In Mingrelia, Georgia, and Immiretia (says our author), travelling is tolerably secure, and little is heard of robbery; but as soon as the Tatar population commences, robberies are numerous: it is not safe to venture far from Tiflis without being armed to the teeth. In the absence of historical tradition the people delight in recounting tales of robbery which sound like the last echoes of the heroic age, and often breathe a proud and chivalrous spirit, testifying to the ancient nobility of character of this people. The following story of the robber Arsen may serve as an example.

Arsen was a duchantschik, or shopkeeper, in Tiflis, and had the reputation of being a quiet, well-behaved man. He fell in love with the daughter of a bondman of Prince Baratow, who, however, would not consent to the marriage; he therefore resolved to purchase the freedom of the girl. Arsen worked hard for another year, and earned the sum demanded; but the prince made fresh objections and conditions, whereupon Arsen mounted the best steed in the prince's stable, by night, and rode off with the girl to the mountains. He was, however, betrayed, arrested, and thrown into prison. On his release at the expiration of his imprisonment he found that his beloved had been married by the prince to another person. Arsen left the town, went to the mountains, and turned robber; although alone, the whole neighbourhood of Tiflis was rendered unsafe by his daring exploits. Many are the tales related of his proud but generous character: his audacity, obstinate bravery, and gigantic strength were sufficient to disarm any resistance; his name was a terror to the country around. On one occasion he attacked and disarmed a merchant who was travelling with a considerable sum of money: the latter begged for his life,-Arsen merely desired him to go to a certain place, and pay for him four roubles which he owed there. A price was set upon his head, but for a long while no one dared to attempt the capture. At last one of his kinsmen was tempted by the reward: he enticed the robber to his house, under pretext of talking over some family matters. Arsen's sharska (sword) was hung up on the wall: the host plied him with drink. "Who is that sneaking outside your house?" said Arsen. The host grew pale. "Treachery!" exclaimed Arsen, and rushing out unarmed, he flung himself upon his horse, which stood fastened at the door, and rode off at a furious pace. The balls whistled around him, he and his steed were wounded, but he escaped. From that day his kinsman lived in concealment, in fear of his life, and only ventured to sleep when protected by the presence of others.

Soon after this adventure came the day of the famous pilgrimage to Martkophi. Arsen suddenly appeared in the midst of the assembled thousands; to at least half the multitude he was personally known, but no one appeared to notice him. Prince Orbellian was there with his family; Arsen went up to him and asked for a draught of wine. The prince handed it to him. "Do you know me?" said Arsen. "Yes, to be sure,-you are Arsen," was the reply. Tell that man," said Arsen, pointing to an officer, "to give me his sword." "Tell him yourself," answered the prince. The officer indignantly refused to comply with the demand, but the prince stepping up to him, whispered a word in his ear, upon which he instantly handed his sword to Arsen.

Shortly after, Arsen, half intoxicated, again went up to Prince Orbellian and said, "I have taken a fancy to your pistols,-give them to me." The prince cocked a pistol and presented it at Arsen, saying, "Take them!" Arsen advanced; the young princess, throwing herself into the prince's arms, exclaimed, "Do not shed blood on so holy a day as this!" Thereupon Arsen went up to the princess, and said: "You have saved my life, permit me to kiss the hem of your garment and your hand!" In an instant after he disappeared in the crowd. The following day Arsen returned the sword, with this line," On so holy a day man ought to commit no injustice."

On occasion of his meeting any officers riding to Priut, Arsen never molested them, but, on the contrary, usually gave them an invitation to breakfast, which they frequently accepted.

