Therefore cease to regard that sea, and give your
      whole attention to the mass of houses that lie beneath us. You
      will remember that it is now the year of the world three thousand
      eight hundred and thirty. Were it later—for example, were it the
      year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should be
      deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the nineteenth
      century Antioch is—that is to say, Antioch will be—in a
      lamentable state of decay. It will have been, by that time,
      totally destroyed, at three different periods, by three
      successive earthquakes. Indeed, to say the truth, what little of
      its former self may then remain, will be found in so desolate and
      ruinous a state that the patriarch shall have removed his
      residence to Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my
      advice, and are making the most of your time in inspecting the
      premises—in

      —satisfying your eyes
      With the memorials and the things of fame
      That most renown this city.—

      I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakespeare will not flourish
      for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come. But does not the
      appearance of Epidaphne justify me in calling it grotesque? “It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much indebted to
      nature as to art.”

      Very true. “There are a prodigious number of stately palaces.”

      There are. “And the numerous temples, sumptuous and magnificent, may bear
      comparison with the most lauded of antiquity.”

      All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an infinity of mud
      huts, and abominable hovels. We cannot help perceiving abundance
      of filth in every kennel, and, were it not for the over-powering
      fumes of idolatrous incense, I have no doubt we should find a
      most intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so
      insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall? What gloom
      their shadows cast upon the ground! It is well the swinging lamps
      in those endless colonnades are kept burning throughout the day;
      we should otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of her
      desolation. “It is certainly a strange place! What is the meaning of yonder
      singular building? See! it towers above all others, and lies to
      the eastward of what I take to be the royal palace!”

      That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored in Syria under
      the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter a very notorious Roman
      Emperor will institute this worship in Rome, and thence derive a
      cognomen, Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a peep
      at the divinity of the temple. You need not look up at the
      heavens; his Sunship is not there—at least not the Sunship adored
      by the Syrians. That deity will be found in the interior of
      yonder building. He is worshipped under the figure of a large
      stone pillar terminating at the summit in a cone or pyramid,
      whereby is denoted Fire. “Hark—behold!—who can those ridiculous beings be, half naked,
      with their faces painted, shouting and gesticulating to the
      rabble?”

      Some few are mountebanks. Others more particularly belong to the
      race of philosophers. The greatest portion, however—those
      especially who belabor the populace with clubs—are the principal
      courtiers of the palace, executing as in duty bound, some
      laudable comicality of the king’s. “But what have we here? Heavens! the town is swarming with wild
      beasts! How terrible a spectacle!—how dangerous a peculiarity!”

      Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree dangerous. Each animal if you will take the pains to observe, is following,
      very quietly, in the wake of its master. Some few, to be sure,
      are led with a rope about the neck, but these are chiefly the
      lesser or timid species. The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are
      entirely without restraint. They have been trained without
      difficulty to their present profession, and attend upon their
      respective owners in the capacity of valets-de-chambre. It is
      true, there are occasions when Nature asserts her violated
      dominions;—but then the devouring of a man-at-arms, or the
      throttling of a consecrated bull, is a circumstance of too little
      moment to be more than hinted at in Epidaphne. “But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely this is a loud
      noise even for Antioch! It argues some commotion of unusual
      interest.”

      Yes—undoubtedly. The king has ordered some novel spectacle—some
      gladiatorial exhibition at the hippodrome—or perhaps the massacre
      of the Scythian prisoners—or the conflagration of his new
      palace—or the tearing down of a handsome temple—or, indeed, a
      bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases. Shouts of laughter
      ascend the skies. The air becomes dissonant with wind
      instruments, and horrible with clamor of a million throats. Let
      us descend, for the love of fun, and see what is going on! This
      way—be careful! Here we are in the principal street, which is
      called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people is coming this
      way, and we shall find a difficulty in stemming the tide. They
      are pouring through the alley of Heraclides, which leads directly
      from the palace;—therefore the king is most probably among the
      rioters. Yes—I hear the shouts of the herald proclaiming his
      approach in the pompous phraseology of the East. We shall have a
      glimpse of his person as he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let
      us ensconce ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary; he will
      be here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image. What is
      it? Oh! it is the god Ashimah in proper person. You perceive,
      however, that he is neither a lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr,
      neither has he much resemblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet
      all these appearances have been given—I beg pardon—will be
      given—by the learned of future ages, to the Ashimah of the
      Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and tell me what it is. What is
      it? “Bless me! it is an ape!”

      True—a baboon; but by no means the less a deity. His name is a
      derivation of the Greek Simia—what great fools are antiquarians! But see!—see!—yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where is he
      going? What is he bawling about? What does he say? Oh! he says
      the king is coming in triumph; that he is dressed in state; that
      he has just finished putting to death, with his own hand, a
      thousand chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the
      ragamuffin is lauding him to the skies! Hark! here comes a troop
      of a similar description.