ine
the multitude seated and sunk to sudden silence, and motionless in
its intensity of interest.

Out of the Porta Pompae over in the east rises a sound mixed of
voices and instruments harmonized. Presently, forth issues the
chorus of the procession with which the celebration begins;
the editor and civic authorities of the city, givers of the
games, follow in robes and garlands; then the gods, some on
platforms borne by men, others in great four-wheel carriages
gorgeously decorated; next them, again, the contestants of the
day, each in costume exactly as he will run, wrestle, leap, box,
or drive.

Slowly crossing the arena, the procession proceeds to make circuit
of the course. The display is beautiful and imposing. Approval runs
before it in a shout, as the water rises and swells in front of a boat
in motion. If the dumb, figured gods make no sign of appreciation
of the welcome, the editor and his associates are not so backward.

The reception of the athletes is even more demonstrative, for there
is not a man in the assemblage who has not something in wager upon
them, though but a mite or farthing. And it is noticeable, as the
classes move by, that the favorites among them are speedily singled
out: either their names are loudest in the uproar, or they are more
profusely showered with wreaths and garlands tossed to them from
the balcony.

If there is a question as to the popularity with the public of
the several games, it is now put to rest. To the splendor of
the chariots and the superexcellent beauty of the horses, the
charioteers add the personality necessary to perfect the charm of
their display. Their tunics, short, sleeveless, and of the finest
woollen texture, are of the assigned colors. A horseman accompanies
each one of them except Ben-Hur, who, for some reason--possibly
distrust--has chosen to go alone; so, too, they are all helmeted
but him. As they approach, the spectators stand upon the benches,
and there is a sensible deepening of the clamor, in which a sharp
listener may detect the shrill piping of women and children; at the
same time, the things roseate flying from the balcony thicken into a
storm, and, striking the men, drop into the chariot-beds, which are
threatened with filling to the tops. Even the horses have a share
in the ovation; nor may it be said they are less conscious than
their masters of the honors they receive.

Very soon, as with the other contestants, it is made apparent
that