An infinitely nobler figure was that of the father of Ramses, Sety I, whose mummy was also found in the _cache_. “The fine kingly head was exposed to view,” says Maspero. “It was a masterpiece of the art of the embalmer, and the expression of the face was that of one who had only a few hours previously breathed his last. Death had slightly drawn the nostrils and contracted the lips, the pressure of the bandages had flattened the nose a little, and the skin was darkened by the pitch; but a calm and gentle smile still played over the mouth, and the half-open eyelids allowed a glimpse to be seen from under their lashes of an apparently moist and glistening line, the reflection from the white porcelain eyes let in to the orbit at the time of burial.” The somewhat gruesome art of the Egyptian embalmer reached its culmination in this extraordinary piece of work, and while to our minds the whole practice verges upon, if it does not overstep, the limits of the decent into the realm of the horrible, we may admit that it comes as near as possible to the attainment of what Professor Elliot Smith tells us was the aim of the embalmer--“to make the representation of the dead man so life-like that he should, in fact, remain alive.” We should never have known how noble and dignified a type the aristocratic Egyptian of 1300 B.C. had attained had it not been for the preservation of the grand head of Sety, which teaches us that the sculptor of the exquisite reliefs of Abydos was doing no more than bare justice to his king when he carved the delicate beauty which charms us to-day. If the beauty of Sety’s face almost justified both the morbid skill which sought to deny the reality of death and the curiosity which unveiled the secrets of the grave, the same cannot be said of the mummy of Seqenen-Ra, not the least interesting of the grim assemblage. There are few things more ghastly than the head of the old hero of the Expulsion of the Hyksos, with three gaping wounds on skull and face, and the teeth clenched, in the death-agony, upon the mangled tongue. Yet even this grim evidence of a violent death on the field of battle seems to bring the reality of that ancient struggle in which the Pharaoh died more forcibly home to the imagination.