The latter, according to custom, was made in the form of a boat—representing the bark of Osiris, with his ark, and two guardians, Isis and Nephthys—and was placed upon a sledge, which was drawn by a team of oxen and a relay of fellahîn. The sides of the ark were, as a rule, formed of movable wooden panels, decorated with pictures and inscriptions; sometimes, however, but more rarely, the panels were replaced by a covering of embroidered stuff or of soft leather. In the latter case the decoration was singularly rich, the figures and hieroglyphs being cut out with a knife, and the spaces thus left filled in with pieces of coloured leather, which gave the whole an appearance of brilliant mosaic-work.*

In place of a boat, a shrine of painted wood, also mounted upon a sledge, was frequently used. When the ceremony was over, this was left, together with the coffin, in the tomb.*

The wife and children walked as close to the bier as possible, and were followed by the friends of the deceased, dressed in long linen garments,* each of them bearing a wand. The ox-driver, while goading his beasts, cried out to them: “To the West, ye oxen who draw the hearse, to the West! Your master comes behind you!” “To the West,” the friends repeated; “the excellent man lives no longer who loved truth so dearly and hated lying!”**

This lamentation is neither remarkable for its originality nor for its depth of feeling. Sorrow was expressed on such occasions in prescribed formulas of always the same import, custom soon enabling each individual to compose for himself a repertory of monotonous exclamations of condolence, of which the prayer, “To the West!” formed the basis, relieved at intervals by some fresh epithet. The nearest relatives of the deceased, however, would find some more sincere expressions of grief, and some more touching appeals with which to break in upon the commonplaces of the conventional theme. On reaching the bank of the Nile the funeral cortege proceeded to embark.*

They blended with their inarticulate cries, and the usual protestations and formulas, an eulogy upon the deceased and his virtues, allusions to his disposition and deeds, mention of the offices and honours he had obtained, and reflections on the uncertainty of human life—the whole forming the melancholy dirge which each generation intoned over its predecessor, while waiting itself for the same office to be said over it in its turn.

The bearers of offerings, friends, and slaves passed over on hired barges, whose cabins, covered externally with embroidered stuffs of several colours, or with applique leather, looked like the pedestals of a monument: crammed together on the boats, they stood upright with their faces turned towards the funeral bark. The latter was supposed to represent the Noshemît, the mysterious skiff of Abydos, which had been used in the obsequies of Osiris of yore.

It was elegant, light, and slender in shape, and ornamented at bow and stern with a lotus-flower of metal, which bent back its head gracefully, as if bowed down by its own weight. A temple-shaped shrine stood in the middle of the boat, adorned with bouquets of flowers and with green palm-branches. The female members of the family of the deceased, crouched beside the shrine, poured forth lamentations, while two priestesses, representing respectively Isis and Nephthys, took up positions behind to protect the body. The boat containing the female mourners having taken the funeral barge in tow, the entire flotilla pushed out into the stream. This was the solemn moment of the ceremony—the moment in which the deceased, torn away from his earthly city, was about to set out upon that voyage from which there is no return. The crowds assembled on the banks of the river hailed the dead with their parting prayers: “Mayest thou reach in peace the West from Thebes! In peace, in peace towards Abydos, mayest thou descend in peace towards Abydos, towards the sea of the West!”

This crossing of the Nile was of special significance in regard to the future of the soul of the deceased: it represented his pilgrimage towards Abydos, to the “Mouth of the Cleft” which gave him access to the other world, and it was for this reason that the name of Abydos is associated with that of Thebes in the exclamations of the crowd. The voices of the friends replied frequently and mournfully: “To the West, to the West, the land of the justified! The place which thou lovedst weeps and is desolate!” Then the female mourners took up the refrain, saying: “In peace, in peace, to the West! O honourable one, go in peace! If it please God, when the day of Eternity shall shine, we shall see thee, for behold thou goest to the land which mingles all men together!” The widow then adds her note to the concert of lamentations: “O my brother, O my husband, O my beloved, rest, remain in thy place, do not depart from the terrestrial spot where thou art! Alas, thou goest away to the ferry-boat in order to cross the stream! O sailors, do not hurry, leave him; you, you will return to your homes, but he, he is going away to the land of Eternity! O Osirian bark, why hast thou come to take away from me him who has left me!” The sailors were, of course, deaf to her appeals, and the mummy pursued its undisturbed course towards the last stage of its mysterious voyage.

