at Sakkarah, happened to be strikingly like the local Sheikh el Beled, or head-man, of the village.  Always quick to seize upon the amusing side of an incident, the Arab diggers at once called it the “Sheikh el Beled,” and it has retained the name ever since.  The statue of his wife, interred beside his own, is unfortunately mutilated.  It is a mere trunk, without legs or arms (fig. 192); yet enough remains to show that the figure represented a good type of the Egyptian middle-class matron, commonplace in appearance and somewhat acid of temper.  The “Kneeling Scribe” of the Gizeh collection (fig. 193) belongs to the lowest middle-class rank, such as it is at the present day.  Had he not been dead more than six thousand years, I could protest that I had not long ago met him face to face, in one of the little towns of Upper Egypt.  He has just brought a roll of papyrus, or a tablet covered with writing, for his master’s approval.  Kneeling in the prescribed attitude of an inferior, his hands crossed, his shoulders rounded, his head slightly bent forward, he waits till the great man shall have read it through.  Of what is he thinking?  A scribe might feel some not unreasonable apprehensions, when summoned thus into the presence of his superior.  The stick played a prominent part in official life, and an error of addition, a fault in orthography, or an order misunderstood, would be enough to bring down a shower of blows.  The sculptor has, with inimitable skill, seized that expression of resigned uncertainty and passive gentleness which is the result of a whole life of servitude.  There is a smile upon his lips, but it is the smile of etiquette, in which there is no gladness.  The nose and cheeks are puckered up in harmony with the forced grimace upon the mouth.  His large eyes (again in enamel) have the fixed look of one who waits vacantly, without making any effort to concentrate his sight or his thoughts upon a definite object.  The face lacks both intelligence and vivacity; but his work, after all, called for no special nimbleness of wit.  Khafra is in diorite; Raemka and his wife are carved in wood; the other statues named are of limestone; yet, whatever the material employed, the play of the chisel is alike free, subtle, and delicate.  The head of the scribe and the bas-relief portrait of Pharaoh Menkauhor, in the Louvre, the dwarf Nemhotep (fig. 195), and the slaves who prepare food-offerings at Gizeh, are in no wise inferior to the “Cross-legged Scribe” or the “Sheikh el Beled.”  The baker kneading his dough (fig. 194) is thoroughly in his work.  His half-stooping attitude, and the way in which he leans upon the kneading-trough, are admirably natural.  The dwarf has a big, elongated head, balanced by two enormous ears (fig. 195).  He has a foolish face, an ill-shapen mouth, and narrow slits of eyes, inclining upwards to the temples.  The bust is well developed, but the trunk is out of proportion with the rest of his person.  The artist has done his best to disguise the lower limbs under a fine white tunic; but one feels that it is too long for the little man’s arms and legs.