ngs near and around it, to set up a giant
among dwarfs.

Not so Queen Hatshepsu. More artful in her generation, she set her
long but little temple against the precipices of Libya. And what is the
result? Simply that whenever one looks toward them one says, "What are
those little pillars?" Or if one is more instructed, one thinks about
Queen Hatshepsu. The precipices are as nothing. A woman's wile has
blotted them out.

And yet how grand they are! I have called them tiger-colored precipices.
And they suggest tawny wild beasts, fierce, bred in a land that is the
prey of the sun. Every shade of orange and yellow glows and grows pale
on their bosses, in their clefts. They shoot out turrets of rock that
blaze like flames in the day. They show great teeth, like the tiger when
any one draws near. And, like the tiger, they seem perpetually informed
by a spirit that is angry. Blake wrote of the tiger:

"Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night."

These tiger-precipices of Libya are burning things, avid like beasts of
prey. But the restored apricot-colored pillars are not afraid of their
impending fury--fury of a beast baffled by a tricky little woman, almost
it seems to me; and still less afraid are the white pillars, and the
brilliant paintings that decorate the walls within.

As many people in the sad but lovely islands off the coast of Scotland
believe in "doubles," as the old classic writers believed in man's
"genius," so the ancient Egyptian believed in his "Ka," or separate
entity, a sort of spiritual other self, to be propitiated and ministered
to, presented with gifts, and served with energy and ardor. On this
temple of Deir-el-Bahari is the scene of the birth of Hatshepsu, and
there are two babies, the princess and her Ka. For this imagined Ka,
when a great queen, long after, she built this temple, or chapel, that
offerings might be made there on certain appointed days. Fortunate Ka
of Hatshepsu to have had so cheerful a dwelling! Liveliness pervades
Deir-el-Bahari. I remember, when I was on my first visit to Egypt,
lunching at Thebes with Monsieur Naville and Mr. Hogarth, and afterward
going with them to watch the digging away of the masses of sand and
rubbish which concealed this gracious building. I remember the songs of
the half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun, and I remember
seeing a white temple wall come up into the light with all the painted
figures surely dancing wi