But the process was a slow and plodding one, and I did not make the progress I had expected. Even though the letters were clear enough, the meaning of the words was not. Evidently this was not the Greek of Plato or Thucydides, in which I had been thoroughly schooled; but rather it was a language that was to classical Greek what Chaucer is to modern English. Still, I was not completely discouraged, for I did manage to make out an occasional word, though not at first enough to give meaning to any passage. All in all, considering the limited time at my disposal, my efforts seemed futile; and I was about to yield to Rawson’s importunities and give up this diverting study for further exploration, when suddenly I made a successful discovery. I must have come upon a passage simpler than the rest, for unexpectedly half a sentence flashed upon me with clear-cut meaning at once so striking and so enigmatical that I stopped short with a little cry of surprise. “Placed here in the year Three Thousand of the Submergence,” ran the words, which occurred in large lettering at the base of a statue of a strong man trampling down the ruins of what looked like a steel building. “Placed here ...” at this point were several words that I could not make out--“in celebration of the Good Destruction.” “In celebration of the Good Destruction!” I repeated, after translating the words aloud. “Sounds as if written by a madman!” “Maybe you didn’t read it right,” commented Rawson. This suggestion, of course, I ignored. “Wonder what the Submergence can mean,” I continued, meditatively. “That doesn’t seem to make sense, either.” “No, it doesn’t,” Rawson admitted, with a thoughtful drawl. “Everything down here seems sort of topsy-turvy. Suppose we go on and see what else we can find out.” I nodded a hesitating assent, and we proceeded on our way in silence. But, though we did not speak, our thoughts were active indeed, for more than ever I was convinced that somehow, unaccountably, we were amid the remains of a Grecian or pre-Grecian countryside. Had Socrates or the radiant Phobus himself stepped out of the grave to greet me, I would not have been surprised; and I more than half expected to catch a glimpse of Athena’s robe from behind the dark shrubbery, or to see the winged feet of Hermes or hear the clear notes of Pan. But neither Pan nor Hermes nor any of their famed kindred presented themselves upon the scene. And after walking at a good pace for more than an hour along the marble colonnade, I forgot those interesting individuals in contemplation of a scene that left me gaping in greater astonishment than if I had invaded a council of the high Olympian gods. For some minutes a series of huge templed domes and columns, dimly visible through rifts in the vegetation, had attracted my attention and aroused Rawson’s misgivings; but neither of us had had any intimation of the sight that was to greet us when at length we came to the end of the colonnade.