The majority of the tombs—those which were distributed over the plain or on the nearest spurs of the hill—were constructed on the lines of those brick-built pyramids erected on mastabas which were very common during the early Theban dynasties. The relative proportions of the parts alone were modified: the mastaba, which had gradually been reduced to an insignificant base, had now recovered its original height, while the pyramid had correspondingly decreased, and was much reduced in size. The chapel was constructed within the building, and the mummy-pit was sunk to a varying depth below. The tombs ranged along the mountain-side were, on the other hand, rock-cut, and similar to those at el-Bersheh and Beni-Hasan.

The heads of wealthy families or the nobility naturally did not leave to the last moment the construction of a sepulchre worthy of their rank and fortune. They prided themselves on having “finished their house which is in the funeral valley when the morning for the hiding away of their body should come.” Access to these tombs was by too steep and difficult a path to allow of oxen being employed for the transport of the mummy: the friends or slaves of the deceased were, therefore, obliged to raise the sarcophagus on their shoulders and bear it as best they could to the door of the tomb.

The mummy was then placed in an upright position on a heap of sand, with its back to the wall and facing the assistants, like the master of some new villa who, having been accompanied by his friends to see him take possession, turns for a moment on the threshold to take leave of them before entering. A sacrifice, an offering, a prayer, and a fresh outburst of grief ensued; the mourners redoubled their cries and threw themselves upon the ground, the relatives decked the mummy with flowers and pressed it to their bared bosoms, kissing it upon the breast and knees. “I am thy sister, O great one! forsake me not! Is it indeed thy will that I should leave thee? If I go away, thou shalt be here alone, and is there any one who will be with thee to follow thee? O thou who lovedst to jest with me, thou art now silent, thou speakest not!” Whereupon the mourners again broke out in chorus: “Lamentation, lamentation! Make, make, make, make lamentation without ceasing as loud as can be made. O good traveller, who takest thy way towards the land of Eternity, thou hast been torn from us! O thou who hadst so many around thee, thou art now in the land which bringest isolation! Thou who lovedst to stretch thy limbs in walking, art now fettered, bound, swathed! Thou who hadst fine stuffs in abundance, art laid in the linen of yesterday!” Calm in the midst of the tumult, the priest stood and offered the incense and libation with the accustomed words: “To thy double, Osiris Nofirhotpû, whose voice before the great god is true!” This was the signal of departure, and the mummy, carried by two men, disappeared within the tomb: the darkness of the other world had laid hold of it, never to let it go again.

The chapel was usually divided into two chambers: one, which was of greater width than length, ran parallel to the façade; the other, which was longer than it was wide, stood at right angles with the former, exactly opposite to the entrance. The decoration of these chambers took its inspiration from the scheme which prevailed in the time of the Memphite dynasties, but besides the usual scenes of agricultural labour, hunting, and sacrifice, there were introduced episodes from the public life of the deceased, and particularly the minute portrayal of the ceremonies connected with his burial.

These pictorial biographies are always accompanied by detailed explanatory inscriptions; every individual endeavoured thus to show to the Osirian judges the rank he had enjoyed here upon earth, and to obtain in the fields of lalû the place which he claimed to be his due.

