And as regards his supposed untidy habits, the phase of cleanliness which, like a purifying wind, descended suddenly upon the world in the second half of the nineteenth century, has penetrated even to libraries and museums, removing every speck of dust therefrom.  The archaeologist, when engaged in the sedentary side of his profession, lives nowadays in an atmosphere charged with the odours of furniture-polish and monkey-brand.  A place less dusty than the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington, or than the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, could not easily be imagined.  The disgusting antiquarian of a past generation, with his matted locks and stained clothing, could but be ill at ease in such surroundings, and could claim no brotherhood with the majority of the present-day archaeologists.  Cobwebs are now taboo; and the misguided old man who dwelt amongst them is seldom to be found outside of caricature, save in the more remote corners of the land.

[Illustration:  PL.  XXVI.  A relief representing Queen Tiy, from the tomb
                         of Userhat at Thebes.  This relief was stolen
                         from the tomb, and found its way to the
                         Brussels Museum, where it is shown in the
                         damaged condition seen in Plate xxvii.]

[Photo by H. Carter.

The archaeologist in these days, then, is not often confined permanently to his museum, though in many cases he remains there as much as possible; and still less often is he a person of objectionable appearance.  The science is generally represented by two classes of scholar:  the man who sits in the museum or library for the greater part of his life, and lives as though he would be worthy of the furniture-polish, and the man who works in the field for a part of the year and then lives as though he regarded the clean airs of heaven in even higher estimation.  Thus, in arguing the case for the field-worker, as I propose here to do, there is no longer the easy target of the dusty antiquarian at which to hurl the javelin.  One cannot merely urge a musty individual to come out into the open air:  that would make an easy argument.  One has to take aim at the less vulnerable person of the scholar who chooses to spend the greater part of his time in a smart gallery of exhibits or in a well-ordered and spotless library, and whose only fault is that he is too fond of those places.  One may no longer tease him about his dusty surroundings; but I think it is possible to accuse him of setting a very bad example by his affection for “home comforts,” and of causing indirectly no end of mischief.  It is a fact that there are many Greek scholars who are so accustomed to read their texts in printed books that they could not make head nor tail of an original document written in a cursive Greek hand; and there are not a few students of Egyptian archaeology who do not know the conditions and phenomena of the country sufficiently to prevent the occurrence of occasional “howlers” in the exposition of their theories.