. It has become temporarily a church. The immortal
gods have, for the time being, condescended to waive their rights; but
it is the Caesareum, nevertheless. This way; down this street to the
right. There,' said he, pointing to a doorway in the side of the Museum,
'is the last haunt of the Muses--the lecture-room of Hypatia, the school
of my unworthiness. And here,' stopping at the door of a splendid house
on the opposite side of the street, 'is the residence of that blest
favourite of Athene--Neith, as the barbarians of Egypt would denominate
the goddess--we men of Macedonia retain the time-honoured Grecian
nomenclature.... You may put down your basket.' And he knocked at
the door, and delivering the fruit to a black porter, made a polite
obeisance to Philammon, and seemed on the point of taking his departure.

'But where is the archbishop's house?'

'Close to the Serapeium. You cannot miss the place: four hundred columns
of marble, now ruined by Christian persecutors, stand on an eminence--'

'But how far off?'

'About three miles; near the gate of the Moon.'

'Why, was not that the gate by which we entered the city on the other
side?'

'Exactly so; you will know your way back, having already traversed it.'

Philammon checked a decidedly carnal inclination to seize the little
fellow by the throat, and knock his head against the wall, and contented
himself by saying--

'Then do you actually mean to say, you heathen villain, that you have
taken me six or seven miles out of my road?'

'Good words young man. If you do me harm, I call for help; we are close
to the Jews' quarter, and there are some thousands there who will swarm
out like wasps on the chance of beating a monk to death. Yet that which
I have done, I have done with a good purpose. First, politically, or
according to practical wisdom--in order that you, not I, might carry
the basket. Next, philosophically, or according to the intuitions of the
pure reason--in order that you might, by beholding the magnificence of
that great civilisation which your fellows wish to destroy, learn
that you are an ass, and a tortoise, and a nonentity, and so beholding
yourself to be nothing, may be moved to become something.'

And he moved off.

Philammon seized him by the collar of his ragged tunic, and held him in
a gripe from which the little man, though he twisted like an eel could
not escape.

'Peaceably, if you will; if not, by main force. You shall go back with