June 23, 1996

Browsing the antiques markets of London a few years ago, McGuire Gibson, an expert on Mesopotamian art and archeology at the University of Chicago, found some of his worst fears confirmed. In the stalls of Portobello Road and the shops of Bond Street, dealers offered him antiquities probably smuggled from Iraq, a modern nation in distress that sits astride the remains of several ancient civilizations. Cylinder seals, which were once used on tablets of wet clay in something like an ancient version of notarization, were for sale by the bagful. There were clay tablets with cuneiform writing from as early as the Babylonian period and other objects of uncertain origin.

For 18 months, mutual fund investors have been feasting on a fat stock market. Now, they are starting to look like gluttons. Cash continues to pour into the most aggressive sector of mutual funds, those that invest in the stocks of the smallest companies. The smaller the better, the rule seems to be. According to Lipper Analytical Services, funds that specialize in small-company stocks gained 18.4 percent from the start of the year through mid-June and rose 33.4 percent over the last year. Many funds that focus on micro-cap stocks have scored even bigger gains.

The flames rise into the sky like malignant ghosts from the South's past, evoking some of the most racially charged images in the nation's history. But as investigators try to make sense of the horrific string of church burnings in the South -- at least 37 at black and integrated churches since the beginning of last year -- the picture that is emerging speaks to the current moment rather than to stereotyped images from the past.

ALTHOUGH Miriam Spaier, a mother of two girls, 4 and 16, was given a diagnosis of H.I.V. five years ago, she just recently arranged for someone to raise her children if she dies. Ms. Spaier, 42, of Riverhead, who chose a friend as her daughters' guardian, said it took a long time to find someone with whom she felt comfortable about leaving her children.

IN his muscular quest for the Olympic decathlon gold medal, Dan O'Brien has recovered, emotionally and physically, from the depths of his disappointment four years ago. "It hurt not being at the Games," he has often said, "but breaking the world record two months later washed it away."