to punish the deceiver; but his word had been given, and his word was kept. Hormuzan repeated the formula of Islam, and was immediately raised from his captivity to one of the first nobles of the realm.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BLACK SEA AND THE SEA OF AZOV.

The Black Sea-Name-Sunset-The hoopoe-Eastern legendAcalephæ-Porpoises-Rapidity of motion-Crimea-St. Vladimir -His baptism - Massacre of the Tartars - British braveryFortifications-Russian officials-Kertch-Green waters-Straits of Yenikalé - Sea of Azov - Sturgeon Smaller fish - Pelican -Mosquitoes-Robins-Russian fowls-Dragon-fly-LocustsLightning-Mirage.

WHY should that vast expanse of water beyond the Bosphorus, receiving into its bosom the wealth of the Danube, the Don, the Dnieper, and other smaller rivers, and laving the coasts of Europe and Asia, be called the Black Sea? The White Sea, at the northern extremity of Russia, is fringed with snow, and, for the greater part of the year, frozen over and covered with snow, and therefore named appropriately; and it may be in contrast with it that the great South Russian waters are called the Black Sea. Beneath the clear waters of the Red Sea the coral reefs are distinctly seen, and on its eastern shore lies ancient Edom. Here are two reasons why that sea should be called Red-a physical reason in the colour of the wonderful insect architecture of its rocky bed, an ethnographical reason in the presence of the descendants of him who came in faint and weary from the hunting field, and said to his brother, "Feed. me, I pray thee, with that same red pottage; for I am faint: therefore was his name called Edom." The shallowness and muddy appearance of the Yellow Sea sufficiently account for its name. But there is no discoverable reason for the name of the Black Sea. Its waters are not black; they are a deep blue. This blue is not the ultramarine of the Mediterranean, but the blue that shades away to purple seen in sunny weather on the south-western shores of our own land. When the Greeks first made the acquaintance of the Black Sea they called it αξενος, inhospitable, but afterwards they found it a friendly element, and changed its name to ευξινος, hospitable-and by the name of The Euxine it is generally known to this day.

My experience was like that of the Greeks. As we left behind us the Turkish forts, and came from between the hills into the open waters, we were met by a northerly wind, a smart shower of rain, and a lumpy sea; and I found it impossible to retain my equilibrium. I was anxious to do SO. The clifts running on either hand, artificially whitened, to assist mariners making in the night the northern entrance of the Bosphorus, if not picturesque, were interesting. The sun was going down blood-red, and the flying, broken clouds were tinged with pale greens and sickly yellows. I struggled for awhile to preserve a dignified perpendicular position, and then honourably succumbed, seeking a refuge for my dignity in a fairly comfortable horizontal position in the recesses of my berth. There sweet sleep came to my assistance, and I became oblivious to the inhospitable seas.

Next morning they were still inhospitable. The sky was clear, with a fresh wind: all day we were rolling and pitching northwards, and I managed before evening to accommodate myself to the motion of the vessel. We had an édition de luxe of the previous evening's sunset-the sun a deeper blood-red, and the clearer sky suffused with peculiar greens and yellows toned down near the horizon into a long strip of light grey.

While re-passing these waters two visitors came aboard one, a small bird with silvery grey throat and breast, and light brown back and wings, uttering a plaintive too-wheet as it flitted fore and aft, sometimes perching in the rigging, and sometimes venturing on deck; the other, a beautiful hoopoe. With his light golden crest thrown back, and his white and buff wings spread in the sunshine to great advantage, he flew aboard; and, when settled comfortably on a rope above the well deck, he straightened his feathers, and erected his crest, and made himself quite at home. But he was too attractive a visitor to be left quietly in possession of his resting-place. Soon the eyes of one, and then another, were directed towards him, and sundry attempts were made to capture him. These attempts he eluded, and, discovering his perilous position, he flew away westward, and doubtless safely joined his kindred on the low marshy plains at the mouth of the Danube.

Hoopoes are sociable birds, living in flocks; and yet, strange to say, it is not unusual for them to migrate separately. This was crossing the Euxine all alone, and making use of our vessel as a half-way house, a resting-place in its long flight of probably four or five hundred miles. They visit England in the autumn but rarely, and may be more frequently seen in the environs of Paris: their home, however, is the East. Asia Minor and the Grecian Archipelago are favourite resorts of the hoopoe. They are somewhat less in build than the Cornish chough, but not otherwise unlike that cunning, mischievous bird. They belong, indeed, to the same family, notwithstanding their brighter dress, and the softer note, hoop, from which they derive their name.

A pretty Eastern legend accounts for the crest of the hoopoe. Solomon was once on a journey, his ivory throne resting upon an enchanted carpet, whose corners were held by four genii. The sun was intolerably hot, and the king became faint and ill. A flock of vultures were met with, and were requested by Solomon to spread their wings between himself and the sun, and thereby afford him shelter. This they refused to do. They were going the other way, and would not alter their plans to please him. In his anger, Solomon decreed that they should be divested of their neck feathers, and continue ever afterwards exposed to the burning sun. He next met with a flock of hoopoes, and requested them to screen him. They said, "We are a little people, but we will all assemble and make up for our size by our numbers." And, flying in multitudes immediately above the king, he was effectually sheltered during the rest of the journey. Desirous to recompense them for their kindness, Solomon sent for the chief of the hoopoes, and asked him to prefer for his people whatsoever request he liked, and it should be granted. Time was given him to consult his people. The consultation was long and garrulous. At last his own vain little wife and queen made herself heard above the rest, and insisted upon her husband asking for a golden crown. When Solomon heard the request he was sad, knowing the possession of golden crowns would be fraught with danger to the hoopoes; therefore he told the chief that if they should ever regret the choice, and desire his help in difficulty, he would most willingly render it. The chief flew away with his golden crown. All his people were decked with golden crowns. They became vain. They spake to none of their old acquaintances. They strutted before pools of water constantly admiring the reflection. But dangers came. Soon it was known that the hoopoes wore golden crowns. Bird-catchers increased. The resorts of the hoopoes bristled with gins, and were swept by arrows; and it became evident that without some speedy alteration their days were numbered, and their race would soon become extinct. The chief hastened back to Solomon, and begged him to remove the golden crown. This he compassionately consented to do; but he gratefully supplied its place with a crest of feathers. When no more gold was to be had, the work of extermination ceased; and the little hoopoes were left in unmolested possession of the modest but appropriate reward for their kindly service.