soldier, statesman, orator, ruler, and "sole master of Athens." By
his side sits his beautiful partner, the learned and queenly
Aspasia. Phidias, one of the greatest sculptors, if not the
greatest the world has known, who "formed a new style
characterized by sublimity and ideal beauty," is there. Near him
is Sophocles, the greatest of the tragic poets. Yonder we catch a
glimpse of a face and form that offers the most striking contrast
to the manly beauty of the poet, but whose wisdom and virtue have
brought Athens to his feet. It is the "father of philosophy,"
Socrates. With his arm linked in that of the philosopher, we see--
but why prolong the list? All Greece has been bidden to Athens to
view the works of art.

The works of the great masters are there. On every side paintings
and statues, marvelous in detail, exquisite in finish, challenge
the admiration of the crowd and the criticism of the rival artists
and connoisseurs who throng the place. But even in the midst of
masterpieces, one group of statuary so far surpasses all the
others that it rivets the attention of the vast assembly.

"Who is the sculptor of this group?" demands Pericles. Envious
artists look from one to the other with questioning eyes, but the
question remains unanswered. No triumphant sculptor comes forward
to claim the wondrous creation as the work of his brain and hand.
Heralds, in thunder tones, repeat, "Who is the sculptor of this
group?" No one can tell. It is a mystery. Is it the work of the
gods? or--and, with bated breath, the question passes from lip to
lip, "Can it have been fashioned by the hand of a slave?"

Suddenly a disturbance arises at the edge of the crowd. Loud