inspired by the fervent hope of averting some incalculable disaster from
his fellow-citizens, he took his place in front of the statue of the god,
and, lifting up his hands, he began:

"In the name of Serapis, O Macedonians!" His deep, ringing tones sounded
above the voices of the insurgents in the upper rows, and there was
silence.

Not a sound was to be heard but the long-drawn howling of the wind, and
now and then the flap of a strip of cloth torn from the velarium by the
gale. Mingling with these might be heard the uncanny hooting of owls and
daws which the illumination had brought out of their nests in the
cornice, and which the storm was now driving in again.

Timotheus, in a clear and audible address, now appealed to his audience
to remain quiet, not to disturb the splendid entertainment here set
before them, and above all to remember that great Caesar, the divine
ruler of the world, was in their midst, an honor to each and all. As the
guest of the most hospitable city on earth, their illustrious sovereign
had a right to expect from every Alexandrian the most ardent endeavors to
make his stay here delightful. It was his part as high-priest to uplift
his warning voice in the name of the greatest of the gods, that the ill-
will of a few malcontents might not give rise to an idea in the mind of
their beloved guest that the natives of Alexandria were blind to the
blessings for which every citizen had to thank his beneficent rule.

A shrill whistle here interrupted his discourse, and a voice shouted:
"What blessings? We know of none."

But Timotheus was not to be checked, and went on more vehemently