XIII. GREEK FLAT RELIEF AND SCULPTURE BY EDGED INCISION, 392 XIV. APOLLO AND THE PYTHON. HERACLES AND THE NEMEAN LION, 400 XV. HERA OF ARGOS. ZEUS OF SYRACUSE, 401 XVI. DEMETER OF MESSENE. HERA OF CROSSUS, 402 XVII. ATHENA OF THURIUM. SEREIE LIGEIA OF TERINA, 402 XVIII. ARTEMIS OF SYRACUSE. HERA OF LACINIAN CAPE, 404 XIX. ZEUS OF MESSENE. AJAX OF OPUS, 405 XX. GREEK AND BARBARIAN SCULPTURE, 407 XXI. THE BEGINNINGS OF CHIVALRY, 409 FIGURE PAGE 1. SPECIMEN OF PLATE, 293 2. WOODCUT, 323 3. FIGURE ON GREEK TYPE OF VASES, 326 4. EARLY DRAWING OF THE MYTH 330 5. CUT, "GIVE IT TO ME," 332 6. ENGRAVING ON COIN, 335 7. DRAWING OF FISH. BY TURNER, 362 8. IRON BAR, 379 9. DIAGRAM OF LEAF, 391 THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE THREE LECTURES ON WORK, TRAFFIC AND WAR PREFACE. Twenty years ago, there was no lovelier piece of lowland scenery in South England, nor any more pathetic in the world, by its expression of sweet human character and life, than that immediately bordering on the sources of the Wandle, and including the lower moors of Addington, and the villages of Beddington and Carshalton, with all their pools and streams. No clearer or diviner waters ever sang with constant lips of the hand which 'giveth rain from heaven;' no pastures ever lightened in spring time with more passionate blossoming; no sweeter homes ever hallowed the heart of the passer-by with their pride of peaceful gladness--fain-hidden--yet full-confessed. The place remains, or, until a few months ago, remained, nearly unchanged in its larger features; but, with deliberate mind I say, that I have never seen anything so ghastly in its inner tragic meaning,--not in Pisan Maremma--not by Campagna tomb,--not by the sand-isles of the Torcellan shore,--as the slow stealing of aspects of reckless, indolent, animal neglect, over the delicate sweetness of that English scene: nor is any blasphemy or impiety--any frantic saying or godless thought--more appalling to me, using the best power of judgment I have to discern its sense and scope, than the insolent defilings of those springs by the human herds that drink of them. Just where the welling of stainless water, trembling and pure, like a body of light, enters the pool of Carshalton, cutting itself a radiant channel down to the gravel, through warp of feathery weeds, all waving, which it traverses with its deep threads of clearness, like the chalcedony in moss-agate, starred here and there