In the same manner, too, Elpis, a native of Samos, on landing from a vessel on the coast of Africa, observed a lion near the beach, opening his mouth in a threatening manner; upon which he climbed a tree, in the hope of escaping, while, at the same time, he invoked the aid of Father Liber; for it is the appropriate time for invocations when there is no room left for hope. The wild beast did not pursue him as he fled, although he might easily have done so; but, lying down at the foot of the tree, tried by the open mouth which had caused so much terror, to excite his compassion. It appeared that while he was devouring his food with too great avidity, a bone had stuck fast between his teeth, and he was perishing with hunger. Elpis, although he understood his mute entreaties, did not dare to risk trusting himself to so formidable a beast, so he remained stationary for some time, more from astonishment than from fear. At length, however, he descended from the tree and extracted the bone, the lion in the mean while extending his head, and aiding in the operation as far as it was necessary for him to do. The story goes on to say, that as long as the vessel remained off that coast, the lion showed his sense of gratitude by bringing to it whatever he had chanced to procure in the chase. In memory of this circumstance, Elpis consecrated a temple at Samos to Father Liber, which the Greeks, from the circumstance above related, called “the temple κεχηνότος Διονύσον,” or “temple of the open-mouthed Bacchus.” Can we wonder, after this, that the wild beasts should be able to recognize the footsteps of man, when of him alone of all animals they even hope for aid? For why should they not have recourse to others for assistance? Or how is it that they know that the hand of man has power to heal them? Unless, perhaps, it is that the violence of pain can force even wild beasts to risk everything to obtain relief.