The stele was to be found at the far end of the second chamber; it was often let in to a niche in the form of a round-headed doorway, or else it was replaced by a group of statues, either detached or sculptured in the rock itself, representing the occupant, his wives and children, who took the place of the supporters of the double, formerly always hidden within the serdab. The ceremony of the “Opening of the Mouth” took place in front of the niche on the day of burial, at the moment when the deceased, having completed his terrestrial course, entered his new home and took possession of it for all eternity. The object of this ceremony was, as we know, to counteract the effects of the embalming, and to restore activity to the organs of the body whose functions had been suspended by death. The “man of the roll” and his assistants, aided by the priests, who represented the “children of Horus,” once more raised the mummy into an upright position upon a heap of sand in the middle of the chapel, and celebrated in his behalf the divine mystery instituted by Horus for Osiris. They purified it both by ordinary and by red water, by the incense of the south and by the alum of the north, in the same manner as that in which the statues of the gods were purified at the beginning of the temple sacrifices; they then set to work to awake the deceased from his sleep: they loosened his shroud and called back the double who had escaped from the body at the moment of the death-agony, and restored to him the use of his arms and legs. As soon as the sacrificial slaughterers had despatched the bull of the south, and cut it in pieces, the priest seized the bleeding haunch, and raised it to the lips of the mask as if to invite it to eat; but the lips still remained closed, and refused to perform their office. The priest then touched them with several iron instruments hafted on wooden handles, which were supposed to possess the power of unsealing them.

The “opening” once effected, the double became free, and the tomb-paintings from thenceforward ceasing to depict the mummy, represented the double only. They portrayed it “under the form which he had on this earth,” wearing the civil garb, and fulfilling his ordinary functions. The corpse was regarded as merely the larva, to be maintained in its integrity in order to ensure survival; but it could be relegated without fear to the depths of the bare and naked tomb, there to remain until the end of time, if it pleased the gods to preserve it from robbers or archaeologists. At the period of the first Theban empire the coffins were rectangular wooden chests, made on the models of the limestone and granite sarcophagi, and covered with prayers taken from the various sacred writings, especially from the “Book of the Dead”; during the second Theban empire, they were modified into an actual sheath for the body, following more or less the contour of the human figure. This external model of the deceased covered his remains, and his figure in relief served as a lid to the coffin. The head was covered with the full-dress wig, a tippet of white cambrio half veiled the bosom, the petticoat fell in folds about the limbs, the feet were shod with sandals, the arms were outstretched or were folded over the breast, and the hands clasped various objects—either the crux ansata, the buckle of the belt, the tat, or a garland of flowers. Sometimes, on the contrary, the coffin was merely a conventional reproduction of the human form. The two feet and legs were joined together, and the modelling of the knee, calf, thigh, and stomach was only slightly indicated in the wood. Towards the close of the XVIIIth dynasty it was the fashion for wealthy persons to have two coffins, one fitting inside the other, painted black or white. From the XXth dynasty onwards they were coated with a yellowish varnish, and so covered with inscriptions and mystic signs that each coffin was a tomb in miniature, and could well have done duty as such, and thus meet all the needs of the soul.*

Later still, during the XXIst and XXIInd dynasties, these two, or even three coffins, were enclosed in a rectangular sarcophagus of thick wood, which, surmounted by a semicircular lid, was decorated with pictures and hallowed by prayers: four sparrow-hawks, perched on the uprights at the corners, watched at the four cardinal points, and protected the body, enabling the soul at the same time to move freely within the four houses of which the world was composed.

The workmen, after having deposited the mummy in its resting-place, piled upon the floor of the tomb the canopio jars, the caskets, the provisions, the furniture, the bed, and the stools and chairs; the Usha-btiu occupied compartments in their allotted boxes, and sometimes there would be laid beside them the mummy of a favourite animal—a monkey, a dog of some rare breed, or a pet gazelle, whose coffins were shaped to their respective outlines, the better to place before the deceased the presentment of the living animal.

A few of the principal objects were broken or damaged, in the belief that, by thus destroying them, their doubles would go forth and accompany the human double, and render him their accustomed services during the whole of his posthumous existence; a charm pronounced over them bound them indissolubly to his person, and constrained them to obey his will. This done, the priest muttered a final prayer, and the masons walled up the doorway.

The funeral feast now took place with its customary songs and dances. The almehs addressed the guests and exhorted them to make good use of the passing hour: “Be happy for one day! for when you enter your tombs you will rest there eternally throughout the length of every day!”

