The internal walls were lined with immense blocks of granite from Syene and of alabaster beautifully polished, but with sloping joints and uneven beds, a form of masonry not unknown in that age. No sculpture or inscription of any sort is found on the walls of the temple,[43] or ornament or symbol in the sanctuary. Statues and tablets of Khafra, the builder of the Second Pyramid, were found in the well, and this, and the fact that the causeway extended to the temple in front of his pyramid, shows clearly that it belonged to his time.[44] In the present transitional state of our knowledge of the architectural art of the pyramid builders, it is difficult to form any distinct judgment as to its merits. The early Egyptians built neither for beauty nor for use, but for eternity, and to this last they sacrificed every other feeling. In itself nothing can be less artistic than a pyramid. A tower, either round or square, or of any other form, and of the same dimensions, would have been far more imposing, and if of sufficient height—the mass being the same—might almost have attained sublimity; but a pyramid never looks so large as it is, and not till you almost touch it can you realise its vast dimensions. This is owing principally to all its parts sloping away from the eye instead of boldly challenging observation; but, on the other hand, no form is so stable, none so capable of resisting the injuries of time or force, and none, consequently, so well calculated to attain the object for which the pyramids were erected. As examples of technic art, they are unrivalled among the works of men, but they rank low if judged by the æsthetic rules of architectural art. The same may be said of the tombs around them: they are low and solid, but possess neither beauty of form nor any architectural feature worthy of attention or admiration, but they have lasted nearly uninjured from the remotest antiquity, and thus have attained the object their builders had principally in view in designing them. Their temple architecture, on the other hand, may induce us to modify considerably these opinions. The one described above—which is the only one I personally have any knowledge of—is perhaps the simplest and least adorned temple in the world. All its parts are plain—straight and square, without a single moulding of any sort, but they are perfectly proportioned to the work they have to do. They are pleasingly and effectively arranged, and they have all that lithic grandeur which is inherent in large masses of precious materials. Such a temple as that near the Sphinx cannot compete either in richness or magnificence with the great temples of Thebes, with their sculptured capitals and storied walls, but there is a beauty of repose and an elegance of simplicity about the older example which goes far to redeem its other deficiencies, and when we have more examples before us they may rise still higher in our estimation.