market boats have rowed across the narrow strait from Salamis,
bringing the island farmer's produce, and other farmers from the
plain and the mountain slopes have started for market. In the
ruddy light the marble temples on the lofty Acropolis rising ahead
of these hurrying rustics are standing out clearly; the spear
and helmet of the great brazen statue of the Athena Promachos are
flashing from the noble citadel, as a kind of day beacon, beckoning
onward toward the city. From the Peireus, the harbor town, a
confused him of mariners lading and unlading vessels is even now
rising, but we cannot turn ourselves thither. Our route is to
follow the farmers bound for market.

The most direct road from the Peireus to Athens is hidden indeed,
for it leads between the towering ramparts of the "Long Walls,"
two mighty barriers which run parallel almost four miles from the
inland city to the harbor, giving a guarded passage in wartime and
making Athens safe against starvation from any land blockade; but
there is an outside road leading also to Athens from the western
farmsteads, and this we can conveniently follow. Upon this route
the crowd which one meets is certainly not aristocratic, but it
is none the less Athenian. Here goes a drover, clad in skins, his
legs wound with woolen bands in lieu of stockings; before him and
his wolf-like dog shambles a flock of black sheep or less manageable
goats, bleating and baaing as they are propelled toward market.
After him there may come an unkempt, long-bearded farmer flogging on
a pack ass or a mule attached to a clumsy cart with solid wheels,
and laden with all kinds of market produce. The roadway, be it
said, is not good, and all carters have their troubles; therefore,
there is a deal of gesticulating and profane invocation of Hermes
and all other gods of traffic; for, early as it is, the market