I was born in Georgia, where, as your highness knows, the women are reckoned to be more beautiful than in any other country, except indeed Circassia; but, in my opinion, the Circassian women are much too tall, and on too large a scale, to compete with us; and I may safely venture my opinion, as I have had an opportunity of comparing many hundreds of the finest specimens of both countries. My father and mother, although not rich, were in easy circumstances; my father had been a janissary in the sultan's immediate employ, and after he had collected some property, he returned to his own country, where he purchased some land and married. I had but one brother, who was three years older than myself, and one of the handsomest youths in the country. He was disfigured a little by a scarlet stain on his neck, somewhat in shape resembling a bunch of grapes, and which our national dress would not permit him to conceal. My father, intending that he should serve the sultan, brought him up to a perfect knowledge of every martial exercise. Even at fourteen years old, few could compete with him in the use of the bow, and throwing the djireed, and as a horseman he was perfect. As for me, I was, I am certain, intended for the sultan's seraglio, for as a child I was beautiful as a houri. My father was a man who would not scruple to part with his children for gold, provided he obtained his price. I was considered, and I believe that I was, the most beautiful girl in the country, and every care was taken that I should not injure my appearance or hurt my complexion by domestic labour or exposure. I was not permitted to assist my mother, who, induced by my father's orders, waited upon me. I was indulged in every whim, and I grew up as selfish and capricious as I was beautiful. Smile not, pacha--time has been.