6 
A RAMBLE AMONG THE CRIM TARTARS. 
[Nature and Al t, June 1, 1866. 
I gently warned him of the wound he bore. 
“ Ha ! will you prick me ? you’ll be pricked much more.”* 
But when he strug’g'led not, I drew him in. 
The contest then I saw myself did win. 
I landed him, a fish compact of gold ! 
But then, a sudden fear my mind did hold, 
Lest King Poseidon made it his delight, 
Or it was Amphitrite’s favourite. 
I loosed him gently from the hook, for fear 
It from his mouth some precious gold might tear, 
And with my line I safely towed him home,f 
And swore that I on sea no more would roam ; 
* The words supposed to be put into the mouth of the 
fish, which is represented as threatening the fisherman with 
punishment from the offended god. Asphalion just re- 
minded the fish, by a motion of his hand on the rod, that 
he was hooked. “ Ha ! will you prick me ? Poseidon will 
wound you more severely, if you injure one of his 
favourites ! ” 
f Kffi rbv fitv 7T£i(7ri;p<n icarijyov kir' r/irsipoio. 
Dr. Chapman’s translation of this line implies that the fisher- 
man is dragging the fish ashore after he has already had it 
in his hand, and taken the hook from its mouth. Various 
readings have been proposed by the critics in order to get rid 
But ever after would remain on land, 
And there my gold, like any king, command. 
At this I woke. Your wits, good friend, awaken, 
For much I fear to break the oath I’ve taken. 
Friend. 
Fear not ; you swore not, saw not with your eyes 
The fish you saw ; for visions all are lies. 
But now no longer slumber : up, awake, 
And for a false a real vision take. 
Hunt for the foodful fish that is, not seems, 
For fear you starve amid your golden dreams. 
of the difficulty. It seems exceedingly doubtful whether 
7T£iffr)jp is synonymous with Trutjfia, “a cable.” If I may 
offer an opinion, I would suggest that TruaTrjpm be rendered 
“by persuasion” (persuaders, persuading acts). The dif- 
ficulty that perplexed Asphalion was how he should land 
a large fish with weak tackle. He tells us how he accom- 
plished it. He did not pull violently against the struggling 
fish, but kept a light hold of him, and so gradually subdued 
him, till he was able to drag him without resistance to the 
shore. “Thus it was,” he adds, “that by persuasion I 
secured him.” Asphalion did just what any modern angler 
would do under ths circumstances. 
A RAMBLE AMONG- THE GRIM TARTARS BEYOND THE SEAT 
OF WAR. 
By W. B. Lord, Royal Artillery. 
nnHE mists of eaiTy morning still hang like 
X battle smoke about the summits of the lower 
hills and rugged gorges, just lifting here and there 
above the rocks and peaks, which look like islands 
in a sea of fleecy wool. Clear and pure is the air 
this bright May morning, as it comes sweeping 
across the plains in sudden playful gusts, making 
the long green grasses wave and ripple like an 
emerald lake. Countless flowers strew our way. 
The sea-green orchis, the purple tare, and the blue 
larkspur grow luxuriantly, and are ruthlessly 
trodden under foot by our mules and horses, which 
are literally wading through the tangled verdure 
covering a small plain at the entrance to the 
valley of Baidar, appropriately called the “ Taurica 
Arcadia.” A brawling brook hurries by our path, 
which here narrows into little more than a mere 
track ; leaps in a pigmy cataract, between two 
huge boulders ; and then ripples on its way to the 
Black Sea. Up we go by hanging bushes, and 
past fallen rocks, in wooded dells ; where the 
giant peonies grow as in . some enchanter’s garden. 
The servants gather the great pink and scardet 
flowers, like silken cricket-balls ; deck the animals’ 
heads with some of them, and pelt each other 
with the rest, like schoolboys out for a holiday. 
Onward still, amongst thickets of oak and wild 
plum ; by tangled clumps of thorn, and stunted 
juniper bushes. Beneath these, in marked con- 
trast to their sombre hue, lay hundreds of pure 
white land shells ( Bulimus tauricus ) tenantless and 
bleached in the past winter snows : whilst every 
here and there, on the level spots, are piles 
or mounds of earth, and stems of grass, showing 
where the souslik (Spermojihilus citillus) dwells ; 
and from every ledge and flat rock darts a tiny 
lizard, with sheen of antique bronze, and eyes like 
gems. We are wending our way through the 
hunting-grounds of Prince Woronzow ; in the 
distance sparkle the gilt vanes and domes of his 
hunting-lodge ; away to the left looms, in cloud- 
capped majesty, the “ Ychatir-Dagh,” rearing his 
cragged summit 5,000 feet above the fruitful 
plain below. Onward, still onward, and a flock 
of wild pigeons rises on clapping wing from the 
margin of a pool, fed by a clear spring which 
comes babbling coolly from amongst the rocks. 
A gnarled and crooked tree, grey with moss and 
lichen, stands hard by the well ; and on the top- 
most branches sit two old crows, equally grey, 
who croak defiantly, take two or three short hops, 
spread their wide wings, and flap off. So — the 
water being good, the tree dry, and grass abun- 
dant in the hollow — “ halt ” is the word, and we 
will encamp, for night is not far distant. My 
little canvas home is soon raised ; the mules and 
horses picketed ; and the throne of the crows 
is converted into a crackling cheerful fire, which 
leaps and flashes in the gathering twilight joyously. 
An inquisitive bat wheels in shadowy flight round 
the top of the white tent, wondering, no doubt, 
what he should live to see next. Savoury odours 
and hissing sounds arise from the neighbourhood 
of the fire, highly suggestive of supper, which 
appears in due course, and is as duly discussed. 
Night is soon down on us, and all is stillness and 
tranquillity, save when an ill-disposed, querulous 
old owl or two, in the wood above, quaver forth 
their discontent at things in general and the scarcity 
and leanness of mice in particular; or sometimes 
