A shed without, this little temple is, however, a cameo within. Nowhere, save in the tomb of Ti, had we seen bas-reliefs so delicately modeled, so rich in color. Here, as elsewhere, the walls are covered with groups of kings and gods and hieroglyphic texts. The figures are slender and animated. The head-dresses, jewelry, and patterned robes are elaborately drawn and painted. Every head looks like a portrait; every hieroglyphic form is a study in miniature. Apart from its exquisite finish, the wall-sculpture of Amada has, however, nothing in common with the wall-sculpture of the ancient empire. It belongs to the period of Egyptian renaissance; and, though inferior in power and naturalness to the work of the elder school, it marks just that moment of special development when the art of modeling in low relief had touched the highest level to which it ever again attained. That highest level belongs to the reigns of Thothmes II and Thothmes III; just as the perfect era in architecture belongs to the reigns of Seti I and Rameses II. It is for this reason that Amada is so precious. It registers an epoch in the history of the art, and gives us the best of that epoch in the hour of its zenith. The sculptor is here seen to be working within bounds already prescribed; yet within those bounds he still enjoys a certain liberty. His art, though largely conventionalized, is not yet stereotyped. His sense of beauty still finds expression. There is, in short, a grace and sweetness about the bas-relief designs of Amada for which one looks in vain to the storied walls of Karnak. The chambers are half-choked with sand and we had to crawl into the sanctuary upon our hands and knees. A long inscription at the upper end records how Amenhotep II, returning from his first campaign against the Ruten, slew seven kings with his own hand; six of whom were gibbeted upon the ramparts of Thebes, while the body of the seventh was sent to Ethiopia by water and suspended on the outer wall of the city of Napata,[70] “in order that the negroes might behold the victories of the Pharaoh in all the lands of the world.” In the darkest corner of the atrium we observed a curious tableau representing the king embraced by a goddess. He holds a short, straight sword in his right hand and the crux ansata in his left. On his head he wears the khepersh, or war-helmet; a kind of a blue miter studded with gold stars and ornamented with the royal asp. The goddess clasps him lovingly about the neck and bends her lips to his. The artist has given her the yellow complexion conventionally ascribed to women; but her saucy mouth and nez retroussé are distinctly European. Dressed in the fashion of the nineteenth century, she might have served Leech as a model for his girl of the period.