As I rode through this city of the dead, visiting the tombs which possessed the greatest interest, I endeavoured, as I had done in the Necropolis of the Pyramids, to recall its pristine state; to see it as it was seen by those who constructed and peopled it. The tombs were then everywhere along the _Háger_, that is, on the first rise or stage of the desert, above the cultivated land. Here, as generally throughout Egypt, vegetable life, and the soil which supports it, do not extend one inch beyond the height of the inundation, which brings the soil as well as the water. The stony desert, and the plant-clothed plain touch with sharp definition, each maintaining its own character to the last, just as the land and sea do along the beach. From this line of contact to the precipitous rise of the hills there is a belt of irregular ground. In some places this belt is a rocky level or incline, in others it is broken into rocky valleys, but always above the cultivated plain. The whole of it is thoroughly desert, and all of it ascends towards the contiguous range. It is everywhere limestone, and generally covered with _débris_ from the excavations, and from the hill-side. Such is the site of this great Necropolis. In the days when Thebes was the capital, the whole of this space was covered with the entrances to the tombs. Some of these entrances were actual temples. Some resembled the propylons of temples. Some were gateways, less massive and lofty, but still conspicuous objects. In every tomb were its mummied inmates. They were surrounded by representations in stone, and colour, of the objects and scenes they had delighted in during life. Their property, their pursuits, what they had thought and felt, what they had taken an interest in, and what they had believed, were all around them. Objects of Nature, objects of art, objects of thought, had each assumed its form in stone. Each was there for the mummy to contemplate. These were true houses for the dead. Houses built, decorated, and furnished for the dead. In which, however, the dead were not dead; but were living in the mummied state. We have rock-tombs elsewhere; but where, out of Egypt, could we find another such city? It is a city excavated in the rocky plain, and in the mountain valleys. It consists of thousands of apartments, spacious halls, long galleries, steps ascending and descending, and chambers innumerable. It is more extensive, more costly, more decorated, than many a famous city on which the sun shines. It is peopled everywhere with its own inhabitants; but among them is no fear, or hope—no love or hatred—no pleasure or pain—no heart is beating—no brain is busy. As we wander about these mansions of the dead we feel as Zobeide did when she found herself in the spell-bound city. The inhabitants are present. Everything they used in life is present. Life itself only is wanting. Everything has become stone.