nteresting sixty years ago, when it appeared (in 1846),
doubtless it may have some interest now.

Zeuxis was the pride and boast of Athens. His pencil had no rival, and
thrice he had been crowned victor of the Olympic games. The dwellings of
the rich and noble, and the shrines and temples of the gods, were
decorated with the fruits of his genius. He was courted by the wise and
powerful. Artists and magi came from distant cities to look upon the
Athenian painter, whose name was sounded worldwide.

Even the proud ruler of Palmyra, the "Tadmor of the wilderness," sent a
deputation of nobles to invite his presence at the Palmyrene court.
Contemporary artists acknowledged his superiority; and Apollodorus, the
father of Athenian painters, declared that Zeuxis had "stolen the cunning
from all the rest." Thus flattered and caressed, Zeuxis became proud and
haughty. He found no rival, for he knew no equal.

The Agonothetai employed him to paint a wrestler or champion, to adorn the
peristylium of the Gymnasia. Assembled thousands gave a simultaneous shout
of applause when the picture was exhibited on the first day of the games.
The victors in the chariot-race, the discus, the cestus, and the athletae,
were almost forgotten amid the general admiration of the picture of
Zeuxis. Conscious of his superiority, the artist, with pedantic egotism,
wrote beneath his picture, "Invisurus aliquis facilius quam
imitaturus!"--"Sooner envied than equaled!"

This inscription met the eye of an obscure youth, who resolved to prove
its falsity.

The third day of the games had terminated. The last rays of the sun yet
lingered on the Acropolis, and burnished the crest of hoary Olympus that
gleamed in the distance. Zeuxis sat alone with his wife and daughter,
listening attentively to the strains of a minstrel who swept the lyre for
a group of joyous dancers assembled near the grove sacred to Psyche. As
the music ceased, a deep sigh escaped the daughter, and a tear trembled in
the maiden's eye.

"Cassandra, my sweet Cassandra," said Zeuxis, "why that tear, that sigh?"

A deep crimson suffused the cheeks of the maiden, and she was silent.

"Tell me, Cassandra," said the father, affectionately placing her hand in
his own, and inquisitively eying the blushing damsel; "tell me what new
grief makes sorrowful the heart of my daughter? Thinkest thou yet of the
worthless Parrhasius--even now, upon the eve of thy nuptials with the
noble Thearchus?"