Victor Serenus. Henry Wood

and masts of the Cilician metropolis. But though the hour was yet early, the city was already astir. Buyers and sellers in the open markets by the city gates were scattered in little groups, and chaffered over their traffic with the easy air of Oriental contentment. The streets and lanes wore a more busy aspect than was wont; and the number of people in festal costumes, hurrying to and fro with garlands and palm-branches in their hands, betokened a general holiday.

      “As sweet and musical

      As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair;

      And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods

      Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.”

      It was the most important of the festivals of Apollo, and was celebrated annually by a grand procession to the chief temple of the city; followed by sacrifices, priestly rites and ceremonies, oracular messages and predictions, sorcery and soothsaying, ending at night, with orgies which characterized the Oriental city of the period.

      The main temple with its oracle, consecrated to the gods of Tarsus, was situated in the midst of a large garden in the extreme northwestern, or most elevated part of the city. It commanded a charming view of the beautiful Cydnus for nearly its whole length, as it wound its way, like a silver thread, through the plain in its course from the distant mountains to the sea. The ground about the temple was tastefully laid out with walks, vine-clad summer-houses, fountains, grottos, groups of sycamore and palm trees, and at short intervals adorned with statues, vases, and other creations of Greek art and handiwork.

      The blossoms of the bending branches of spicy plants loaded the air with sweet odors, which held the visitor in the delicate bonds of a subtile enchantment. The oleander and jasmine, rose and lilac, tulip and lily, each lent its charm to the chorus of beauty and exhalation. Bounteous Nature was drawn upon to the utmost for rich contributions to consecrate Apollo’s great temple-garden, and enhance its mystical fascination.

      In threading one’s way through this sensuous paradise, one would often find himself at the entrance of some graceful booth, where a priest or priestess of Apollo would dispense love-philtres, or be inquired of concerning the misty future, peradventure to its complete unveiling.

      The temple itself was built of Parian marble, and surrounded by a porch, with a row of lofty Corinthian columns in front, and a corresponding peristyle, surmounted by an entablature, stretching out from either side. The pediments were richly covered with designs in alto-rilievo. Among them were representations of Apollo, Diana, the setting sun, Hercules slaying the Hydra, Dionysus and a Giant, Fauns, Bacchantes, and triumphal processions. In the pronaos, or vestibule, there was a series of broad panels, upon which were inscribed maxims from the Seven Sages of Greece.

      Beyond the vestibule, on either side were two overflowing fountains, each surrounded with statues of Triton, Neptune, Amphitrite, Apollo slaying the great serpent Pytho, with other gods, goddesses, Nymphs, and Dryads. Invalids who drank of a certain fountain, or bathed in it, and were healed, threw pieces of money into it as a recompense. In the back part of the cella was the great hearth with the perpetual fire; and in the adytum, or inner shrine, were the sacred tripod and other mysteries of the sanctum. Below this was a subterranean chamber, from the sacred recesses of which ascended the vapor of prophecy.

      The oracular messages were often conveyed by dreams, preceding which, fasting was customary, followed by sacrifices, and sleeping upon the skin of the animal which had been offered. Other auguries were received in writing, sometimes by means of the “descending pencil” which hung suspended, and wrote by invisible, though intelligent and fateful impulse. Sealed communications on parchment also received answers from occult and mysterious sources.

      Magic, prophecy, and oracular deliverances were not peculiar to the great Oracle at Delphi, but common in the less noted temples of other cities. The offices of priest and soothsayer were blended. The favor and guidance of the gods were invoked upon every undertaking, and through sacrifice and propitiation offered their friendly aid was bestowed. Nothing was undertaken without their sanction, whether going to war, engaging in business, or making love. The healing of invalids, augury, and the interpretation of visions, were not only legal and ethical, but they formed an integral part of religion.

      To the modern student of mental phenomena it is interesting to look back upon the multiform manifestations of mind in the past. Under the reign of polytheism, everything—including even the inner psychological forces that are common to all—was deified. Each phenomenon was due to the action of some “god.” But after all, when we get below the surface of things, is the change a very radical one? The “god,” with them, is some divine orderly law with us. Either term involves the idea of a force which is more or less mysterious. They were destitute of the understanding of the inherent unity and inter-relation of all things, and consequently each phenomenon was disconnected from its relations, and directly credited to a special deity. There was no idea of a great comprehensive Unit. The universe of mind and matter was a fragmentary mass. Its various factions were presided over by deities who were often warring against each other. The great modern inspiration is, not only cosmic oneness, but universality of law. Even the monotheism of the Jew was largely mechanical and incongruous.

      Law as all pervading with the latest refinement—its unvarying beneficence, when correctly interpreted—furnishes the key which will resolve age-long mysteries. With the present understanding of the creative power of mental states, and the potency of thought, even when set in motion by motives of pure superstition, much of the remarkable phenomena of the past can be interpreted and rendered congruous. The prophecies, oracular messages, healings, divinations, soothsaying, and other “miraculous” transactions of history, though doubtless often exaggerated, have an important basis of truth. They are in accord with the legitimate or illegitimate use of laws now measurably understood. As we become increasingly aware of the possibilities of hypnotism, telepathy, the sub-conscious mind, suggestion, psychical development, and spiritualistic experiences, the strange things of both ancient and later times are seen to be natural and explainable. The so-called “supernatural” was just what might have been expected under the known conditions. There was no suspension of universal law, but only the orderly result of real forces which exist in man, even though often unrecognized and misused.

      Under both the Gentile and Jewish economies, there was an endless mass of occurrences, attributed to special deific intervention, but all belong to the realm of the one Divine unchangeable and universal order. This has never been suspended and never will be, for God does not contradict himself. Prophets and priests could perform “wonderful works” through the medium of principles which they could not define. Miraculous colorings are always in the eyes of the beholder. Human equipment, which has had much unintelligent employment, is now clearly interpreted.

      But withal, it may be questioned, whether it be not better to attribute too much to “the gods” than—like some moderns—to become so coldly agnostic and pseudo-scientific as to deny everything which is above the plane of the material and sensuous.

      “The gods favored thee, fair lady.”

      These words were addressed to Rebecca, the daughter of Benoni.

      She turned to see from whence they came.

      “Say not the gods, my good woman, but the God of Israel.”

      Rebecca and her father were returning from the morning service of the synagogue, and had halted for a moment to make some trifling purchase at a small bazaar. Rebecca observed that the woman who had spoken, and who seemed to be an assistant in the bazaar, was surveying her with unwonted interest.

      “What would’st thou?” said the Jewish maiden.

      “Forgive me, but thy sweet face brings a terrible vision before me. Thou hast not forgotten the palace and the storm?”

      The scene of two years before flashed upon her. A shudder ran through her frame. Her color fled, and for a brief moment she again lived over the tragic experience. But waving aside the hideous recollection, she quickly commanded herself, and greeted Chloe with a warm salutation, and then turning to her father, said,—

      “O my father! this is the woman who led our way out of the lion’s den.”

      “The