position, must evidently have been older than the erection of the present Parthenon by Pericles, in the middle of the fifth century before Christ. According to the most probable hypothesis, they are traces of the conflagration kindled by Xerxes when the old Hecatompedon, the predecessor of the Parthenon, shared the common destruction of all that was most precious in Athens. Blocks of marble belonging to the same structure were also found, with a great variety of antique bronzes and vases.

Architects have been much interested of late in the results of some new and very accurate measurements of the Parthenon, which have revealed a number of startling facts. For instance, it has been found that of the apparently straight lines, few, if any, are strictly such, but, in reality, describe curves of a figure that may be calculated with the utmost precision. Thus, the platform and steps in front of the temple, though to all appearance perfectly level, have been shown to be three or four inches higher toward the middle than at either end. And as each side is similarly shaped, the base of the Parthenon slants in all directions toward the four corners. The same holds good, in some measure, with all the other lines, some of which actually curve in two directions. The columns, too, are found not to stand perfectly upright, but to slant inwardly, and so are some inches longer on the outer edge than on the inner. Nor do they taper uniformly toward the summit, but bulge out a little at the middle. Archæologists affirm that they have now discovered the secret of the undoubted superiority of all the ancient temples over even

their most servile imitations in modern times. If such care was taken in the construction of the Parthenon and the Propylæa, we can no longer wonder that the enormous sum of a thousand talents, equivalent to $1,100,000, should have been expended upon the former of those buildings alone, at a time when that sum would command three times as much labor as at present.

We followed Mr. Pittakes from the Parthenon to a small ruinous frame-house, where, under lock and key, are preserved a number of antique vases and other remains. But in this department no Grecian collection can compare with the vast assortment of the British and Neapolitan museums. Descending the rotten stairs, I picked up a human skull, which I noticed bleaching in the sun close by: whether it belonged to some gallant defender of the Acropolis, or to a Turkish soldier, it was too late to inquire. The guard who accompanied us, and whose only duty was to see that we took away none of the antiquities, did not evince much surprise or feeling for the relic of one who may have been a former comrade in arms. Instead of giving it Christian burial, he threw it into a dark corner, and it rattled down into a hole, where it doubtless still lies. So much for the remains of the combatants in the revolution. We next passed to the only other remaining group of ruins on the Acropolis, the curious cluster of temples that stand near the northern wall overlooking the modern town. I call it a cluster of temples, for the Erechtheum comprises several sanctuaries dedicated to various gods and fabulous personages.

Its singularly irregular shape adds propriety to the expression, while it renders description the more difficult. It consists of an oblong edifice, which formed the most important part, and three dissimilar porches covering almost as much more ground. We approached it from the east, which, as in the case of all the more ancient temples, was the principal front. Passing through a portico of six Ionic columns, we jumped down some eight or ten feet, and found ourselves in the sanctuary of Minerva Polias, the defender of the city, a shrine at one time held in even greater esteem than its more pretending neighbor, the Parthenon. Clambering over stones and bushes, we came to a partition wall. Beyond it was the part dedicated to Pandrosos, one of the daughters of Cecrops, who was worshipped here with almost divine honors. Thence we reached a narrower space along the western end of the structure, which seems to have served as a mere passage between the northern

A CARYATIS.

and southern porticoes, the greatest ornaments of the Erechtheum. The former is a large and spacious porch of the Ionic order, which here is to be seen in its most perfect expression. Less grand, perhaps, than the stately Doric when gazed upon from a distance, the richness and chasteness of detail is calculated to make this order a more general favorite. The adjacent soil here is several feet lower than in front, and the columns are consequently much larger than those of the chief entrance.

But the southern portico, that of the Caryatides, to which we next repaired, was an object of far greater curiosity and interest. Its dimensions are much smaller than those of the others; but here the place of ponderous columns has been assumed by six colossal damsels, whose marble heads support the ponderous roof. Some say that the statues represent the captive women of Carya, a town of Peloponnesus, destroyed by the Athenians for siding with the Per

sian invaders against their country. But I prefer the other story, which makes them portraits of the fairest and most distinguished of Athens' daughters, chosen on account of their beauty to sit for this honorable distinction. Theirs are no meretricious charms, but a dignified and devout expression, mingled with indescribable grace:

"A group

Of shrinking Caryatides, they muse
Upon the ground, eyelids half-closed,

To linger out their penance in mute stone."

ROBERT BROWNING.

Fitting guardians of the sacred olive-tree, which probably stood in this portico; the same tree that Minerva was fabled to have caused to grow, when she contended with Neptune for supremacy in Attica. The salt-spring, created by one stroke of the sea-god's potent trident, was also within the temple. Antiquarians will probably have a puzzling search before they find it.

1

I have spoken of six Caryatides: in reality there are but five; the sixth is replaced by a wooden effigy. Its prototype is far away in a museum, where, by foul means and fair, the plunder of the choicest monuments of antiquity has been collected. Lord Elgin, the spoiler of the Parthenon, in robbing that building, confined himself to taking away all the movable bas-reliefs. Here, with a more ruthless hand, he removed one of the statues that supported this graceful portico—as a sample of the thing, I presume. The consequence was, that the roof fell, but was recently restored, and a fictitious Caryatid has taken her place in the midst of the lovely sisterhood.

With the Erechtheum we terminated our survey of the Acropolis and its edifices. The whole area of the summit was once stocked with statues of benefactors and altars dedicated to the gods. Nearly all these have disappeared. The most precious and beautiful were undoubtedly carried away at a very early date, to grace the imperial palaces and private villas of Rome and Constantinople. A semicircular pedestal was, however, recently discovered by the side of the Propylæa, where we saw it, with an inscription "To Minerva the Health

giver." It is said to have been erected in consequence of the following circumstance: A favorite workman of Pericles, while engaged in the construction of the magnificent portal, missed his foothold and fell to the ground. Strange to say, he was not killed by the fall, and his miraculous preservation, ascribed by his master to the guardianship of the goddess, was the occasion of the erection of this monument. But the most striking object that greeted the eye, as ancient travelers inform us, was a colossal statue of Minerva, standing between the Parthenon and the Erechtheum. It was surnamed Promachus, or "the Champion," from the threatening mien with which it confronted those who entered the sacred precincts. Armed with helmet and spear, it seemed about to take speedy vengeance on the audacious mortal who should dare to disturb, with sacrilegious hands, the consecrated temples on either side. The valiant warriors of Marathon had dedicated this statue, made of the spoils of battle, in token of their gratitude. Standing on a pedestal, the goddess was full seventy-five feet above the