I obey her mandate and with careful fingers separate the beans from the filthy pods which contain them; but she, accusing my clumsiness, hastily snatched them and, skillfully tearing off the pods with her teeth, spat them upon the ground, where they looked like dead flies.

I wondered, then, at the ingenuity of poverty and its expedients for emergency.

(So ardent a follower of this virtue did the priestess seem that it was reflected in everything around her.

Her dwelling, in particular, was a very shrine of poverty.) No Indian ivory set in gold gleamed here, No trodden marble glistened here; no earth Mocked for its gifts; but Ceres' festive grove: With willow wickerwork 'twas set around, New cups of clay by revolutions shaped Of lowly wheel.

For honey soft, a bowl; Platters of green bark wickerwork, a jar Stained by the lifeblood of the God of Wine; The walls around with chaff and spattered clay Were covered.