Immediately after the repast the friends departed from the tomb, and the last link which connected the dead with our world was then broken. The sacred harper was called upon to raise the farewell hymn:*

“O instructed mummies, ennead of the gods of the coffin, who listen to the praises of this dead man, and who daily extol the virtues of this instructed mummy, who is living eternally like a god, ruling in Amentît, ye also who shall live in the memory of posterity, all ye who shall come and read these hymns inscribed, according to the rites, within the tombs, repeat: ‘The greatness of the under-world, what is it? The annihilation of the tomb, why is it?’ It is to conform to the image of the land of Eternity, the true country where there is no strife and where violence is held in abhorrence, where none attacks his neighbour, and where none among our generations who rest within it is rebellious, from the time when your race first existed, to the moment when it shall become a multitude of multitudes, all going the same way; for instead of remaining in this land of Egypt, there is not one but shall leave it, and there is said to all who are here below, from the moment of their waking to life: ‘Go, prosper safe and sound, to reach the tomb at length, a chief among the blessed, and ever mindful in thy heart of the day when thou must lie down on the funeral bed!’” The ancient song of Antûf, modified in the course of centuries, was still that which expressed most forcibly the melancholy thought paramount in the minds of the friends assembled to perform the last rites. “The impassibility of the chief* is, in truth, the best of fates!”

“Since the times of the god bodies are created merely to pass away, and young generations take their place: Râ rises in the morning, Tûmû lies down to rest in the land of the evening, all males generate, the females conceive, every nose inhales the air from the morning of their birth to the day when they go to their place! Be happy then for one day, O man!—May there ever be perfumes and scents for thy nostrils, garlands and lotus-flowers for thy shoulders and for the neck of thy beloved sister* who sits beside thee! Let there be singing and music before thee, and, forgetting all thy sorrows, think only of pleasure until the day when thou must enter the country of Marîtsakro, the silent goddess, though all the same the heart of the son who loves thee will not cease to beat! Be happy for one day, O man!—I have heard related what befell our ancestors; their walls are destroyed, their place is no more, they are as those who have ceased to live from the time of the god! The walls of thy tomb are strong, thou hast planted trees at the edge of thy pond, thy soul reposes beneath them and drinks the water; follow that which seemeth good to thee as long as thou art on earth, and give bread to him who is without land, that thou mayest be well spoken of for evermore. Think upon the gods who have lived long ago: their meat offerings fall in pieces as if they had been torn by a panther, their loaves are defiled with dust, their statues no longer stand upright within the temple of Râ, their followers beg for alms! Be happy for one day!”

Those gone before thee “have had their hour of joy,” and they have put off sadness “which shortens the moments until the day when hearts are destroyed!—Be mindful, therefore, of the day when thou shalt be taken to the country where all men are mingled: none has ever taken thither his goods with him, and no one can ever return from it!” The grave did not, however, mingle all men as impartially as the poet would have us believe. The poor and insignificant had merely a place in the common pit, which was situated in the centre of the Assassîf,* one of the richest funerary quarters of Thebes.

Yawning trenches stood ever open there, ready to receive their prey; the rites were hurriedly performed, and the grave-diggers covered the mummies of the day’s burial with a little sand, out of which we receive them intact, sometimes isolated, sometimes in groups of twos or threes, showing that they had not even been placed in regular layers. Some are wrapped only in bandages of coarse linen, and have been consigned without further covering to the soil, while others have been bound round with palm-leaves laid side by side, so as to form a sort of primitive basket. The class above the poorest people were buried in rough-hewn wooden boxes, smaller at the feet than towards the head, and devoid of any inscription or painting. Many have been placed in any coffin that came to hand, with a total indifference as to suitability of size; others lie in a badly made bier, made up of the fragments of one or more older biers. None of them possessed any funerary furniture, except the tools of his trade, a thin pair of leather shoes, sandals of cardboard or plaited reeds, rings of terra-cotta or bronze, bracelets or necklets of a single row of blue beads, statuettes of divinities, mystic eyes, scarabs, and, above all, cords tied round the neck, arms, limbs, or waist, to keep off, by their mystic knots, all malign influences.

