222 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



Here and there in the hollows the purple of small 

 vineyards glowed, and round one atom of a place where 

 the low-growing vines could hardly hold the weight of 

 fruit a strong stockade was built of engirdling up- 

 standing staves, interlaced together. A protection, our 

 servant said, when we inquired, against " the foxes, 

 the little foxes that spoil the vines," as the Singer 

 of the Song of Songs hath it. Only Ali Ghirik did not 

 put it like that. He had never heard of Solomon. 



The Aragva River ran beside us, meagre and white 

 and dull-looking, and from little plateaux and pin- 

 nacles rising above the forest quaint old ruinous 

 towers peeped down. 



From Ananaur to Pasanaur — twenty-one versts, 

 the longest stage betwixt stations en route — the road 

 rises considerably to the prettily situated post-house 

 set in a maze of woods just where the valley begins to 

 narrow. Pasanaur is an old Persian name, and means 

 Holy Hill, but what makes it sacred I cannot tell you. 

 It is sanctified somehow, but wherefore is lost in the 

 mists of the ages. 



Onwards to Mleti, climbing laboriously. Far, far 

 above us, on the crests of granitic cliffs, Ossete auls, 

 or villages, clung. That well-graced Russian singer, 

 Pushkin, with poetical imagery, said that the distant 

 grey hives reminded him of swallows' nests. 



At Mleti we changed horses again, this time 

 coming off with a much better lot. The post-house, 

 also, ran to a most superior luncheon, set out in a 

 dining-room rich in masses of paper flowers. With 

 your eyes^half closed and the aid of a little imagination, 



