CHAPTER LIX.
Their Morning Meal Not wholly is our world made up of bright stars and bright eyes: so now to our story.
A conscientious host should ever be up betimes, to look after the welfare of his guests, and see to it that their day begin auspiciously.

King Media announced the advent of the sun, by rustling at my bower's eaves in person.
A repast was spread in an adjoining arbor, which Media's pages had smoothed for our reception, and where his subordinate chiefs were in attendance.

Here we reclined upon mats.

Balmy and fresh blew the breath of the morning; golden vapors were upon the mountains, silver sheen upon the grass; and the birds were at matins in the groves; their bright plumage flashing into view, here and there, as if some rainbow were crouching in the foliage.
Spread before us were viands, served in quaint-shaped, curiously-dyed gourds, not Sevres, but almost as tasteful; and like true porcelain, fire had tempered them.

Green and yielding, they are plucked from the tree; and emptied of their pulp, are scratched over with minute marks, like those of a line engraving.