The whole population of the necropolis made their living out of the dead. This was true of all ranks of society, headed by the sacerdotal colleges of the royal chapels,* and followed by the priestly bodies, to whom was entrusted the care of the tombs in the various sections, but the most influential of whom confined their attentions to the old burying-ground, “Isît-mâît,” the True Place.**

It was their duty to keep up the monuments of the kings, and also of private individuals, to clean the tombs, to visit the funerary chambers, to note the condition of their occupants, and, if necessary, repair the damage done by time, and to provide on certain days the offerings prescribed by custom, or by clauses in the contract drawn up between the family of the deceased and the religious authorities. The titles of these officials indicated how humble was their position in relation to the deified ancestors in whose service they were employed; they called themselves the “Servants of the True Place,” and their chiefs the “Superiors of the Servants,” but all the while they were people of considerable importance, being rich, well educated, and respected in their own quarter of the town.

They professed to have a special devotion for Amenôthes I. and his mother, Nofrîtari, who, after five or six centuries of continuous homage, had come to be considered as the patrons of Khafîtnîbûs, but this devotion was not to the depreciation of other sovereigns. It is true that the officials were not always clear as to the identity of the royal remains of which they had the care, and they were known to have changed one of their queens or princesses into a king or some royal prince.*

They were surrounded by a whole host of lesser functionaries—bricklayers, masons, labourers, exorcists, scribes (who wrote out pious formulae for poor people, or copied the “Books of the going forth by day” for the mummies), weavers, cabinet-makers, and goldsmiths. The sculptors and the painters were grouped into guilds;* many of them spent their days in the tombs they were decorating, while others had their workshops above-ground, probably very like those of our modern monumental masons.

They kept at the disposal of their needy customers an assortment of ready-made statues and stelæ, votive tablets to Osiris, Anubis, and other Theban gods and goddesses, singly or combined. The name of the deceased and the enumeration of the members of his family were left blank, and were inserted after purchase in the spaces reserved for the purpose.*

These artisans made the greater part of their livelihood by means of these epitaphs, and the majority thought only of selling as many of them as they could; some few, however, devoted themselves to work of a higher kind. Sculpture had reached a high degree of development under the Thûtmoses and the Ramses, and the art of depicting scenes in bas-relief had been brought to a perfection hitherto unknown. This will be easily seen by comparing the pictures in the old mastabas, such as those of Ti or Phtahhotpû, with the finest parts of the temples of Qurneh, Abydos, Karnak, Deîr el-Baharî, or with the scenes in the tombs of Seti I. and Ramses II., or those of private individuals such as Hûi. The modelling is firm and refined, showing a skill in the use of the chisel and an elegance of outline which have never been surpassed: the Amenôthes III. of Luxor and the Khâmhâît of Sheikh Abd el-Qurneh might serve for models in our own schools of the highest types which Egyptian art could produce at its best in this particular branch. The drawing is freer than in earlier examples, the action is more natural, the composition more studied, and the perspective less wild. We feel that the artist handled his subject con amore. He spared no trouble in sketching out his designs and in making studies from nature, and, as papyrus was expensive, he drew rough drafts, or made notes of his impressions on the flat chips of limestone with which the workshops were strewn.

Nothing at that date could rival these sketches for boldness of conception and freedom in execution, whether it were in the portrayal of the majestic gait of a king or the agility of an acrobat. Of the latter we have an example in the Turin Museum. The girl is nude, with the exception of a tightly fitting belt about her hips, and she is throwing herself backwards with so natural a motion, that we are almost tempted to expect her to turn a somersault and fall once more into position with her heels together.

