palace sitting on the ground.  Before him was
a fountain, which threw up the water very
high, and in it there were some red apples. He
could not see them until, always being held
under the armpits, they had approached very
close with their obeisances, for he was so old
that his eyelids had fallen down entirely. His
age was sixty-seven. He sat cross-legged among
round pillows upon silken carpets, dressed in a
silk robe, and with a high white hat on his head
surmounted by a spinal ruby set in pearls and
precious stones. He did not give his hand to
kiss, for none are privileged to kiss him, but he
said, " How is my son, the king? Is he in good
health?" Presently turning to his court, he
said, " Behold! here are the ambassadors sent
by my son the King of Spain, who is the greatest
bar of the Franks, and lives at the end of the
world. These Franks are truly a great people,
and I will give my benediction to the King of
Spain, my son."

At the royal feast which followed, our
ambassadors sat above the ambassador of the pig
Emperor of Cathay, to whom Timour was then
refusing tribute, and whom, afterwards, he was
setting out to conquer when the dead winter
hugged him in her chill embrace. Cooked sheep
and roasted horses, laid upon large round pieces
of stamped leather, were dragged to and fro,
with noise and strain of men, and cut up by the
carvers, kneeling on the leather. Of the basins
of food given to the guests, it was demanded
that whatever was not eaten should be carried
away. There was placed before the ambassadors,
victual enough for half a year. After the roast
and boiled, came made dishes of meat, and balls
of forced meat; then followed fruit, with wine
in gold and silver jugs, and sugar and cream:
which the knight Clavijo, who abstained from
wine, looked upon as a delicious summer drink.

Timour passed from garden to garden, and at
each reception of the ambassadors he was found
in a new place, surrounded by yet more
magnificence. Once, there was wine sent to us before
the feast, with orders to drink before starting,
that we might be jovial when we arrived. Always,
our meat was horse and sheep. The most
honourable meat is haunch of horse; tripes of
the horse, and sheep's heads, are also much
regarded.

At last, Timour the Tartar camped in a
great silken pavilion which from a distance
looked like a castle, and it was in the midst of
the tents of his army. A seven years' war was
but just ended. After so long absence Timour
was returned to Samarcand, and the marriages
of two of his grandsons were being celebrated.
The great lord's wives and his sons' wives gave
drinking parties, sitting in the doorways of their
tents with rows of wine jars, and of jars of
cream and sugar set before them. Caño, the
wife of Timour, would not believe that Clavijo
was a man who never tasted wine. She desired
to see men fall down drunk before her, and this
only proved to her that she was in jovial
company. The great ladies— who wear so much
white lead on their faces that they look like
paper— ate their roasted sheep and horse with
much noise, snatching the pieces away from one
another, and so making game over their food.
When Timour's chief wife is full-dressed, three
ladies hold her head-dress with their hands
that it may not fall on one side. For the sake
of more merriment, Timour sent orders to
Samarcand that all the traders in the city, the
cooks and butchers, bakers and shoemakers, and
all other people in the city, should come to the
plain, sell their goods in the camp, and amuse
his soldiers. In the place where the traders
pitched their tents, he also ordered to be set up a
great number of gallows, and hanged many great
men. A councillor asked for his pardon if he
paid four hundred thousand bezants of silver.
The lord Timour approved of this, and when
the man had given all he had, he was tormented
to give more, and as he had no more, he was
hung up by the feet until he was dead.

Travelling in company with Ruy Gonzalez de
Clavijo, I have told the tale of our travel very
much in that brave knight's own phraseology.
He has brought me to the true old Timour the
Tartar of my youth. Timour fell sick, and the
Spanish ambassadors were sent home summarily
over the deserts and over the seas, without letter
or message to their master. As for the hospitality
shown to them when they appeared among
Timour's servants as witnesses from the end of
the world to the extent of the great Tartar's
fame, Ali of Yezd is explanatory when he
mentions that they were invited to the grand
festivities within the camp; "for," he says, "even
the smallest of fish have their places in the sea."

THE PRECINCT.

EVERY one has his separate, and generally
his secret, ideal of perfect felicity. Baucis
and Philemon had theirs. The sailor wanted
"all the baccy in the world," and then " more
baccy," to make him completely happy.
M. Gavarni, the admirable débardeur-draughtsman,
sighs after the discovery of aërial navigation.
The captain in a marching regiment, with
nothing but his pay to live on, beholds the
acme of contentment in a staff appointment.
The usher dreams of a seventh heaven of
independent schoolmastership. To the fine lady,
happiness must mean a dress or a bonnet which
her inferiors will not copy, and consequently
vulgarise as a fashion. To the minister, happiness
must be parliament without her Majesty's
opposition. There is something that will make
a young ballet-girl much more joyous than will
the possession of diamonds, or a brougham,
or a Blenheim spaniel; and that is to be
allowed to speak some " lines," however few
in number. The happiest man in the world,
according to the Eastern apologue, was he who
had no shirt. Charles Lamb said that were he
not a gentleman he should dearly like to be a
beggar; and I once heard of a young rustic—
one of those ploughboy philosophers so happily
delineated by Mr. Hunt— who, being asked his