which it broke out.  But the king was growing old, his son Usirtasen was very young, and the nobles were bestirring themselves in prospect of a succession which they supposed to be at hand.  The best means of putting a stop to their evil devices and of ensuring the future of the dynasty was for the king to appoint the heir-presumptive, and at once associate him with himself in the exercise of his sovereignty.  In the XXth year of his reign, Amenemhait solemnly conferred the titles and prerogatives of royalty upon his son Usirtasen:  “I raised thee from the rank of a subject,—­I granted thee the free use of thy arm that thou mightest be feared.—­As for me, I apparelled myself in the fine stuffs of my palace until I appeared to the eye as the flowers of my garden,—­and I perfumed myself with essences as freely as I pour forth the water from my cisterns.”  Usirtasen naturally assumed the active duties of royalty as his share.  “He is a hero who wrought with the sword, a mighty man of valour without peer:  he beholds the barbarians, he rushes forward and falls upon their predatory hordes.  He is the hurler of javelins who makes feeble the hands of the foe; those whom he strikes never more lift the lance.  Terrible is he, shattering skulls with the blows of his war-mace, and none resisted him in his time.  He is a swift runner who smites the fugitive with the sword, but none who run after him can overtake him.  He is a heart alert for battle in his time.  He is a lion who strikes with his claws, nor ever lets go his weapon.  He is a heart girded in armour at the sight of the hosts, and who leaves nothing standing behind him.  He is a valiant man rushing forward when he beholds the fight.  He is a soldier rejoicing to fall upon the barbarians:  he seizes his buckler, he leaps forward and kills without a second blow.  None may escape his arrow; before he bends his bow the barbarians flee from his arms like dogs, for the great goddess has charged him to fight against all who know not her name, and whom he strikes he spares not; he leaves nothing alive.”  The old Pharaoh “remained in the palace,” waiting until his son returned to announce the success of his enterprises, and contributing by his counsel to the prosperity of their common empire.  Such was the reputation for wisdom which he thus acquired, that a writer who was almost his contemporary composed a treatise in his name, and in it the king was supposed to address posthumous instructions to his son on the art of governing.  He appeared to his son in a dream, and thus admonished him:  “Hearken unto my words!—­Thou art king over the two worlds, prince over the three regions.  Act still better than did thy predecessors.—­Let there be harmony between thy subjects and thee,—­lest they give themselves up to fear; keep not thyself apart in the midst of them; make not thy brother solely from the rich and noble, fill not thy heart with them alone; yet neither do thou admit to thy intimacy chance-comers whose place is unknown.”  The king confirmed