Here, indeed, Serapis took the place of Pluto, and much that was Greek
had assumed strange and Egyptian forms: even the order of the ceremonies
had been entirely changed; still, on the African, as on the Attic shore,
the Greek cry went up, "To the sea, O mystics!" and the bidding to
Iakchos: "Be with us, O Iakchos!"

It could be heard from afar, but the voices of the shouters were already
weary, and most of the torches had burned low. The wreaths of ivy and
myrtle in their hair were limp; the singers of the hymn no longer kept
their ranks; and even Iambe, whose jests had cheered the mourning
Demeter, and whose lips at Eleusis had overflowed with witticisms, was
exhausted and silent. She still held in her hand the jar from which she
had given the bereaved goddess a reviving draught, but it was empty and
she longed for a drink. She was indeed a he: for it was a youth in
woman's dress who played the rollicking part of Iambe, and it was
Alexander's friend and comrade Diodoros who had represented the daughter
of Pan and Echo, who, the legend said, had acted as slave in the house of
Metaneira, the Eleusinian queen, when Demeter took refuge there. His
sturdy legs had good reason to be as weary as his tongue, which had known
no rest for five hours.

But he caught sight of the large vehicle drawn by four horses, in which
the vast corn-measure, the kalathos, which Serapis wore as his
distinguishing head-gear, had been conveyed to Eleusis. It was empty
now, for the contents had been offered to the god, and the four black
horses had an easy task with the great wagon. No one had as yet thought
of using it as a conveyance back to the town; but Diodoros, who was both
ingenious and tired, ran after it and leaped up. Several now wanted to
follow his example, but he pushed them off, even thrusting at them with a