At length Arsen fell, in single combat. He was sitting one day with some comrades by the roadside, in the neighbourhood of Tiflis, when an Immiretian nobleman with an attendant rode up to him. Arsen invited him to breakfast, but the latter declined, alleging that he had business to transact in haste with the authorities, which rendered it impossible for him to stop. As he rode off, Arsen's friends said, "Do you believe his excuse? depend on it he is ashamed of your company, and therefore will not drink with you." In an instant Arsen flung himself on his horse, and riding after the nobleman, pressed him to return and breakfast with him. Nay," replied the nobleman, "since you speak in such an authoritative tone, nothing shall induce me to go." Arsen drew his sword, his antagonist did the same, and a furious combat ensued. The attendant meanwhile looked quietly on. The nobleman, who was already bleeding from two wounds, while Arsen was uninjured, called out to his servant, "Fellow, do you look on and see your lord murdered?" whereupon the man took deliberate aim behind Arsen's back, and shot him through the head.

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From Tiflis, Haxthausen made an interesting excursion into Armenia, as far as Ararat, Erivan (Arivan), and Etchmiadzin (Atchmiadzin). The account of this journey is unusually diversified by local legends and traditions, for which the baron appears to have been mainly indebted to the eccentric labours of a genius yclept Peter Neu, who, understanding all the languages of the country, collected traditions from the mouths of the peasants. As a specimen, we will select the story of

THE SERPENT MOUNTAIN ON THE ARAXES.

On the Araxes, south of Nakhtchewan, is a mountain called by the Tatars Ilanetag, and by the Armenians Otzezar, both names signifying Serpent Mountain. At certain times of the year serpents collect on this mountain in such numbers, that neither man nor beast dares to approach the spot. But beside the ordinary kinds of serpents, a great many belong to a higher order of creatures. If one of these latter attain the age of twenty-five without having been seen by mortal eye, it is gifted with the power of self-transformation, and becomes a dragon, which is able to change its head into that of any other creature, man or beast, in order to beguile and destroy its victims. If a serpent of this kind reaches the age of sixty years, without having been looked on or disturbed by any man, it is called in Persian Yukha (" Outstretching"), and then acquires the power of transforming itself as often and for as long as it pleases into the shape of any man or beast. Now there was once a young herdsman of a nomadic tribe out hunting, who remained behind his companions in the neighbourhood of this mountain. As he was wandering about, lost in thought, he on a sudden descried in the copsewood a beautiful and fascinating maiden, weeping bitterly, and lamenting that she had lost her way, and been parted from her friends. The huntsman took her upon his horse, and rode off in the direction she pointed out. But soon love sprang up between them, and she confessed that she had neither home nor kindred, but had feigned this only to win him, having at first sight conceived an ardent passion for him. Then he took her home with him and married her.

One day a Hindoo fakir came to visit them, who, by the virtue of an onyxring upon his finger, at once perceived that the woman was a serpent metamorphosed into this shape, for the onyx loses its colour in the presence of a transformed object. The fakir revealed the circumstance to the husband, and added, "Follow my advice, and you may convince yourself of the truth; desire your wife to cook a dish of which she is particularly fond, and do you secretly put into it a quantity of salt; then shut up the house, to prevent her escape: conceal all trace of water, and feign to fall asleep, but be careful to keep

strict watch." The man did as the fakir desired: in the night he saw his wife get up, and search everywhere for water; but finding none, her neck became on a sudden lengthened to such a degree that she was presently able to stretch her head out of the chimney-top, and he soon perceived that it must have reached a neighbouring river, for he distinctly heard the gurgling noise as she swallowed the water. The poor man, now convinced of the truth of what the fakir had told him, vented his grief at having a serpent for a wife, and begged the fakir to advise him how to get rid of her. The fakir told him to desire his wife to bake some bread, and when she stooped down to put it into the oven, suddenly to push her into the fire, and close the oven with a stone; he warned him at the same time not to be moved by her laments or entreaties to set her free, or she would certainly kill him. The man followed the fakir's advice in vain the woman implored to be set free, and appealed to his love for her as his faithful wife. At last, finding him immovable, she exclaimed, "Aha! the fakir has betrayed my secret to you,-he wants to have my ashes; true it is you would have been lost had I ever perceived your knowledge of the secret!" When she was dead, however, despair seized upon the man, for he loved his wife passionately; he wandered about the world, and has never been heard of since. But the fakir carefully collected the ashes, which still retained the power of transmutation, and by their means he acquired the secret of changing all metals into gold.

