Soon after noon we were all enjoying the hospitality of our friend. When I say hospitality, I am not using the word in its conventional sense; a Georgian displays towards his guest such courtesy and kindness as are unknown among European peoples. Other friends soon arrived, and at three o'clock, the usual dinner-hour, a score of us sat down to dine in a shady arbour on the hillside. The dishes were purely Oriental; rich pilavi (rice cooked with fruits, pistachio nuts, &c.), shishlik (a choice cut of mutton roasted on a silver skewer over a yard long, on which it is served up), and many another delicacy, the thought of which makes my mouth water even now. The wine deserves special mention. Kakheti has one of the finest soils in the world for grape-growing, and any kind of wine, including fine champagne, can be produced there. Unfortunately, the people in general have not yet become acquainted with the methods by which wine has to be "manipulated" in order to make it at once agreeable to a European palate. Some of the best brands are not, however, open to this objection, and are largely sold in Petersburg and Moscow, but they are not so well known as they deserve to be. Merchants discourage the introduction of new wines, as our Australian and South African fellow-subjects know to their cost; but the day will undoubtedly come when Caucasian vintages will be known and appreciated. The drinking habits of the Georgians are interesting. A toastmaster (tolumbash) is always chosen, and it is his duty to propose the health of each guest in turn. To those who do not drain their glasses before the time for the next toast has arrived, the tolumbash cries Alaverdi! to which the laggard replies, Yakhsheol, and immediately finishes the draught, in order to escape the penalty of swallowing a large hornful of liquor at a breath. These words are of Tatar origin, and commemorate a brave Tatar named Alaverdi, who fell in a battle between the Georgians and Persians. The glasses contain a quarter of a pint, and the stranger who sits down with a score of friends is somewhat apprehensive as to the condition in which he will leave the table. Luckily, the wine is nothing but pure grape-juice, and a person with a tolerably strong head can dispose of two or three quarts of it without feeling much the worse. Each toast is accompanied by the singing of a grand old song called Mraval djamier ghmerthma inebos (May God grant thee many years), to which the person thus honoured must sing the reply, Madlobeli vart (I thank you). I have transcribed the song in the Appendix. The ladies drink water scarcely coloured with wine.