sia as
pleasant to live in as our own England. Indeed, if you were suddenly to
be transported into Circassia, you would be ready to exclaim, "Is not
this England? Here are apple-trees, and pear-trees, and plum-trees, like
those in my father's garden: those sounds are like the notes of the
blackbird and thrush, which sing among the hawthorns in English woods."

But look again, you will see vines interlacing their fruitful branches
among the spreading oaks. You do not see such vines in England. But hark!
what do I hear? It is a sound never heard in England. It is the yell of
jackals.

MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE.--There is no country in the world where the people
are as kind to strangers as in Circassia. Every family, however poor, has
a guest-house. There is the family-house, with its orchard, and stables,
and at a little distance, another house for strangers. This is no more
than a large room, with a stable at one end. The walls are made of
wicker-work, plastered with clay. There is no ceiling but the rafters,
and no floor but the bare earth. Yet there is a wide chimney, where a
blazing fire is kept up with a pile of logs. And there is a sofa or
divan, covered with striped silk, and many neat mats to serve as beds for
as many travellers as may arrive. The wind may whistle through the
chinks, and the rain come through the roof, but the stranger is well
warmed, and comfortably lodged; and above all, he has the host to wait
upon him with more attention than a servant. The supper is served as soon
as the sun sets.

But where is the table? There is none. Is the supper placed on the floor?
Not so. It is brought in on stools with three legs. They answer the
purpose of tables, trays, and dishes, all in one. What is the fare served
up? This is the sort of dinner provided. On the first table is placed a
flat loaf; the gravy in the middle, and the meat all round. When this is
taken away, another table is brought in with cheese-cakes; a third with
butter and honey; a fourth with a pie; a fifth with a cream; and last of
all, a table, with a wooden bowl of curdled milk. The company have no
plates; but each Circassian carries a spoon and a knife in his girdle,
and with these he helps himself. The servants who stand by, are not
forgotten: a piece of meat or of pie-crust is often given to one of them;
it is curious to see the men take it into a corner to eat it there. There
are many hungry poor waiting at the door of the guest-house, ready