This story is, with certain local variations, common throughout Western Asia. Ilani Taghs, or Serpent Mountains, abound everywhere, and in Cilicia we have a Shah Miran Kalahsi, or "Castle of the King of the Serpents." Of higher historical value, and greater interest at this present moment, is the account given of the gallant defence of Akhalzik by the Turks, in 1829.

I may insert here, as the most convenient place, an anecdote of the war with the Turks in 1828, with a few remarks on Akhalzik, by a person who took part in the campaign. The advanced guard of the Russian army reached the little Turkish fortress of Akalkalaki; the fortifications were bad and untenable; the garrison consisted of a thousand men, with fourteen cannon. As the Russians advanced there was a deathlike silence. Two staff-officers, with two Russian trumpeters, rode forward, and an interpreter summoned the Turks to open the gates. On a sudden two red standards were displayed on the walls the Turkish commander appeared, and called aloud to the Russians, "We are not soldiers like those of Erivan and Kars; we are warriors of Akhalzik. Here are neither women nor children; we will die on the ramparts of our fortress, but we will not surrender it without a struggle. An old proverb says, one soldier of Akhalzik is equal to two of Kars and three from Erivan; we will not belie the proverb!" The Russians commenced the assault; the mournful death-songs of the Turks were distinctly audible, whilst they made the responses to the prayers of the Mooilah. After a murderous defence, the Russians forced an entrance into the place. Not one Turk accepted his life-every man remained dead upon the spot.

Akhalzik was a point of the greatest importance to the Turks; established here, they ruled and plundered all the districts south of the western Caucasus, and issuing from hence their emissaries sustained the warlike spirit of the Circassians and Lesghis. Rallying under the standard of the Pasha of Akhalzik, the Lesghis robbed and devastated the rich country of Georgia. The Ossetians, Didos, and Djares, overran unchecked the beautiful banks and valleys of the Koor and Allasan. Kidnapped boys and girls were at that time a sort of merchandise in request, and were brought to Akhalzik, where the great fair for this traffic was held. From this place the boys and girls were transported to Erzeroum, Trebizond, Teheran, and Constantinople. The Armenians had an especial privilege for this trade, and Akhalzik was of equal importance to

the Russians, who, after a sanguinary defence, took the fortress. The Turks had held possession of this important place for two centuries and a half. They all emigrated to Asia Minor. The town is said to contain sixteen thousand inhabitants, eight churches, a synagogue of the Jews, and a Mohammedan mosque.

On his return to Tiflis, Baron Haxthausen made an excursion among the Ossetes, a Caucasian tribe, who call themselves Ir, and their country Ironistan. They are nominally Christians, but they offer sacrifices of bread and flesh upon altars in sacred groves. A tradition, well known in connexion with Mount Carmel, is to be met with among these mountaineers, transported to the grove of Lamadon in the Caucasus.

The cave of the prophet Elijah (Asilja-leget), the guardian and patron of the Ossetes, is in this grove. Profound peace reigns around it; the shepherds pasture their flocks in silence, and neither turmoil, strife, nor rapine dare disturb the calm of these holy precincts. Once, says the legend, a holy man was taken prisoner and carried off to a strange country in the west; when an eagle, bearing him aloft over high mountains and broad seas, deposited him here, and he passed the remainder of his life in performing religious service in the cave of Elijah. This service became hereditary in his family. The eldest descendant, dressed in a coat of his own weaving, once a year ascends the sacred rock alone, and having entered the cave, offers up a mystic sacrifice. No one else is permitted to approach: an attempt to climb the rock would be punished with blindness, and instant death would be the penalty for entering the cave. The interior is said to be composed of emerald; in the centre stands an altar of rock, bearing a golden goblet filled with beer. As soon as the priest enters, he receives the gift of prophecy for the ensuing year. If the beer is agitated in the goblet and runs over, there will be peace and an abundant harvest; but if the beer does not move, there will be war and famine. On the following day a great banquet, to which every one in the neighbourhood contributes, is held in the village of Lamadon, and there the priest of Elijah makes known the events of the coming year.

