ents of Athens. It was begun by Pisistratus, but not
finished till the time of the Roman emperor Adrian, seven hundred years
afterwards.

[Illustration: MONUMENT OF LYSICRATES.]

A proof of the varied character of the Athenian architectural genius may
be found in the exquisite model, the lantern of Demosthenes, or, as it
is more properly called, the Choragic monument of Lysierates. It is, in
common with the greater number of the remains of which we speak, of
Pentelic marble. By whomever conceived, designed, or executed, this must
have been a labor of love, and the result is such as might be
anticipated from the consequent development of the highest powers of one
to whom a people like the Athenians would entrust the task of doing
honor to those who had paid to their native land a similar tribute. It
is small, and formed of a few immense masses: the roof is one entire
block; the temple or monument itself is circular, and is formed of six
slabs of pure white marble, the joints of which are concealed by an
equal number of beautiful Corinthian columns, partly imbedded into, and
partly projecting from them. These have been fitted with such exactness,
that before the "fretting hand of time and change" had done its work,
the whole must have appeared as if cut from one solid mass. We have this
single example of a class of buildings once so numerous that they formed
an entire street; but however grateful one may feel to the hospice,
which, being built over, protected it from the ruin of its companions,
we can scarcely regret its disappearance, through which alone this
exquisite result of intellect and refined taste may be seen as
represented in the engraving.

[Illustration: TEMPLE OF THE WINDS.]

The Temple or Tower of the Winds, has been very justly termed "the most
curious existing monument of the practical gnomonics of antiquity." In
architecture no very elevated rank can be assigned to this edifice, nor
is there, even in its ornamental portions, any very remarkable evidence
of the higher order of Grecian art; the execution, indeed, can in nowise
be considered equal to the conception, which, if somewhat fancifully
elaborated, is at least highly to be esteemed, as uniting in a more
than ordinary degree the practically useful with the poetical ideal.
Near the new Agora, and consequently in the heart of the more densely
populated division of the city, this indicator of the wind and hour must
have been a valuable contribution