by Castrén and Titow, beautifying them with
the metre which is used by Professor Longfellow
in his Hiawatha, and which is, in fact,
the national metre of the Finns, to whom all
Tartars, proper and improper, are related, as
members of the great Altaic family. He was
justified in adopting the metrical form, by the
fact that these stories are actually sung by Tartar
bards, whose functions strongly resemble those
of the Greek rhapsodists.

In presenting one of the stories to the
English public, I not only undo the metrical work
of Anton Schiefner, but, by clipping off poetical
exuberances, greatly reduce the length of the
tale without passing over a single incident of
importance. If the reader, however, be fanciful,
and would make his fancy correspond to reality,
he will imagine the story sung by a performer
seated on the skin of some beast, and
accompanying himself with the sound of an instrument
scantily provided with strings.

The noted hero Alten Chan (Gold Prince),
who lived at the foot of the White Mountain,
on the coast of the White Sea, rose early one
fine morning, and put on his mighty armour.
When his wife, Alten Areg (Pure Gold), asked
him the reason of this extraordinary activity, he
replied that he was about to count his subjects
and his vast herds of cattle; and, indeed, he
expended the whole day in this important
operation, kindly bestowing horses and clothes on
all the persons who lacked the necessary articles
of Tartar existence. The survey proved perfectly
satisfactory, and when he returned home
at night he was in such a cheerful mood that he
ate and drank all the refreshments which his
excellent wife set before him: partaking of them
so freely that he became not a little inebriated.
Nevertheless, his heart was not free from
trouble, for he was alike destitute of children
and collateral relations; and when his potations
had rendered him somewhat maudlin, he began
to bewail a state of things which would end in
the transfer of his jurte (hut) and all his
property to some stranger with whom he could feel
no natural sympathy. After a bad day's sport
on the following day, he was returning sulkily
home, when, in the midst of his flocks, he saw
a boy who, though only three years of age, was a
wonderful personage, inasmuch as the fire from
his eyes lighted up the clouds above his head,
and the earth around him, with a ruddy glow.
So much was Alten Chan displeased by this
apparition, that he returned to his jurte in a very
ill humour, and would neither drink his wine
nor taste a morsel of food. Poor Alten Areg,
deeply distressed, thought that perhaps one of
his horses had received a hurt, or that the cut
of one of his garments was not according to his
taste; but she was speedily informed that he
had found a strange boy, about whom he
entertained such uneasy suspicions that he intended
to render him harmless by hacking him to pieces.
The tender-hearted dame did not at all approve
of this project, as she surmised that the child
might possibly have been sent by Kudai (the
Tartar deity) as a compensation for their want of
natural heirs. Instead of attending to her
supplications, Alten Chan snatched up his golden
sword, and, walking out of his jurte, ordered
nine of his heroes to bring the suspicious boy
before him without the slightest delay. This
command was executed with all promptness, and
soon the child was laid across a broad block of
stone, and Alten Chan was lifting up his steel
sword for the purpose of striking off his head.
This horrible spectacle so deeply moved the
heart of Alten Areg, that she begged to be slain
instead of the child, or, if that request could not
be granted, to be killed at the same time; but
the stern Alten Chan gave her no answer beyond
a severe flogging, which lasted several hours,
and left her (as well it might) completely
exhausted. Being thus secure, as he fondly
imagined, from all interruption, good Alten Chan
dealt a smart blow at the nape of the boy's
neck; but, behold! the sword would not cut,
and an attempt to pierce the child with a
spear proved equally abortive. He now
resolved to try the effect of an arrow, and,
riding on his whity-blue steed to the top of the
lofty mountain, while his docile heroes below
held the boy in a good target-like position, he
drew his bow with such force that the horse
sank, stirrup-deep, into the ground— at which
fact we cease to wonder when we are informed
that the pull lasted from early morning till late
in the evening. However, strong and long as
the pull was, this method was no more effective
than the others, for the arrow rebounded back
from the boy's chest as if it had struck against
a rock, and Alten Chan, terribly frightened,
scampered back towards his jurte as fast as his
legs could carry him.

The extremely Hard Boy, extricating himself,
at last, from the hands of the nine heroes, shouted
a few words of explanation after the terrified
Alten Chan, informing him that he (the Hard
Boy) was the gift of Kudai, and warning him that,
in consequence of his cruel behaviour, forty
horrible Swan Women from the seventeenth stratum
of the earth, accompanied by their ally Katai Alep,
from the ninth stratum, would all attack him on
the following morning, and that he (the boy)
intended quietly to look on, while these numerous
foes cut the inhospitable Chan to pieces. Having
uttered this disagreeable prediction, the Hard
Boy melted away like lead, and sank into the
earth.

Here was fresh cause of alarm for Alten Chan,
and when he re-entered his jurte, his respect for
his wife, Alten Areg, had so far increased, that he
began to ask her opinion about the Hard Boy's
predictions, and graciously tasted the refreshments
which that forgiving female set before
him as usual.

The dreaded morning came, and brought with
it the mighty Katai Alep, who came riding on
his chesnut horse, and was followed by the
eldest of the Swan Women. Alten Chan sprang
upon his whity-blue steed, and, at the first
encounter, dealt Katai Alep such a blow on the
cheek that he felled him to the ground; but