atening 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 the
stronger, he could refute with convincing arguments; and when he saw
others nibbling whitethorn-leaves, or daubing their thresholds with pitch
to preserve themselves and the house from evil spirits, he shrugged his
shoulders contemptuously, though his father often did such things.

Here was Philip, deep in conversation with the man he had mocked at, and
Alexander was flattered by seeing that wise and famous Serapion, in whose
powers he himself believed, was talking almost humbly to his brother, as
though to a superior. The magician was standing, while the philosopher,
as though it were his right, remained seated.

Of what could they be conversing?

Alexander himself was anxious to be going, and only his desire to hear at
any rate a few sentences of the talk of two such men detained him longer.

As he expected, it bore on Serapion's magical powers; but the bearded man
spoke in a very low tone, and if the painter ventured any nearer he would
be seen. He could