They have made a Latin hymn upon the
      valor of the king, and are singing it as they go:

      Mille, mille, mille,
      Mille, mille, mille,
      Decollavimus, unus homo! Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus! Mille, mille, mille,
      Vivat qui mille mille occidit! Tantum vini habet nemo
      Quantum sanguinis effudit! (*1)

      Which may be thus paraphrased:

      A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
      A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
      We, with one warrior, have slain! A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand. Sing a thousand over again! Soho!—let us sing
      Long life to our king,
      Who knocked over a thousand so fine! Soho!—let us roar,
      He has given us more
      Red gallons of gore
      Than all Syria can furnish of wine! “Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?”

      Yes—the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with
      admiration, and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes!—he is coming!—there he is! “Who?—where?—the king?—do not behold him—cannot say that I
      perceive him.”

      Then you must be blind. “Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of
      idiots and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before
      a gigantic cameleopard, and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the
      animal’s hoofs. See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the
      rabble over—and another—and another—and another. Indeed, I cannot
      help admiring the animal for the excellent use he is making of
      his feet.”

      Rabble, indeed!—why these are the noble and free citizens of
      Epidaphne! Beasts, did you say?—take care that you are not
      overheard. Do you not perceive that the animal has the visage of
      a man? Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than
      Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious, King of Syria,
      and the most potent of all the autocrats of the East! It is true,
      that he is entitled, at times, Antiochus Epimanes—Antiochus the
      madman—but that is because all people have not the capacity to
      appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at present
      ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing his best to play
      the part of a cameleopard; but this is done for the better
      sustaining his dignity as king. Besides, the monarch is of
      gigantic stature, and the dress is therefore neither unbecoming
      nor over large. We may, however, presume he would not have
      adopted it but for some occasion of especial state. Such, you
      will allow, is the massacre of a thousand Jews. With how superior
      a dignity the monarch perambulates on all fours! His tail, you
      perceive, is held aloft by his two principal concubines, Elline
      and Argelais; and his whole appearance would be infinitely
      prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of his eyes,
      which will certainly start out of his head, and the queer color
      of his face, which has become nondescript from the quantity of
      wine he has swallowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome,
      whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of triumph which
      he is commencing:

      Who is king but Epiphanes? Say—do you know? Who is king but Epiphanes? Bravo!—bravo! There is none but Epiphanes,
      No—there is none:
      So tear down the temples,
      And put out the sun! Well and strenuously sung! The populace are hailing him ‘Prince
      of Poets,’ as well as ‘Glory of the East,’ ‘Delight of the
      Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards.’ They have
      encored his effusion, and do you hear?—he is singing it over
      again. When he arrives at the hippodrome, he will be crowned with
      the poetic wreath, in anticipation of his victory at the
      approaching Olympics. “But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the crowd behind us?”

      Behind us, did you say?—oh! ah!—I perceive. My friend, it is well
      that you spoke in time. Let us get into a place of safety as soon
      as possible. Here!—let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this
      aqueduct, and I will inform you presently of the origin of the
      commotion. It has turned out as I have been anticipating. The
      singular appearance of the cameleopard and the head of a man,
      has, it seems, given offence to the notions of propriety
      entertained, in general, by the wild animals domesticated in the
      city. A mutiny has been the result; and, as is usual upon such
      occasions, all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the
      mob. Several of the Syrians have already been devoured; but the
      general voice of the four-footed patriots seems to be for eating
      up the cameleopard. ‘The Prince of Poets,’ therefore, is upon his
      hinder legs, running for his life. His courtiers have left him in
      the lurch, and his concubines have followed so excellent an
      example. ‘Delight of the Universe,’ thou art in a sad
      predicament! ‘Glory of the East,’ thou art in danger of
      mastication! Therefore never regard so piteously thy tail; it
      will undoubtedly be draggled in the mud, and for this there is no
      help. Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degradation;
      but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and scud for the
      hippodrome! Remember that thou art Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus
      the Illustrious!—also ‘Prince of Poets,’ ‘Glory of the East,’
      ‘Delight of the Universe,’ and ‘Most Remarkable of Cameleopards!’
      Heavens! what a power of speed thou art displaying! What a
      capacity for leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince!—Bravo,
      Epiphanes! Well done, Cameleopard!—Glorious Antiochus!—He
      runs!—he leaps!—he flies! Like an arrow from a catapult he
      approaches the hippodrome! He leaps!—he shrieks!—he is there! This is well; for hadst thou, ‘Glory of the East,’ been half a
      second longer in reaching the gates of the Amphitheatre, there is
      not a bear’s cub in Epidaphne that would not have had a nibble at
      thy carcase. Let us be off—let us take our departure!—for we
      shall find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the vast
      uproar which is about to commence in celebration of the king’s
      escape! Listen! it has already commenced. See!—the whole town is
      topsy-turvy. “Surely this is the most populous city of the East! What a
      wilderness of people! what a jumble of all ranks and ages! what a
      multiplicity of sects and nations! what a variety of costumes! what a Babel of languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a
      tinkling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!”

      Come let us be off. “Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the hippodrome; what is
      the meaning of it, I beseech you?”

      That?—oh, nothing!