of.
When once the antiquities have passed into the hands of the dealers
there is little chance of further trouble. The dealer can always say
that he came into possession of an object years ago, before the
antiquity laws were made, and it is almost impossible to prove that he
did not. You may have the body of a statue and he the head: he can
always damage the line of the breakage, and say that the head does not
belong to that statue, or, if the connection is too obvious, he can say
that he found the head while excavating twenty years ago on the site
where now you have found the body. Nor is it desirable to bring an
action against the man in a case of this kind, for it might go against
the official. Dealing in antiquities is regarded as a perfectly
honourable business. The official, crawling about the desert on his
stomach in the bitter cold of a winter's night in order to hold up a
convoy of stolen antiquities, may use hard language in regard to the
trade, but he cannot say that it is pernicious as long as it is confined
to minor objects. How many objects of value to science would be
destroyed by their finders if there was no market to take them to! One
of the Theban dealers leads so holy a life that he will assuredly be
regarded as a saint by future generations.

The sale of small antiquities to tourists on the public roads is
prohibited, except at certain places, but of course it can be done with
impunity by the exercise of a little care. Men and boys and even little
girls as they pass will stare at you with studying eyes, and if you seem
to be a likely purchaser, they will draw from the folds of their
garments some little object which they will offer for sale. Along the
road in the glory of the setting sun there will come as fine a young man
as you will see on a day's march. Surely he is bent on some noble
mission: what lofty thoughts are occupying his mind, you wonder. But as
you pass, out comes the scarab from his pocket, and he shouts, "Wanty
scarab, mister?--two shillin'," while you ride on your way a greater
cynic than before.

Some years ago a large inscribed stone was stolen from a certain temple,
and was promptly sold to a man who sometimes traded in such objects.
This man carried the stone, hidden in a sack of grain, to the house of
a friend, and having deposited it in a place of hiding, he tramped home,
with his stick across his shoulders, in an attitude of deep unconcern.
An enemy of his, however, had wa