The unfinished figures on the tomb of Seti I. shows with what a steady hand the clever draughtsman could sketch out his subjects. The head from the nape of the neck round to the throat is described by a single line, and the contour of the shoulders is marked by another. The form of the body is traced by two undulating lines, while the arms and legs are respectively outlined by two others. The articles of apparel and ornaments, sketched rapidly at first, had to be gone over again by the sculptor, who worked out the smallest details. One might almost count the tresses of the hair, while the folds of the dress and the enamels of the girdle and bracelets are minutely chiselled.

When the draughtsman had finished his picture from the sketch which he had made, or when he had enlarged it from a smaller drawing, the master of the studio would go over it again, marking here and there in red the defective points, to which the sculptor gave his attention when working the subject out on the wall. If he happened to make a mistake in executing it, he corrected it as well as he was able by filling up with stucco or hard cement the portions to be remodelled, and by starting to work again upon the fresh surface. This cement has fallen out in some cases, and reveals to our eyes to-day the marks of the underlying chiselling. There are, for example, two profiles of Seti I. on one of the bas-reliefs of the hypostyle hall at Karnak, one faintly outlined, and the other standing fully out from the surface of the stone. The sense of the picturesque was making itself felt, and artists were no longer to be excused for neglecting architectural details, the configuration of the country, the drawing of rare plants, and, in fact, all those accessories which had been previously omitted altogether or merely indicated. The necessity of covering such vast surfaces as the pylons offered had accustomed them to arrange the various scenes of one and the same action in a more natural and intimate connexion than their predecessors could possibly have done. In these scenes the Pharaoh naturally played the chief part, but in place of choosing for treatment merely one or other important action of the monarch calculated to exhibit his courage, the artist endeavoured to portray all the successive incidents in his campaigns, in the same manner as the early Italian painters were accustomed to depict, one after the other, and on the same canvas, all the events of the same legend. The details of these gigantic compositions may sometimes appear childish to us, and we may frequently be at a loss in determining the relations of the parts, yet the whole is full of movement, and, although mutilated, gives us even yet the impression which would have been made upon us by the turmoil of a battle in those distant days.

The sculptor of statues for a long time past was not a whit less skilful than the artist who executed bas-reliefs. The sculptor was doubtless often obliged to give enormous proportions to the figure of the king, to prevent his being overshadowed by the mass of buildings among which the statue was to appear; but this necessity of exaggerating the human form did not destroy in the artist that sense of proportion and that skilful handling of the chisel which are so strikingly displayed in the sitting scribe or in the princess at Meîdûm; it merely trained him to mark out deftly the principal lines, and to calculate the volume and dimensions of these gigantic granite figures of some fifty to sixty-five feet high, with as great confidence and skill as he would have employed upon any statue of ordinary dimensions which might be entrusted to him. The colossal statues at Abu-Simbel and Thebes still witness to the incomparable skill of the Theban sculptors in the difficult art of imagining and executing superhuman types. The decadence of Egyptian art did not begin until the time of Ramses III., but its downward progress was rapid, and the statues of the Ramesside period are of little or no artistic value. The form of these figures is poor, the technique crude, and the expression of the faces mean and commonplace. They betray the hand of a mechanical workman who, while still in the possession of the instruments of his trade, can infuse no new life into the traditions of the schools, nor break away from them altogether.

We must look, not to the royal studios, but to the workshops connected with the necropolis, if we want to find statues of half life-size displaying intelligent workmanship, all of which we might be tempted to refer to the XVIIIth dynasty if the inscriptions upon them did not fix their date some two or three centuries later. An example of them may be seen at Turin in the kneeling scribe embracing a ram-headed altar: the face is youthful, and has an expression at once so gentle and intelligent that we are constrained to overlook the imperfections in the bust and legs of the figure. Specimens of this kind are not numerous, and their rarity is easily accounted for. The multitude of priests, soldiers, workmen, and small middle-class people who made up the bulk of the Theban population had aspirations for a luxury little commensurate with their means, and the tombs of such people are, therefore, full of objects which simulate a character they do not possess, and are deceptive to the eye: such were the statuettes made of wood, substituted from economical motives instead of the limestone or sandstone statues usually provided as supporters for the “double.”

