The city was filled with wailing, horror, and loathsomeness, but in the midst of despair there were frantic outbursts of outrageous pleasures. Licentiousness was unbridled, and men grasped at wild delights as if they held their lives but by the day. The rich died, and the poor, who had never dreamed of riches, slipped into their places, and, thinking they had not a moment to lose, made their only aim the speedy fruition of their goods. Neither the fear of the gods nor the laws of men awed any man. For it seemed all one, to worship or not to worship, seeing that all alike perished, and no one expected his life would last till he received punishment of his crimes by human judgment. Many thought that the whole city would be destroyed, and hastened to enjoy some little part of their lives. Women left their apartments, and, without friends or guardians, rushed to the temples or tried to flee from the pestilence beyond the city bounds. For all discipline was broken through, and all did what seemed good to them. * * * * * In spite of these dreadful scenes, the Egyptians showed no signs of haste or alarm, and seemed to regard the terror-stricken people with mingled curiosity and contempt. At first this conduct was ascribed to the gloomy nature of their religion, and to the fact that in their own cities the plague was said to be never altogether stifled. But gradually a rumour spread that they had in their possession some drug or charm by which they made themselves proof against the pestilence. In a short time they were surrounded by a tumultuous throng of men and women. A deafening outcry arose of threats and entreaties. Some tried to embrace the knees of the merchants, and offered them masses of gold and precious stones; others shrieked like madmen, “Give us life,—save us!” Some, on the other hand, tried to terrify them with brandished weapons; whilst others, hoping more from prayers, threatened the threateners, and assumed the part of defenders of the strangers, appealing to Zeus, the god of hospitality. As the tumult grew, and the pressure of the crowd increased, the merchants, speaking in an unknown tongue, seemed to address one who appeared to be their leader, in terms of remonstrance and expostulation, mingled, however, with respect and submission. No interpreter could be found, so that no one could understand what was said except vaguely from the looks and gestures of the speakers. Suddenly, the leader made signs as if asking for silence and attention, and a thrill of astonishment passed through the crowd as he began to speak in a language which many of the people could, with a little difficulty, understand. It seemed an ancient dialect of Greek, in most respects like that used by Homer in his poems.