And he showed me it, otherwise I might have remained incredulous.
"These scarabs," he went on, "are from Birmingham, I know the glaze.
That gold Egyptian ring, Queen TAIA's do you say, is Coptic, Cairo is
full of them. That head of CÆSAR is a copy from the one in the British
Museum."
"Why, it is rough with age," I said.
"Ay, they've stuffed it down a turkey's crop, and it has got rubbed
up in the gravel with which the ingenious bird assists the process of
digestion. A _man_ who could swallow that gem is a goose."
I am presenting my esteemed collection of ancient engraved stones to
my nephew at school, who shows all the character of the collector.
He may swop them for bats, or tarts, or he may learn wisdom from the
misfortunes of his uncle.
* * * * *