desired havens, in a measure they carried out their first idea, as at last they completed the circuit of the globe, and thus rounded out their romantic story, which surely has been stranger than fiction, and which no less than the narrative of the return of the ten thousand Greeks deserves recital here in Athens on the proud eminence of the Pnyx, whose memories are undying. Almost as worthy of mention here was the bringing to the battle front of colonial troops from every part of the globe, and not to be unsung were the three hundred thousand Chinese laborers who voluntarily were carried across the Pacific and through Canada and over the Atlantic to do humble but much needed service to the rear of the embattled soldiers in France. These all must have cried, “The sea! The sea!," as in their migration for warfare they caught sight of one or more of the "seven seas."

Now that we are on the height both of prospect and of retrospect, we recall not only orators and historians and various Anabases, but also those who have been old acquaintances of ours since childhood. Through streets below, Diogenes went peering with a lantern at noonday, searching for men. He set us a good example in being one of the first to live the simple life, as he occupied his tub. He discarded all superfluities, breaking the small cup he carried on seeing a boy drink from the hollow of the hand, and contentedly adopting that method of quenching his thirst thereafter. The only favor he had to ask of Alexander the Great was that his imperial majesty would not stand between him and the sun, whereupon the illustrious Macedonian, much impressed is said to have remarked, "Were I not Alexander, I would be Diogenes." He was called a cynic, but more of his spirit might be a gain for our rushing modern life.

He was not so cynical as another old acquaintance, a

contemporary of Plato, namely Timon of Athens, whom Shakespeare in one of his minor plays has helped to immortalize. He was the father of misanthropes. When he and another man-hater one day were dining together, the latter said, "What a pleasant feast is this, and what a merry company are we, being no more than thou and I." To this the former snapped up, "Nay, it would be a merry banquet indeed, if there were none here but myself." He had some reason for his hatred of mankind, for when he had been a most prodigal giver to others, he was fawned upon in his prosperity. But when he himself unexpectedly came to need and asked loans from those whom he had lavishly assisted, they all with one consent began to make excuse. Then he invited them all to a feast, and so apparently he was not so destitute after all, and without an exception they came with apologies. One said, "If you had sent but two hours before, and the rest were equally profuse in giving explanations. He cut them all short, and intimated that it was all right, and bade them approach the table. They had the keenest anticipations, one remarking in an undertone, "All covered dishes," and another responding, "Royal cheer, I warrant you," while a third put in, "Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.' Timon said grace in a rather unusual fashion, "In nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome," whereupon the dishes, on being uncovered, revealed nothing but hot water, which he proceeded to dash into their faces, and as they retired in confusion he pelted them with stones, and shouted after them,

"Henceforth hated be

Of Timon man and all humanity."

He even had inscribed over his tomb these lines,

"Here lie I, Timon, whom alive all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy

gait."

He is an illustration of what we should not be. We are to be lovers and not haters of men.

From our view-point on the Pnyx hill having seen some of the more noted characters of the city, we descend, and approach the Acropolis itself. We go around to the north side of it, and we see the Tower of the Winds, an octagonal building that has come down to us from the middle of the century immediately preceding our era. It once contained a water-clock, a timepiece that in some way unknown to us was literally run by water. This Horologium, as it was called, marked the passing hours of the day, that the Athenians might know when to go home, not often, it is to be hoped, to some tartar-like Xanthippe whom Socrates had to face, but more frequently to some Aspasia, who though not up to the moral standard of to-day seems to have been sweet and gracious and cultivated, filling the domestic life of Pericles with happiness. The Horologium likewise had in relief the various gods representing the different points of the compass, the North Wind or Boreas, for instance, being a bearded old man blowing a horn and looking very cross. Naturally when he bore off to be his wife a daughter of an early king, while she was gathering flowers on the banks of the Ilissus, having been smitten with her charms, it was regarded as a calamity. The fable probably means that the maiden was blown by a northern gust into the stream swollen with rains, and that she was drowned.

Near the western and only entrance to the Acropolis is a massive ruin, the Odeum, built by a wealthy Roman,