“A great many years ago, in a country which cannot be traced upon the maps, but which lies somewhere between the great rivers Indus and Euphrates, lived Schelim, King of the Hills.
“His riches were unlimited, his palaces magnificent, and his dresses and jewels of the most costly description. He never condescended to wear a diamond unless it was inconveniently large for his fingers, and the fiery opals which adorned his turban (like those in the mineral-room at the British Museum) shimmered and blazed in such a surprising manner, that people were obliged to lower their eyes before the light of them.
“Powerful as well as rich, King Schelim could have anything in the world he wished for, but—such is the perversity of human nature—he cared very little for anything except smoking his pipe; of which, to say the truth, he was so fond, that he would have been well contented to have done nothing else all day long. It seemed to him the nearest approach to the sublimest of all ideas of human happiness—the having nothing to do.
“He caused his four sons to be brought up in luxurious ease, his wish for them being, that they should remain ignorant of pain and sorrow for as long a period of their lives as was possible. So he built a palace for them, at the summit of one of his beautiful hills, where nothing disagreeable or distressing could ever meet their eyes, and he gave orders to their attendants, that they should never be thwarted in anything.
“Every wish of their hearts, therefore, was gratified from their baby days; but so far from being in consequence the happiest, they were the most discontented children in his dominions.
“From the first year of their birth, King Schelim had never been able to smoke his pipe in peace. There were always messages coming from the royal nursery to the smoking-room, asking for something fresh for the four young princes, who were, owing to some mysterious cause, incapable of enjoying any of their luxurious indulgences for more than a few hours together.
“At first these incessant demands for one thing or another for the children, surprised and annoyed their papa considerably, but by degrees he got used to it, and took the arrival of the messengers as a matter of course.
“The very nurses began it:—
“‘May it please your Majesty, the young princes, your Majesty’s incomparable sons—may their shadows never be less!—are tired of their jewelled rattles, and have thrown them on the floor. Doubtless they would like India-rubber rings with bells better.’
“‘Then get them India-rubber rings with bells,’ was all King Schelim said, and turned to his pipe again.