“Bahram to Aurelian:  health!  Receive such purple as we have in Persia.”

“Persia, forsooth!” exclaimed Sorianus, a young philosopher versed in natural science, “this purple never was in Persia, except as a rarity.  Oh, the mendacity and vanity of these Orientals!”

The ambassador was beginning an angry reply, when Aurelian quelled the dispute with a look, and with some awkwardness delivered himself of a brief oration in acknowledgment of the gift.  He took no more notice of the matter until nightfall, when he sent for Sorianus, and inquired where the purple actually was produced.

“In the uttermost parts of India,” returned the philosopher.

“Well,” rejoined Aurelian, summing up the matter with his accustomed rapidity and clearness of head, “either thou or the Persian king has lied to me, it is plain, and, by the favour of the Gods, it is immaterial which, seeing that my ground for going to war with him is equally good in either case.  If he has sought to deceive me, I am right in punishing him; if he possesses what I lack, I am justified in taking it away.  It would, however, be convenient to know which of these grounds to inscribe in my manifesto; moreover, I am not ready for hostilities at present; having first to extirpate the Blemmyes, Carpi, and other barbarian vermin.  I will therefore despatch thee to India to ascertain by personal examination the truth about the purple.  Do not return without it, or I shall cut off thy head.  My treasury will charge itself with the administration of thy property during thy absence.  The robe shall meanwhile be deposited in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus.  May he have it and thee in his holy keeping!”

Thus, in that age of darkness, were two most eminent philosophers reduced to beggary, and constrained to wander in remote and insalubrious regions; the one for advising a king, the other for instructing an emperor.  But the matter did not rest here.  For Aurelian, having continued the visible deity of half the world for one hundred and fifty days after the departure of Sorianus, was slain by his own generals.  To him succeeded Tacitus, who sank oppressed by the weight of rule; to him Probus, who perished in a military tumult; to him Carus, who was killed by lightning; to him Carinus, who was assassinated by one whom he had wronged; to him Diocletian, who, having maintained himself for twenty years, wisely forbore to tempt Nemesis further, and retired to plant cabbages at Salona.  All these sovereigns, differing from each other in every other respect, agreed in a common desire to possess the purple dye, and when the philosopher returned not, successively despatched new emissaries in quest of it.  Strange was the diversity of fate which befell these envoys.  Some fell into the jaws of lions, some were crushed by monstrous serpents, some trampled by elephants at the command of native princes, some perished of hunger, and some of thirst; some, encountering smooth-browed and dark-tressed girls wreathing