footstep that traversed its strength. The splendid Stadium of Atticus Herodes has left only the swelling outline of its location; its circling seats of marble, which once rose with the whiteness of the freshly drifted snow, have gone; and the arena is now voiceless as that resting place to which have sunk alike the victor and those who shouted his triumph. The grove where Plato lectured, the leafy retreat where Aristotle taught, with the revered chair of Socrates, and the kindling stage of Eschylus, have disappeared, and even the statues of these great men have slowly followed their forms to the earth; all have gone down under the crushing footstep of Time.

O Time! sole empress of the mighty Past,
The pillars of thy throne are on the grave

Of empires; thy dominion is a waste

Once animate with nations great and brave,

And who contended with thee to the last,

Like shipwreck'd men against a whelming wave;

But who have gone, leaving no trace of all
That signalized their triumph or their fall

O Time! thy centuries shall circle round

Till thou shalt hear a mightier Monarch say-
"Advance my throne, let the last summons sound."
Then will thy sceptred glories pass away,

And no bright trophy of thy reign be found,
Save in the wrecks of that tremendous day!
Man, starting from his grave, shall look for thee,
But find alone his own eternity!

CHAPTER XIX.

Athens Sunset from the Acropolis-Traits of the Athenians-Objects of their Superstition-Person, costume, and habits of the Females -Domestic peculiarities of the Mother-Female Writers-Their attempt at great themes-Traits of the Men--Physical and moral Qualities-Period and objects of Marriage.

THOUGH the monuments of man have crumbled, the triumphs of his skill passed away, yet nature still survives, and is still fair. Nothing can exceed the softened dream-like beauty of the face which she here presents, as day-light dies on the Athenian hills. I stood on the ruins of the Acropolis at this subdued hour; the sun had melted down into the verge of the horizon, while his slanting rays, deserting the level plain, still lingered upon the loftier cliffs, converting them into purple and gold; the islands of Egina, Salamis, and Paros, swelled from the sea, bold and beautiful in the rosy light; while the distant citadel of Corinth stood against the sky, a conspicuous mass, fringed with fire; Mount Hymettus, with its marble steeps, cast its arching shadow far down the silent valley, while the Cephisus went on its whispering way, breaking the sombre aspect of the plain, with the line of its silver waters. There lay the Piræus with the mourning wave still lingering on its strand; there stood Eleusis, whose sublime

mysteries are still the deepest marvel of the past; there rose the Olympian columns, to which the exulttin eye of mouldered millions have turned; there lengthened the sacred way, once lined with the monumental tombs of poets and sages; there too lay Marathon, whose very dust seems blended with heroic memories; while around, within a narrow circle, slumbered the ashes of those whose genius, valor, and learning made Athens the wonder, pride, and worship of the earth! What ruins and recollections -what perished grandeur and undecaying beauty are here—man, his monuments and memorials in the grave! Nature full of life, light, and strength; and

"Living as if the earth contained no tomb !"

To turn from the marble, to the moral, remnants of this singular people: the Athenians have retained, through the revolutions and disasters of twenty centuries, many of their characteristic peculiarities. They have the same vanity, versatility, and fickleness which they had in the days of Pericles; nor are they much less superstitious than they were when Paul reproached them with this weakness. Their superstition has changed the objects of its reverence and terror, but preserved its full force; they have forsaken their prodigies, incantations, and spells, and taken to amulets, charms, and the miracles of pictured saints. They have left the altar of Minerva only to bend the knee to the Virgin Mary; they

have abandoned their thirty thousand gods only to worship as many monks and martyrs. This continued confidence in objects unequal to the trust reposed in them is, perhaps, the most conspicuous in the females their mothers bathed in the Cephisus to relieve the anguish which Eve entailed upon her daughters; they slide down the smooth rocks of the Pentelicus for the same purpose. Thetis dipped her son in the Styx to render him invulnerable; they place amulets on their infants to protect them from the fascinations of the evil eye.

But with all her weaknesses, the Greek lady has many engaging and commendable qualities: she is affectionate as a child, and devoted as a mother; and her fidelity is too stern to be shaken by passion or seduced by gold. She is confiding and dependent in her disposition, and returns the kindness she receives in the strength of her attachment. She is diffident of herself in discharging even the duties of her quiet sphere; and yet, when the hour of trial comes, exhibits a fortitude and resolution equal to the occasion. She has not unfrequently been known to exchange the distaff for the sword, the soft lute for the trump of conflict. When the battle has been fought, and the enemy defeated, she has returned to her home without a thought beyond the peaceful enjoyments of her hearth. Privations and sorrows may chasten, but they can never destroy her cheerfulness. She wipes the tears from her eyes, and

sees in the future, though bleak as the grave, some buds of promise, to which she still clings. I have seen her gather the slender herbs of her garden, dress them for the table,—and when this simple repast was over, tune her rebeck as sweetly as if she were living on the milk and honey of the land. She has a plasticity in her nature that easily adapts itself to any changes in her varied lot. In wealth, you may see her moving with the splendor and graces of a queen,-in misfortune, maintaining that subdued gentleness and unmurmuring resignation which wins its way to the inmost sensibility of your heart.

In personal attractions she is not, perhaps, equal to the picture which poetic rhapsody has planted in your imagination. As if sensible of this, she frequently seeks from art an enhancement of her real charms. In the bloom of youth her hair is ornamented profusely with gems that sparkle in showering light; while the darker tinge given to the eyelash by the surmeh, renders the ray still more kindling and intense. The temples and neck are aided in their whiteness by the powdered cowry, while the root of the wild lily deepens the hue of her cheek. Her dress has no narrowing inventions; yet the spencer rolling gracefully from the chest, and the jewelled zone, with its spreading knot, seemingly enrich and relieve the shape. Yet I have met with many, to whom nature had been so liberal in