which Alexander had joined,
himself one of the wildest, this man had marched, sober and dignified
as he was at this moment, in the same flowing raiment. This had provoked
the feasters, who, being full of wine and of the god, would have nothing
that could remind them of the serious side of life. Such sullen reserve
on a day of rejoicing was an insult to the jolly giver of the fruits
of the earth, and to wine itself, the care-killer; and the mad troop of
artists, disguised as Silenus, satyrs, and fauns, had crowded round the
stranger to compel him to join their rout and empty the wine-jar which a
burly Silenus was carrying before him on his ass.

At first the man had paid no heed to the youths' light mockery; but as
they grew bolder, he suddenly stood still, seized the tall faun, who
was trying to force the wine-jar on him, by both arms, and, holding him
firmly, fixed his grave, dark eyes on those of the youth. Alexander had
not forgotten the half-comical, half-threatening incident, but what he
remembered most clearly was the strange scene that followed: for, after
the Magian had released his enemy, he bade him take the jar back to
Silenus, and proceed on his way, like the ass, on all-fours. And the
tall faun, a headstrong, irascible Lesbian, had actually obeyed the
stately despot, and crept along on his hands and feet by the side of the
donkey. No threats nor mockery of his companions could persuade him to
rise. The high spirits of the boisterous crew were quite broken, and
before they could turn on the magician he had vanished.

Alexander had afterward learned that he was Serapion, the star-gazer and
thaumaturgist, whom all the spirits of heaven and earth obeyed.

When, at the time, the painter had told the story to Philip, the
philosopher had laughed at him, though Alexander had reminded him that
Plato even had spoken of the daimons as being the guardian spirits of
men; that in Alexandria, great and small alike believed in them as a
fact to be reckoned with; and that he--Philip himself--had told him that
they played a prominent part in the newest systems of philosophy.

But to the skeptic nothing was sure: and if he would deny the existence
of the Divinity, he naturally must disbelieve that of any beings in a
sphere between the supersensual immortals and sentient human creatures.
That a man, the weaker nature, could have any power over daimons, who,
as having a nearer affinity to the gods, must, if they existed, be