We left the Parthenon to keep its watch over old Athens, as it had kept it for twenty-three hundred years, and went and stood outside the walls of the citadel.  In the distance was the ancient, but still almost perfect Temple of Theseus, and close by, looking to the west, was the Bema, from whence Demosthenes thundered his philippics and fired the wavering patriotism of his countrymen.  To the right was Mars Hill, where the Areopagus sat in ancient times and where St. Paul defined his position, and below was the market-place where he “disputed daily” with the gossip-loving Athenians.  We climbed the stone steps St. Paul ascended, and stood in the square-cut place he stood in, and tried to recollect the Bible account of the matter—­but for certain reasons, I could not recall the words.  I have found them since: 

     “Now while Paul waited for them at Athens, his spirit was stirred in
     him, when he saw the city wholly given up to idolatry.  “Therefore
     disputed he in the synagogue with the Jews, and with the devout
     persons, and in the market daily with them that met with him.
                         * * * * * * * * *
     “And they took him and brought him unto Areopagus, saying, May we
     know what this new doctrine whereof thou speakest is?
                         * * * * * * * * *
     “Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars hill, and said, Ye men of
     Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious; “For
     as I passed by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this
     inscription:  To the unknown god.  Whom, therefore, ye ignorantly
     worship, him declare I unto you.”—­Acts, ch. xvii.”

It occurred to us, after a while, that if we wanted to get home before daylight betrayed us, we had better be moving.  So we hurried away.  When far on our road, we had a parting view of the Parthenon, with the moonlight streaming through its open colonnades and touching its capitals with silver.  As it looked then, solemn, grand, and beautiful it will always remain in our memories.

As we marched along, we began to get over our fears, and ceased to care much about quarantine scouts or any body else.  We grew bold and reckless; and once, in a sudden burst of courage, I even threw a stone at a dog.  It was a pleasant reflection, though, that I did not hit him, because his master might just possibly have been a policeman.  Inspired by this happy failure, my valor became utterly uncontrollable, and at intervals I absolutely whistled, though on a moderate key.  But boldness breeds boldness, and shortly I plunged into a Vineyard, in the full light of the moon, and captured a gallon of superb grapes, not even minding the presence of a peasant who rode by on a mule.  Denny and Birch followed my example.