Peristyle of the House of the Vettii Lady Playing a Harp Kitchen of the House of the Vettii Kitchen Utensils; Centaur Cup The House of the Tragic Poet Mosaic of Watch Dog The House of Diomede A Bakery; Section of a Mill Lucius Cæcilius Jueundus Bronze Candleholder The Dancing Faun Hermes in Repose The Arch of Nero OLYMPIA 1. Two Winners of Crowns 2. How a City Was Lost _Pictures of Olympia_: Entrance to Stadion Gymnasium Boys in Gymnasium Temple of Zeus The Labors of Herakles The Statue of Victory The Hermes of Praxiteles The Temple of Hera Head of an Athlete A Greek Horseman MYCENÆ 1. How a Lost City Was Found _Pictures of Mycenæ_: The Circle of Royal Tombs Doctor and Mrs. Schliemann at Work The Gate of Lions Inside the Treasury of Atreus The Interior of the Palace Gold Mask; Cow’s Head The Warrior Vase Bronze Helmets; Gem Bronze Daggers Carved Ivory Head; Bronze Brooches A Cup from Vaphio Gold Plates; Gold Ornament Mycenæ in the Distance [Illustration: Line Art of Bronze Lamp. Caption: _Bronze Lamps_. The bowl held olive oil. A wick came out at the nozzle. These lamps gave a dim and smoky light.] THE GREEK SLATE AND THE LITTLE ROMAN BOY Ariston, the Greek slave, was busily painting. He stood in a little room with three smooth walls. The fourth side was open upon a court. A little fountain splashed there. Above stretched the brilliant sky of Italy. The August sun shone hotly down. It cut sharp shadows of the columns on the cement floor. This was the master’s room. The artist was painting the walls. Two were already gay with pictures. They showed the mighty deeds of warlike Herakles. Here was Herakles strangling the lion, Herakles killing the hideous hydra, Herakles carrying the wild boar on his shoulders, Herakles training the mad horses. But now the boy was painting the best deed of all--Herakles saving Alcestis from death. He had made the hero big and beautiful. The strong muscles lay smooth in the great body. One hand trailed the club. On the other arm hung the famous lion skin. With that hand the god led Alcestis. He turned his head toward her and smiled. On the ground lay Death, bruised and bleeding. One batlike black wing hung broken. He scowled after the hero and the woman. In the sky above him stood Apollo, the lord of life, looking down. But the picture of the god was only half finished. The figure was sketched in outline. Ariston was rapidly laying on paint with his little brushes. His eyes glowed with Apollo’s own fire. His lips were open, and his breath came through them pantingly. “O god of beauty, god of Hellas, god of freedom, help me!” he half whispered while his brush worked.