Meanwhile there was a temple to be seen at Esneh; and this temple, as we had been told, was to be found close against the market-place. We looked round in vain, however, for any sign of pylon or portico. The chemist said it was “kureiyib,” which means “near by.” A camel-driver pointed to a dilapidated wooden gateway in a recess between two neighboring houses. A small boy volunteered to lead the way. We were greatly puzzled. We had expected to see the temple towering above the surrounding houses, as at Luxor, and could by no means understand how any large building to which that gateway might give access should not be visible from without. The boy, however, ran and thumped upon the gate and shouted “Abbas! Abbas!” Mehemet Ali, who was doing escort, added some thundering blows with his staff and a little crowd gathered, but no Abbas came. The by-standers, as usual, were liberal with their advice; recommending the boy to climb over and the sailor to knock louder and suggesting that Abbas the absent might possibly be found in a certain neighboring café. At length I somewhat impatiently expressed my opinion that there was “Mafeesh Birbeh” (no temple at all); whereupon a dozen voices were raised to assure me that the Birbeh was no myth--that it was “kebîr” (big)--that it was “kwy-ees” (beautiful)--and that all the “Ingleez” came to see it. In the midst of the clamor, however, and just as we are about to turn away in despair, the gate creaks open; the gentlemen of the Fostât troop out in puggaries and knickerbockers; and we are at last admitted. This is what we see--a little yard surrounded by mud walls; at the farther end of the yard a dilapidated doorway; beyond the doorway, a strange-looking, stupendous mass of yellow limestone masonry, long and low and level and enormously massive. A few steps farther and this proves to be the curved cornice of a mighty temple--a temple neither ruined nor defaced, but buried to the chin in the accumulated rubbish of a score of centuries. This part is evidently the portico. We stand close under a row of huge capitals. The columns that support them are buried beneath our feet. The ponderous cornice juts out above our heads. From the level on which we stand to the top of that cornice may measure about twenty-five feet. A high mud wall runs parallel to the whole width of the façade, leaving a passage of about twelve feet in breadth between the two. A low mud parapet and a handrail reach from capital to capital. All beyond is vague, cavernous, mysterious--a great shadowy gulf, in the midst of which dim ghosts of many columns are darkly visible. From an opening between two of the capitals a flight of brick steps leads down into a vast hall so far below the surface of the outer world, so gloomy, so awful, that it might be the portico of Hades.