A minute and detailed account of the social habits and manners of these curious people, some account of the Kara-bagh, and of the Yezidis, or Izidis-the devil propitiators-not worshippers-a distinction after all probably without a difference, established by the critical acumen of modern travellers; and an account of the fire-worshippers at the natural fountains of fire near Baku, on the Caspian-the analogies of the fire fountains of Kirkuk-the Babylonian Ecbatana, complete a work which could not be better timed than at the present crisis. Nothing can exceed the avidity with which we looked through its pages for new information regarding the little known, little understood, and still less appreciated races of the Transcaucasian provinces. We feel the deepest interest in the fate of these gallant Christian nations, although from the nature of their country they have been less successful in self-defence than the Muhammadan mountaineers, and we feel assured that Haxthausen's beautifully illustrated work will, at the present conjuncture, command thousands of readers, and will assist materially in making the character and position of these people better known throughout the country at large.

THE TURKISH CAMPAIGN OF 1829.*

THE Baron von Callot, an Austrian officer, possessing birth, fortune, and a considerable share of talent, was, in 1828, a decided Philhellenist. Like many other greater men than himself, he fondly believed in the possible regeneration of Greece, and determined on forming one of the sacred band who proceeded to expel the Turks from Hellas. Circumstances, however, prevented him from carrying out his original design, and he contributed his mite to the war by joining the Russian forces at that time engaged on the Danube. Encouraged by the public craving for everything relative to the seat of war, he has now thrown his experiences into the shape of reminiscences and sketches of travel.

He quitted Cronstadt, in Transylvania, on the 1st of May, 1829, en route to join the Russian army of the left bank of the Danube, via Wallachia. The difficulties he encountered on the road were sufficient to deter any one but an old campaigner-among them want of food and shelter were the slightest. The whole province was overrun by bands of marauders, who plundered every one who fell into their hands, and laid claim to their gratitude for not murdering them as well. He managed, however, to stow his traps upon a train of heavily-laden baggagewaggons for carriage to Bucharest, and at the same time hired a seat for himself, upon which to rest his wearied limbs. Here, however, he had reckoned without his host: the road, which was carried along for some time on Austrian territory, was so frightfully bad that he really believed the immense holes into which horses and wheels sank every moment, and with which the whole of this soi-disant road was strewn, were traps purposely made by the borderers to prevent any possible inroad from Wallachia, as guns and cavalry could not progress in the face of these natural, or rather artificial, impediments. Every fifty paces a halt was made, and the horses fed, to give them some relaxation from the almost killing exertions in dragging the carts out of the ruts. Tired with watching the progress of the waggons after enduring it for a whole day, our traveller set out before them, only accompanied by his dog, and the following pleasant little adventure befel him:

It was about three in the morning when my waggoner made his preparations for starting. While he was feeding and harnessing his team, I walked on in front. I had gone about 600 paces, when my dog began barking violently; almost at the same moment five well-armed fellows sprang out of the thicket, one of whom held a long Turkish pistol at my head, and demanded my money. "Hang it!" I thought to myself, "not breakfasted, and yet the people come and want money from me." At the same moment Wachtel seized the fellow by the throat and dragged him to the ground; I guarded off the pistol with the left hand, with my right tore the second pistol from the villain's belt, and fired it at the nearest man, who fell with a loud yell to the ground. I drew my sabre and sprang upon my three other foes, and, while Wachtel seized another by the throat and worried him like he would have done a sheep, I gave the other such a tremendous blow with my trusty sabre that I cut his head open.

All three had fired their muskets at me, but, losing their presence of mind by my quick manoeuvres, they had missed me, although one bullet struck the hilt of my sabre, and a second passed through my cap. As I rushed upon

* Der Orient und Europa. Erinnerungen von Land und Meer. Von Eduard, Freiherrn von Callot. 2 vols. Williams and Norgate.