It was at Esneh, by the way, that that hitherto undiscovered curiosity, an ancient Egyptian coin, was offered to me for sale. The finder was digging for niter, and turned it up at an immense depth below the mounds on the outskirts of the town. He volunteered to show the precise spot, and told his artless tale with child-like simplicity. Unfortunately, however, for the authenticity of this remarkable relic, it bore, together with the familiar profile of George IV, a superscription of its modest value, which was precisely one farthing. On another occasion, when we were making our long stay at Luxor, a colored glass button of honest Birmingham make was brought to the boat by a fellah who swore that he had himself found it upon a mummy in the tombs of the queens at Kûrnet Murraee. The same man came to my tent one day when I was sketching, bringing with him a string of more than doubtful scarabs--all veritable “anteekahs,” of course, and all backed up with undeniable pedigrees. “La, la [no, no]! bring me no more anteekahs,” I said, gravely. “They are old and worn out, and cost much money. Have you no imitation scarabs, new and serviceable, that one might wear without the fear of breaking them?” “These are imitations. O sitt!” was the ready answer. “But you told me a moment ago they were genuine anteekahs.” “That was because I thought the sitt wanted to buy anteekahs,” he said, quite shamelessly. “See now,” I said, “if you are capable of selling me new things for old, how can I be sure that you would not sell me old things for new?” To this he replied by declaring that he had made the scarabs himself. Then, fearing I should not believe him, he pulled a scrap of coarse paper from his bosom, borrowed one of my pencils, and drew an asp, an ibis, and some other common hieroglyphic forms, with tolerable dexterity. “Now you believe?” he asked, triumphantly. “I see that you can make birds and snakes,” I replied; “but that neither proves that you can cut scarabs, nor that these scarabs are new.” “Nay, sitt,” he protested, “I made them with these hands. I made them but the other day. By Allah! they cannot be newer.” Here Talhamy interposed. “In that case,” he said, “they are too new, and will crack before a month is over. The sitt would do better to buy some that are well seasoned.” Our honest fellâh touched his brow and breast. “Now in strict truth, O dragoman!” he said, with an air of the most engaging candor, “these scarabs were made at the time of the inundation. They are new; but not too new. They are thoroughly seasoned. If they crack, you shall denounce me to the governor, and I will eat stick for them!”