laid with great evenness, our walls and ceiling are painted in the richest colours, while our tables are of gold when they are not of ivory. Over my lady mother's doorway are seventy pictures of holy saints shining in glorious colours, while you have only ten. From our churches to the palace are laid pavements of hard smooth wood, spread with scarlet cloth, but your pathways are so miry that they soil the embroidered garments of a Prince."
Even yet Prince Vladimir remained courteous, and all he said in reply was:
"Why did you throw away some of my green wine and a portion of my wheaten cakes?"
"For a good reason," returned the young lord; "I could not eat your cakes, for the upper crust has a flavour of pine wood, while the lower tastes of clay, so that I knew at once that your ovens are built of brick and your oven brooms are made of pine twigs. But in our palace in India the Glorious the ovens of my lady mother, which are under her own care, are made of hard glazed tiles, while her oven brooms are of silk dipped in honey dew. If a man eats one of my mother's cakes he leaves no crumb behind, and his whole desire is to eat more. Your wines taste of damp and their flavour is foul. But my mother's wine-cellars and their contents are the wonder of India the Glorious. She has wines which saw the dawn of history, and these are kept in casks of silver with hoops of gold, which are hung on chains of brass in bricked-out caves of forty fathoms' depth; and from these great caves run open pipes under-