The funerary sculptors had acquired a perfect mastery of the kind of art needed for people of small means, and we find among the medley of commonplace objects which encumber the tomb they decorated, examples of artistic works of undoubted excellence, such as the ladies Naî and Tûî now in the Louvre, the lady Nehaî now at Berlin, and the naked child at Turin. The lady Tûî in her lifetime had been one of the singing-women of Amon. She is clad in a tight-fitting robe, which accentuates the contour of the breasts and hips without coarseness: her right arm falls gracefully alongside her body, while her left, bent across her chest, thrusts into her bosom a kind of magic whip, which was the sign of her profession. The artist was not able to avoid a certain heaviness in the treatment of her hair, and the careful execution of the whole work was not without a degree of harshness, but by dint of scraping and polishing the wood he succeeded in softening the outline, and removing from the figure every sharp point. The lady Nehaî is smarter and more graceful, in her close-fitting garment and her mantle thrown over the left elbow; and the artist has given her a more alert pose and resolute air than we find in the stiff carriage of her contemporary Tûî. The little girl in the Turin Museum is a looser work, but where could one find a better example of the lithe delicacy of the young Egyptian maiden of eight or ten years old? We may see her counterpart to-day among the young Nubian girls of the cataract, before they are obliged to wear clothes; there is the same thin chest, the same undeveloped hips, the same meagre thighs, and the same demeanour, at once innocent and audacious. Other statuettes represent matrons, some in tight garments, and with their hair closely confined, others without any garment whatever.

The Turin example is that of a lady who seems proud of her large ear-rings, and brings one of them into prominence, either to show it off or to satisfy herself that the jewel becomes her: her head is square-shaped, the shoulders narrow, the chest puny, the pose of the arm stiff and awkward, but the eyes have such a joyful openness, and her smile such a self-satisfied expression, that one readily over looks the other defects of the statue. In this collection of miniature figures examples of men are not wanting, and there are instances of old soldiers, officials, guardians of temples, and priests proudly executing their office in their distinctive panther skins. Three individuals in the Gîzeh were contemporaries, or almost so, of the young girl of the Turin Museum. They are dressed in rich costumes, to which they have, doubtless, a just claim; for one of them, Hori, surnamed Râ, rejoiced in the favour of the Pharaoh, and must therefore have exercised some court function. They seem to step forth with a measured pace and firm demeanour, the body well thrown back and the head erect, their faces displaying something of cruelty and cunning. An officer, whose retirement from service is now spent in the Louvre, is dressed in a semi-civil costume, with a light wig, a closely fitting smock-frock with shirt-sleeves, and a loin-cloth tied tightly round the hips and descending halfway down the thigh, to which is applied a piece of stuff kilted lengthwise, projecting in front. A colleague of his, now in the Berlin Museum, still maintains possession of his official baton, and is arrayed in his striped petticoat, his bracelets and gorget of gold. A priest in the Louvre holds before him, grasped by both hands, the insignia of Amon-Ra—a ram’s head, surmounted by the solar disk, and inserted on the top of a thick handle; another, who has been relegated to Turin, appears to be placed between two long staves, each surmounted by an idol, and, to judge from his attitude, seems to have no small idea of his own beauty and importance. The Egyptians were an observant people and inclined to satire, and I have a shrewd suspicion that the sculptors, in giving to such statuettes this character of childlike vanity, yielded to the temptation to be merry at the expense of their model.

The smelters and engravers in metal occupied in relation to the sculptors a somewhat exalted position. Bronze had for a long time been employed in funerary furniture, and ushabtiu (respondents),* amulets, and images of the gods, as well as of mortals, were cast in this metal. Many of these tiny figures form charming examples of enamel-work, and are distinguished not only by the gracefulness of the, modelling, but also by the brilliance of the superimposed glaze; but the majority of them were purely commercial articles, manufactured by the hundred from the same models, and possibly cast, for centuries, from the same moulds for the edification of the devout and of pilgrims.