Emperor, having risen from his throne, extends the laurel crown in readiness to reward the victor; on the west, towards the Triumphal Gate of the Blues, the conqueror and sovereign, with the Empress and their children at his side, receives the homage of the vanquished Goths.

Not content with the pictured victory over mortals, two inscriptions the first in Greek and the second in Latin -record the triumph of the Emperor over the massive stone: "The Emperor Theodosius, alone having dared to erect the four-sided column which always lay a dead weight upon the ground, confided the task to Proclus, and in two and thirty days the so prodigious column stood erect.' The Latin inscription represents the obelisk as uttering the humble confession of its own defeat: "Difficult was once the command to obey serene sovereigns and to yield the victory to dead kings. But to Theodosius and his perennial offspring all things submit. So I, too, was conquered, and in thirty-two days under Proclus the Prefect I was raised to the upper air." And now the obelisk looks down, inscrutable as the Sphinx, with the indifference that knows no change, upon the vain-glorious inscription of the forgotten Emperor.

The monument that peers above the ground a few feet farther south, the Serpent of Delphi, a perishable, pitiable wreck of Corinthian brass, centres far greater interest than the changeless obelisk. This triple serpent was the offering of Greek devotion to the god Apollo after the Battle of Platea, when the Persian hordes had been forever hurled from Europe, and was set up in his most sacred shrine. Description of material and dimension seems almost irreverent, the visible object is so far transcended by the spirit it symbolizes. It is a consecrated trophy, to this day perpetuating the deathless triumph

won in that early crisis of civilization and freedom. It is associated with Pausanias, Themistocles, Aristides, Xerxes, and Mardonius. Its own tale is told by Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, the historian Pausanias, Zozimos, Sozomenos, Eusebius, and a host of lesser or equal writers.

Originally it consisted of three serpents twined around each other, their heads supporting a tripod of solid gold. During the wars of Philip of Macedon the tripod was confiscated by the chiefs of Phocis. When brought by Constantine from Delphi to Constantinople, a tripod of inferior value supplied its place. The superstitious Patriarch John VII in the ninth century came stealthily by night and broke off two of the heads, believing it was possessed by an evil spirit. Soon afterwards the people compelled their restoration, the city being suddenly infested by serpents, of which the desecration of the Delphic relic was considered the cause. An erroneous Ottoman tradition states that Sultan Mohammed II the Conqueror with his mace broke off one of the heads, thereby demonstrating his abhorrence of idols and the strength of his arm. At the beginning of the eighteenth century the heads were still in place, "with their mouths gaping." During the Crimean War the earth which had accumulated around to the depth of twelve feet was removed, and the precious monument enclosed by the present iron railing.

The mutilated torso is still affixed to the now black and broken pedestal on which Constantine had it placed. It is only eighteen and three-fourths feet in length, is cracked and seamed in many places, gapes with several jagged holes, and terminates in uneven, ragged edges. Its interior is filled with stones, thrown in by superstitious persons, who thus seek to avert the evil eye. Twenty-eight coils still exist. In the lower coils on its northeast side is

inscribed in characters primitive, archaic, almost embryonic, the priceless inscription which vindicates the genuineness of the serpent and transmits its glory. The kindly earth, gradually heaped around, has protected the lower coils, but the letters higher up have been worn away. Nevertheless, from the eighth to the third coil nineteen names can be discerned of those immortal cities to whose dauntless devotion was due the deliverance of Greece. One gazes reverently. The whole earth over there is no relic of the classic past that breathes a loftier spirit or is instinctive with a more exalted lesson.1

Still farther south, a column painfully bare, utterly despoiled, without one line of beauty, lifts its attenuated form from the dreary plain of the Atmeïdan. Built of innumerable square blocks of stone, all along its sides the stones have dropped away; but the column is still erect,

1 On the coils, the tenth and ninth from the bottom, faint traces of an inscription can be discerned. On the eighth, the reader can decipher enough to complete in his mind the names TIRVNΘΙΟΙ, ΠΛΑΤΑΙΕΣ, and ΘΕΣΠΙΕΣ. On the five remaining coils—that is, from the seventh to the third inclusive - every letter can be made out, some as easily as if incised to-day. On the seventh coil are the names MVKANEƐ, KEIOI, MAAIOI, and TENIOI. The TENIOI is in slightly larger characters than the other words, and cut deeper. On the sixth, NAXIOI, ERETRIEƐ, and VAAKIDEƐ; on the fifth, ΣTVREE, FAAEIONEƐ, and POTEIDAIATAI; on the fourth, AEVKADIOI, FANAKTORIEƐ, KV NIOI, and EIONIOI; on the third, AMPRAKIOTAI and AED REATAI. These words are inscribed one under another in parallel lines on the northeast side of the monument. The letters are from 3 to 4 of an inch in length. In this inscription, made certainly not later than 475 B. C., the digamma F appears; also we have for , for e, X for E, for X, D for A, and the vowels and H are not used.

On the thirteenth coil one archeologist supposes the following words: ANAEMATONEAANON; another archeologist, ANAEMAгOMEDON; and a third, ΑΠΟΛΟΝΙ ΘΕΟΣΤΑΣΑΝΤΑΝΑ ΘΕΜΑΓΟMEDON. On the twelfth coil the majority suppose AAKEDAIMONIOI, AÐANAIOI, and KORINIOI; on the eleventh, TECEATAI, ƐEKVONIOI, and AICINATAI; on the tenth, MECAREƐ, EPIDAVRIOI, and EROMENIOI; on the ninth, OAEIAƐIOI, TROZANIOI, and ERMIONEE, thus including the thirty-one Greek cities.

apparently too weak to fall. The name of its builder is lost, as if reluctant that so melancholy a pile should transmit his memory. Constantine VIII Porphyrogenitus, less fortunate, in the tenth century repaired the monument, and is commonly regarded as its founder. Once it was resplendent to the eye, sheathed from top to bottom in plates of burnished brass, and it glittered dazzlingly in the sun. The brazen plates were torn off and melted by the soldiers of the Fourth Crusade; everywhere are visible the gaping holes left by the bolts and nails which held them in place. In its perfect poise it is still a marvel. It seems as if the faintest wind must blow it down; but so perfect is its construction, so exact its centre of gravity, that, despite earthquake and tornado, its battered, wornoff pyramidal apex still clings one hundred and one feet. high above the ancient surface of the arena.

A triple stereobate supports the marble block which serves as pedestal. Two of its sides are completely hidden by matted ivy. Through the tangled vine on the third or eastern side the following inscription may be easily deciphered: "Constantine, the present Emperor, to whom Romanos, glory of government, is the son, restores superior to its former appearance the four-sided marvel of lofty height which had been injured by time. As the Colossus of Rhodes was a marvel there, so is this Colossus of Constantine a marvel here."

In grateful contrast to this unsightly ruin is the Column of Marcian, Kiz Tash, the Maiden's Stone, south of the Mosque of Sultan Mohammed. On a tiny terrace in a private garden, remote from the street, in a dense Ottoman quarter, it rises, exquisite and beautiful, but solitary, as if forgotten by time. Its marble pedestal, once white, but now dark and mutilated, is seven feet high. The shaft is