with the scars of his worship.

It was with this object, that of making the offering of himself a worthy
one, that he continually searched for new and exquisite experiences. He
made lovers come before him and confess their secrets; he pried
into the inmost mysteries of innocence and shame, noting how passion and
reluctance strive together for the mastery. In the amphitheatre he
sometimes witnessed strange entertainments in which such tales as
_Daphnis and Chloe_ and _The Golden Ass_ were performed before him. These
shows were always given at nighttime; a circle of torch-bearers
surrounded the stage in the center, and above, all the tiers of seats
were dark. He would look up at the soft blue of the summer sky, and at
the vast dim mountain hovering like a cloud in the west, and then at the
scene illumined by a flaring light, and contrasted with violent shadows.
The subdued mutter of conversation in a strange language rising from
bench after bench, swift hissing whispers of explanation, now and then a
shout or a cry as the interest deepened, the restless tossing of the
people as the end drew near, an arm lifted, a cloak thrown back, the
sudden blaze of a torch lighting up purple or white or the gleam of
gold in the black serried ranks; these were impressions that seemed
always amazing. And above, the dusky light of the stars, around, the
sweet-scented meadows, and the twinkle of lamps from the still city, the
cry of the sentries about the walls, the wash of the tide filling the
river, and the salt savor of the sea. With such a scenic ornament he saw
the tale of Apuleius represented, heard the names of Fotis and Byrrhaena
and Lucius proclaimed, and the deep intonation of such sentences as _Ecce
Veneris hortator et armiger Liber advenit ultro_. The tale went on
through all its marvelous adventures, and Lucian left the amphitheatre
and walked beside the river where he could hear indistinctly the noise of
voices and the singing Latin, and note how the rumor of the stage mingled
with the murmur of the shuddering reeds and the cool lapping of the tide.
Then came the farewell of the cantor, the thunder of applause, the crash
of cymbals, the calling of the flutes, and the surge of the wind in the
great dark wood.

At other times it was his chief pleasure to spend a whole day in a
vineyard planted on the steep slope beyond the bridge. A grey stone seat
had been placed beneath a shady laurel, and here he often sat without
motion o