public honour, and Pericles or some notable man pronounced their eulogy; and in that speech of Pericles we may read in brief the ideal of the Athenian.

From this place led forth the Sacred Way, over the hills to Eleusis, where perhaps more than anywhere else in the Greek world those higher emotions were aroused which we associate with religion. In the ritual these were lacking; and philosophy was sceptical rather than religious, except with a rare soul now and then, a Socrates or a Plato, with whom feeling and intellect seem to be fused into one force. But the Eleusinian mysteries gave what both philosophy and ritual lacked. They were mysteries in so far that no one might reveal them unlawfully; but not in the sense of a riddle or a concealment, for all Greeks might qualify for admission. The ancient mysteries recall more the Freemasons than anything else we know. Their origin is lost in darkness, and they lasted long after all else in Greece was dead, when Alaric the Goth in 396 did what Goths do in all ages—destroyed, but built not up. There were rites of purification, and two stages of initiation; first, usually as a child, and later into the higher grades as a man or woman. There were two Mysteries: the Lesser, celebrated by the Ilissos bank and close under the Acropolis, being usually a preliminary to the Greater at Eleusis. What the mysteries were, we know not: the secret has been kept, although Clement of Alexandria was initiated before he became a Christian, and he tells us whatever he thinks will discredit them. Undoubtedly, they included dramatic representations, which struck awe and admiration into the observers; but the inner meaning of these was known only to the Hierophant, who revealed it to those whom he thought fit to receive it. And now the gorgeous ceremony is over, priests and worshippers have for ever gone, and nothing remains but the pavement of the temple, with a tiny church of the Virgin perched on a bluff above it.

Aegina, like all else in Greece, is small, only about forty square miles; yet Aegina has left her mark on history. Here, according to the tradition, Pheidon, tyrant of Argos, first struck coins in Greece. Whether it was so or not, Aegina was a centre of trade very early, and founded a famous city, Naucratis, in North Africa, Cydonia in Crete, and another in Umbria: the Aeginetan tortoise, the Athenian owl, and the Corinthian horse were the three types of coins best known to the Greek world, passing everywhere as good. Aegina was also famous for the arts, especially sculpture. Before the Persian wars Aegina came into conflict with Athens: Pericles called it the eyesore of the Peiraeus, before it was conquered and colonised by Athenian settlers. The temple which still remains, was not in the chief town, but in a lonely spot amidst the wild woods. It was sacred to Aphaia, not to Zeus—so Furtwängler infers from inscriptions found there—but we know nothing of its building. The pediments, which appear to represent scenes from the Trojan wars, are remarkable in the history of sculpture; they are now at Munich. Close by the beach at which we land is a small rocky islet, upon which lives a lonely hermit in a hut made with his own hands. If at Eleusis we think of exalted religious emotion, Delphi puts every man in awe. Well was the spot chosen for the most famous oracle of antiquity: it needs no help of man to show the powrer of God. But here, as everywhere in Greece, the awe is not too great for humanity to bear: it is not the crushing sense of impotence in the face of natural forces that one feels in the Alps or the Himalayas, it is the awe that may be felt for a being both mighty and kindly. Human beings may live here and be happy; they may mount above the cleft and the shining rocks, and still live and be happy—indeed, those uplands were the scene of many a merry revel when the Greeks worshipped their gods. But the great black rocks above Delphi, themselves only the foot of the approach to Parnassus, are awful enough to make them a fit habitation for a god. I shall never forget my first visit to Delphi. It was winter: I rode from Lebadeia to Arachova over the rocky and precipitous paths, and past the Cloven Way where Œdipus slew Laius, through a blinding storm of rain and snow. Next morning the sky was clear as in springtime, and a bright sun shining, and a short ride brought us to the top of the valley, whence could be seen a plain covered with olive trees which seemed from that height like a flood rolling up the valley from the plain. But Delphi’s rock was grim and gloomy as ever over this bright scene. In Delphi was an oracle from time immemorial; the legends told of it show that the Greeks found one already on the spot. According to the Homeric Hymn, which we may rationalise if we like, Apollo found the place possessed by a huge serpent, which he slew, and as the body rotted (πὑθειν) the place got the name of Pytho. Here was the Omphalos, or navel-stone, marking the centre of the earth; and the sacred spring Castalian rose between the cleft rocks. The Pythia, or priestess, would seat herself on a tripod over a chasm within the temple, and her ravings contained the god’s answer; but it must be interpreted by the prophet, who stood by her side. Since the oracle was consulted by great and small, the priests were able to exercise a strong influence on politics; and their influence was generally for good, until the mind, of Greece outgrew oracles. Recorded answers do not explain the repute of the oracle, or its influence; and the tablets that have actually been found here and at Dodona are mostly questions on personal or trivial subjects. Perhaps that was the most far-reaching of its behests when Sparta was commanded to free Athens from her tyrants; and its most noteworthy revelation, that Socrates was the wisest of men. One of Herodotus’s best stories tells how Crœsus consulted the oracle, and what came of it. Twice Delphi was miraculously saved from pillage: once when the army of Xerxes was driven back by falling rocks, and once when a storm beat off the Gauls. Philip made it a pretext for interfering in the affairs of Greece; but then he would have found a pretext somewhere in any case. The Pythian Games were celebrated here every two years. Sulla plundered the treasures, and so did Nero; Constantine carried off what he could find to Constantinople, where one still stands: the base of the golden tripod dedicated after the defeat of the Persians, three bronze snakes intertwining, and engraved with the names of Greek tribes who took part. The oracle lost its high standing about the time of the Peloponnesian War, but it continued to be consulted, until it was silenced by Theodosius.

Pausanias gives a description of the chief things to be seen in this holy place. Before the excavations, a Greek village covered the site; but now this has been removed, we can tread on the ancient pavement, and see the places where many of the objects once stood. Here, as at Olympia, the great states had their treasuries, one of which has been built up out of its fragments.

High above Delphi, on a mountain that rises out of the uplands, not far from the peaks of Parnassus, is the Corycian cave, famous in legend, sacred to Pan and the Nymphs; here and hereabouts were celebrated the revels of Dionysus, which readers of the Ion will remember.

The temple of Olympian Zeus at Athens was begun by Peisistratus, and partly built, but it was never finished in its original Doric style. Antiochus Epiphanes planned it afresh, and a Roman architect, Cossutius, partly built it in the Corinthian style. Probably the columns that now stand were put up by him; some of the remains of this earlier building are used as foundations for these. When Antiochus died (B.C. 164), it was left again unfinished, until Hadrian finished it. These columns are regarded as the finest specimens of the Corinthian style. Rich as the effect of this style is, it does not satisfy eye and mind as the Doric does, or