Strabo, who was probably right in his judgment, thinks that the greatest of Sostratus’s works was the towering lighthouse at Pharos, which he built at a cost of about $900,000, although from its size it would seem that it should have cost more. This colossal tower at once took its place among the seven wonders of the ancient world. It pierced the sky at a height of four hundred and fifty feet, or about one hundred and seventy-five feet above the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge and fifty feet above the torch with which the Goddess of Liberty illuminates the harbor of New York. But its height alone was not more marvellous than its other proportions, which were upon a most extravagant scale. The ground story was hexagonal, the sides alternately convex and concave, and each was one-eighth of a mile in length. The second and third stories were each of the same form, although decreasing in size; the fourth was square, flanked by four round towers, and the fifth or top story was circular. A grand staircase led through each story to the roof of the building, where every night massive fires were lighted, revealing the sea for a hundred miles. When we consider that this colossal building was made entirely of wrought stone—when we reflect upon the amount of labor involved in its construction, its ponderous size and dizzy altitude—we cannot but marvel at the extraordinary breadth of conception manifested by its architect and builders and the tenacity with which they must have held to the completion of their huge undertaking. It is not to be wondered at that when Sostratus stood off and contemplated this mighty product of his imagination and genius, after its completion, he should have been actuated with the desire to have his name associated with it for all time, and indelibly engraved somewhere upon its imperishable stone. The story is that Sostratus engraved an inscription upon one of the stones which he afterward covered with cement, and on the cement he inscribed the name of Ptolemy, knowing that in time the cement would decay and leave exposed the hidden writing upon the stone beneath. Strabo says that the concealed inscription read: “SOSTRATUS, THE FRIEND OF KINGS, MADE ME;” but Lucien gives it differently, thus: “SOSTRATUS OF CNIDUS, THE SON OF DEXIPHANES [that he might not be mistaken for any other Sostratus, doubtless], TO THE GODS THE SAVIORS FOR THE SAFETY OF MARINERS.” Pliny does not share the opinion that the inscription was a concealed one, but speaks of the incident as a special instance of the magnanimity of Ptolemy, that he should not only have allowed the name of the architect to be inscribed upon the building, but that he should have also left its nature and language to the discretion of Sostratus. The words “Gods the Saviors,” he believes, referred to the reigning king and queen, with their successors, who were ambitious of the title “Soteros” or Savior.