rods, men and boys were forming into lines according to the rank of each
individual, and the chief fan-bearer gave the signal for departure.
After a short walk through several halls and corridors, the train reached
the first court-yard of the palace, and there ascended the few steps
leading to the broad platform at the entrance-gate which overlooked the
whole Bruchium and the Street of the King, down which the expected hero
would approach.

The distant uproar of the multitude had sounded threatening, but now,
amid the deafening din, they could distinguish every shout of welcome,
every joyous greeting, every expression of delight, surprise, applause,
admiration, and homage, known to the Greek and Egyptian tongues.

Only the centre and end of the procession were visible. The head had
reached the Corner of the Muses, where, concealed by the old trees in the
garden, it moved on between the Temple of Isis and the land owned by
Didymus. The end still extended to the Choma, whence it had started.

All Alexandria seemed to have joined it.

Men large and small, of high and low degree, old and young, the lame and
the crippled, mingled with the throng, sweeping onward among horses and
carriages, carts and beasts of burden, like a mountain torrent dashing
wildly down to the valley. Here a loud shriek rang from an overturned
litter, whose bearers had fallen. Yonder a child thrown to the ground
screamed shrilly, there a dog trodden under the feet of the crowd howled
piteously. So clear and resonant were the shouts of joy that they rose
high above the flutes and tambourines, the cymbals and lutes of the
musicians, who followed the man approaching in the robes of a god.