TRIP TO VLADIKAVKAZ AND KARBARDA 223 



the general tout ensemble was singularly reminiscent 

 of the coffee-room of some popular Hydropathic 

 establishment at home. Two English ladies, feasting 

 at a near-by table, attended by what we took to be 

 husbands, as they never addressed a word to one 

 another the whole time, fostered the illusion. They 

 were of the pronounced " Hydro, beagle " type. We 

 tried to fraternize and discover why and wherefore they 

 were in the back of beyond like ourselves, but they were 

 too conventionally freezing to allow of the acquaintance 

 ripening. Of course, we had " not been introduced." 



The little Georgian village was very pretty, and 

 arrestingly situated at the foot of a precipitous moun- 

 tain wilderness, our route to the crest of the Pass. 

 Mleti lacks ancient churches and a connexion with 

 Noah. Its past is quite present. In fact, from a 

 Caucasian point of view, it has, as Matthew Arnold said 

 of Mr. Ichabod Wright's translation of Homer, " no 

 proper reason for existing." 



Now we zigzagged up a sheer gaunt precipice, the 

 ingeniously-contrived left to right, right to left cuts in 

 the face of the Titanic wall alone permitting a successful 

 negotiation of the forbidding rampart. Sombre moun- 

 tains, with deep snow lying in the hollows, gloomed 

 above us, curving away into shadowy mist-wreaths. 



The well-known half-laughing cry of a migratory 

 kestrel rang out over the scarped heights. Far above 

 us he flew steadily, then hovered awhile with his 

 beautiful rapid wing movement, to sail away next 

 instant in motionless grace. A curving evolution 

 brought him up to a stationary perfection of balance, 



