The Author's Summary 



Two pillars, only, of the colonnade of eighty that graced 

 the great Temple of Cybele, stand to-day, half buried in the 

 debris of centuries sole relics of renowned and historic 

 Sardis. 



This, the richest city of her day, was seat of Empire for the 

 vast realm of Croesus heir to the fabulous riches of Midas 

 where he reigned supreme in untold luxury and pride. 

 Here, later, flourished one of the seven Churches of the 

 Apocalypse. Cyrus the Great led his cohorts into Lydia, 

 and left Sardis the seat of a mere satrapy in the Medo- 

 Persian Empire. The day of decline had fallen on imperial 

 Sardis. 



The treasures of Croesus vanished his jewels and hoards 

 of gold were forever scattered. The mighty structures 

 raised in the prime of his dominion to honor names no 

 longer heard in history or legend, crumbled and moulded to 

 decay. The very name is but a symbol of the vanity of 

 riches. 



Successive hordes of warriors that have trampled these 

 Oriental lands are dust. Hillocks of unmarked tombs 

 shelter alike prince and pauper old and young rich and 

 poor. Thickly they dot the plains around; retreats are 

 they now for reptiles homes for crawling things that shun 

 the light of day. Man, the "Lord of creation," has sunk 

 into the oblivion of the grave 



Blooms the gay, wild, poppy on Lydia s hillsides; creeps 

 the humble liquorice vine throughout the historic valley of 

 Hermus clothing its fertile reaches twining even between 

 the stones of the long deserted Roman roadway Sweet 

 reigns the perfume of the rose that from every brier-tangle 

 ladens the breeze. Nature in her lowliest guise sets con- 

 quering foot on the proudest triumphs of King and Empire. 



The story of Sardis is but a dot on history's page, scored 

 by the inexorable pen of Fate for all who have eyes to see. 

 Speaks not Fate to-day the same message into ears that are 

 dead? Holds she not the same mirror before unheeding 

 eyes? Who, in this America's day of power, and pride, and 

 luxury casts one backward glance? And what flowers of 

 the field shall trail over her buried glories in far ages to come? 



