CHAPTER IV.

OR some days Alypius wandered about like a troubled ghost. His studies were utterly neglected; his “vain philosophy" gave him no comfort, and failed to divert his mind from the thoughts and feelings which had taken such strong possession of him. Even the society of his friend Julius had lost its zest; for Julius rallied him about his admiration of Medora, and also expressed some little astonishment, and even contempt, for the pity which he had manifested towards the Nazarenes.

One of Alypius' favourite rambles was to the Point of Lochias, the promontory that bounded the great port to the east. From this point, and the rocks which proceeded from it a considerable distance into the sea, a fine view was obtained of the whole harbour, fringed, as it were, with towers and palaces and temples; and dotted with innumerable vessels of varied size and picturesque forms, bearing the wealth and the luxury of many distant lands into this great emporium of trade. Across the entrance of the harbour, and at about the distance of a mile, rose the noted Pharos built by Sesostris of Cnidus, in the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus, 283 years before the Christian era. This spiendid lighthouse was erected on a small rocky island from which it took his name; and was connected with the main land by an artificial dyke of great length, at each end of which

was a passage for ships from the great port to the port of Eunostus, lying to the west of the city. Over these channels were two fine drawbridges, which completed the Heptastadium, as the whole connecting embankment was called, and formed a very favourite promenade for the gay citizens of Alexandria.

The less frequented Lochias was Alypius' chief resort. Thither he had often walked with his friend; and on the rocks which jutted into the sea, and were washed by its waves on either side, he had sat for hours, discoursing with him on the doctrines of their leading teachers, and the so-called religion of the philosophers. Now he repaired to this spot alone, and he mused on very different subjects. He thought of the ancient religion of the Egyptians, which he had been taught to despise as barbarous and obsolete, but of which he had been told the lovely Medora was a votary, and her brother an officiating priest. He knew little of the tenets of the Egyptians; but he believed them to be marked by ignorance and superstition, and not worthy to be compared to the enlightened opinions of the Greeks and Romans. Of these opinions his knowledge was very extensive; but the influence which they exercised over his feelings or his conduct was very slight. Indeed, he regarded religious belief as a matter which chiefly concerned the lower orders, and was useful as a restraint upon those who were incapable of being guided by those principles of honour and morality that were inculcated in the schools, and were considered quite sufficient for the educated members of society.

From these principles, and their often unsatisfactory results, the thoughts of Alypius turned to the Christians. He knew, as we have said, something of their doctrines from Monica and her

friends. He knew that the main principle of their lives was an entire and self-denying devotion to the Master whom they served, and a constant effort to promote his glory by their lives, or, if need be, by their deaths. He knew that purity and holiness, to a degree undreamed of either by the Egyptians, the Greeks, or the Romans, was inculcated by their teachers, and practised-or at least aimed at by all who professed to be followers of the Nazarene, whose holy example they sought to emulate. All this he had known from childhood, but the subject had never greatly interested him. He had followed the opinions and the ways of his teachers and his young companions; and especially had he been led by Monica's son, Augustine, whose lively talents and captivating appearance and manners had rendered him a very dangerous friend and associate for Alypius, in the days of their intimacy at Tagaste.

Since Alypius had resided at Alexandria, he had heard a great deal of the doctrines of the Christians, who dwelt in great numbers in that city and neighbourhood. Though Christianity was now the religion of the Emperor, yet the condition of those who professed it in the provinces depended, to a great degree, upon the character of the Prefect for the time being, and that of the inferior magistrates; and also upon the influence which was brought to bear on these men in authority by the feeling and spirit entertained towards the Christians by the heathen populace. Many of the Roman governors, who were themselves supremely indifferent to the religious opinions of their subjects were induced to commit acts of cruelty and persecution for the sake of securing their own popularity. This had been the motive of Fabius in the instance which we have just recorded;

and this had been the occasion of putting once more to the proof the oft-tried faith of the Christians, and displaying once more their indomitable fortitude, to the scorn and derision of some, but to the admiration and sympathy of others, who, though heathens themselves, could yet understand and appreciate the devotion and the noble self-sacrifice of the martyrs.

Alypius was one of these. His best feelings had been aroused by the heart-sickening spectacle in the Circus. The victims had appeared to him to be heroes, worthy of the brightest days of Roman virtue. The criminals had seemed to him far superior to the judges and executioners. The disciples of the lowly Jesus had worn in his eyes an aspect of dignity such as no seat of government, no robes of state, could ever equal in glory. He had seen what faith-confiding faith-could work, not only in the strong young soldier, but also in the aged man, the gentle maiden, and the young and untried boy. What could be the powerful principle that had enabled all these to meet deathand such a death—with courage, and without one effort to avert their dreadful fate by denying their Lord and Master? Such thoughts were salutary, and they were not without fruit; but Alypius had much to experience, and much to feel, ere he could truly comprehend the value of the Christians' motives, and the Divine beauty of the Christians' conduct.

Long he sat on the rocks of Lochias, and watched the lengthening shadows of the vessels, and the reflection of their sails in the blue water. By-and-bye the light on the summit of the lofty towers of Pharos was kindled, and shone as a guiding beacon far over the sea. Other lights sprang out of the growing darkness all round the circling bay, like a fringe of fire

flies trembling in the distance. Nearer to Lochias, in the eastern suburb of the city, stood the Cæsareum-the royal palace or temple of the Cæsars-with its two obelisks on each side of the entrance, rising tall and slender above all the surrounding buildings, and pointing to the unfathomable depth of deep blue sky that hung cloudless above them. There also rose the great Museum, with all its adornment of statues and frescoes, now scarcely visible in the waning light; and there was the magnificent Exchange; and hard by stood the beautiful temple of Neptune, which contained treasures of bronze and marble.

All these, and many more stately and beautiful buildings, met the eyes of Alypius as he gazed thoughtfully around the bay; and the calm loveliness of the scene sank into his heart, and stilled the anxious workings of his troubled spirit. At length he rose to return to his lodgings in the city. He walked slowly along the way that led by the obelisks, on which the rising moon was now shedding a weird and silvery light. How tall and gaunt they looked against the clear night sky, and how many thoughts they awoke in his mind of the old days of Egypt's glory and power, when they had adorned some grand temple, perhaps far up the ancient and mysterious Nile!

So much did his own thoughts engross him, that Alypius was all unconscious of the few passengers whom he met by the way; and he was only aroused from his sense of solitude by coming in contact with the crouching figure of a woman near the base of one of the obelisks. She did not move or speak; and for a moment Alypius feared she was dead. But soon she heaved a deep sigh, or rather a groan, and he addressed her: