the line of brazen tripods, leading from the Theatre of Dionysus, glowed
like urns of fire; and the waters of the Illyssus glanced right
joyfully, as they moved onward to the ocean. The earth was like a
slumbering babe, smiling in its sleep, because it dreams of Heaven.

In the most ancient and quiet part of the city, not far from the gate
Diocharis, was the modest mansion of Anaxagoras; and at this tranquil
hour, the grand-daughter of the philosopher, with her beloved companion
Eudora, stood on the roof, enjoying the radiant landscape, and the balmy
air.

Philothea's tall figure was a lovely union of majesty and grace. The
golden hair, which she inherited from a Laconian mother, was tastefully
arranged on the top of her head, in a braided crown, over the sides of
which the bright curls fell, like tendrils of grapes from the edge of a
basket. The mild brilliancy of her large dark eyes formed a beautiful
contrast to a complexion fair even to transparency. Her expression had
the innocence of infancy; but it was tinged with something elevated and
holy, which made it seem like infancy in Heaven.

Eudora had more sparkling eyes, lips more richly coloured, and a form
more slender and flexile. Her complexion might have seemed dark, had it
not been relieved by a profusion of glossy black hair, a portion of
which was fastened with a silver arrow, while the remainder shaded her
forehead, and fell over her shoulders.

As they stood side by side, with their arms twined around each other,
they were as lovely a sight as the moon ever shone upon. Totally unlike
each other, but both excellent in beauty. One might have been a model
for the seraphs of Christian faith, the other an Olympian deity.