was ready, a low table was placed before us, on which was spread a tablecloth with a pattern of blue flowers. Mutton broth, containing pieces of the meat, was first served to us in a wooden bowl. Knives and wooden spoons were then handed to us, with a cake made of cheese, butter, dough, and onions, which tasted extremely well. A similar cake is said to be common among the Thuringian peasants. Our table was lighted by a burning piece of pinewood stuck in the wall, and a wick placed in a little bowl of tallow. Bread-cakes were baked in the ashes. It is remarkable that all these articles are quite unknown to the other Caucasian races, and are entirely German, or at least European in character.

The majority of the Ossetes are nominally Christians, and belong to the Greek Church: but there are some dwelling on the Circassian frontier who are Mahomedaus; neither Christianity nor Mahomedanism, however, appears to make much impression on them: they are, in fact, semi-pagans, indeed, some are wholly and avowedly heathens. They offer sacrifices of bread and flesh upon altars in sacred groves. The physiognomy, figure, and whole outward appearance of the Ossetes, form a perfect contrast to the surrounding Caucasian tribes, especially the Georgians, who are characterised by a tall slender figure, a noble bearing, regular features, aquiline nose, finely formed mouth, dark complexion, black eyes and hair, in short, exhibiting the truest type of form and beauty. The Ossetes, on the other hand, are short and thickset, being rarely above five feet four inches in height, and have broad, haggard features, usually blue eyes, and red or light brown hair. The women are seldom pretty; they are short, stoutly built, and mostly flat-nosed. Kohl mentions the extrordinarily small and wellformed feet of the Ossetes: I can neither confirm nor dispute the statement, for it was rainy weather, and their thick clumsy shoes rendered it impossible to judge of the size of their feet. The women and girls are nimble in their gait, but the men have the heavy tread of the German peasant: as Peter Neu walked beside them they quite reminded me of the Swabian countryfolks. The language spoken by the Ossetes, according to the celebrated Russian philologist Sjörn, belongs to the Indo-Germanic stem; at the same time it is an independent language, and more nearly allied to the Persian than to the German, resembling the Finnish in the use of postpositions: it has no prepositions. A mythological tradi

tion of the Scandinavian Germans says, that the later divine race of the Asa emigrated hence with their people northward; but the accredited story informs us that, in the great wanderings of the Teutonic races, especially the Goths, these peoples migrated north to the foot of the Caucasus, established themselves there, and founded a powerful

kingdom, from which they were afterwards expelled by Eastern races, the Huns, and driven toward the West. The only certain fact is, that some of them remained in these parts. Many of the Goths settled in the mountains of the Crimea, and traces of them existed there until a recent period. It is indeed possible that a branch of this Teutonic race may have settled permanently among the mountains of the Caucasus.

"To which of these sources can we ascribe the similarity of institutions, and the intermingling of blood between the Germans and Ossetes? If the latter were the original race from which the Germans descended, a greater affinity would exist between their languages, whereas, in fact, the Ossetian is more nearly allied to the Persian. It may perhaps be said that the German, Persian, and Ossetian, are sister-languages, deriving their origin from the same Indo-Germanic stem, from which they branched out simultaneously. The emigration of the Asm, the second source of consanguinity which I have pointed out, seems to me too mythical and obscure to build upon. The accidental similarity of names, such as Ossen, Assen, who are said to have founded Azof, on the Mæotis, proves no connexion with the northern Asæ. Moreover, the Ossetes call themselves by the name Ir and Iron; the name Ossetes is only given them by other nations. The third conjecture is, that the Ossetes are descendants of the Goths, or other Germanic tribes allied with them. Here again the entire difference of language would appear to raise a radical objection. But it was a peculiarity of the Germanic emigrating tribes, that in their new homes they firmly adhered to their old judicial institutions and habits, their social and domestic customs and modes of life, which they imparted to the people they subjugated. At the same time in mingling with the conquered race they thus formed a new people, preserving all the habits and customs, both legal and social, of the mother country, whilst they lost their own language, retaining merely a slight similarity of construction and a few German words. It was the same with the Franks and Burgundians in Gaul, the Goths and Vandals in Spain, the Lombards in Italy, and the Normans in Gaul and Italy. Is it not possible that some tribe of the Goths may have wandered or been driven into the Caucasus, have fallen upon the original race of the Ossetes or Alani, conquered and mingled with them, and thus formed a new race? The language of the conquerors may have disappeared, but the German blood, physiognomy, characteristics, institutions, habits, and social customs, may have been so perfectly engrafted and adopted by the conquered country, that no European can travel through it without instantly observing their German origin.-pp. 386-419.

Of the position of the Russians

themselves engaged elsewhere, so that this whole force cannot be at once exerted, and it requires but some leader equal to the occasion, or some incident appealing to the popular feeling, to set the whole country in a blaze of insurrection. We have no certain intelligence how far present circumstances have yet had this effect, or have paved the way for it; but should it arise, we have before declared our opinion that Europe should henceforward sternly resolve that Russia should have no Transcaucasia. The Caucasus should be the Switzerland of the East, with the additional advantage over Switzerland of having a sea-board in the Black Sea, which should be free and open to all comers, by which assistance the yet unbeaten tribes of the Caucasus should be united by the reconquest of the Russian territory which now separates them, and Russia should have her border removed altogether to the valleys of the Terek and the Kuban, and all her pillage of the last fifty years restored to its proper owners. Before the year 1802, she did not possess a foot of land on the south side of the range of the Caucasus; it was only twenty years before that that she stole the Crimea, and the country between the Sea of Azof and the Caspian; she has not yet acquired a title by any suf ficient length of occupancy;" she holds merely by the strong hand of rapine, and there can be no possible injustice in a stronger than she forcing her to let go her hold.

These, however, are questions which are not treated of by our author, although they inevitably arise from perusing his work at the present juncture. We can say, in conclusion, that we have derived much information from his work, and that his information is imparted in a manner which gives it the charm of amusement. His book is the work of an able observer, a calm and judicious reasoner, and a graphic and agreeable describer; and as such we can confidently recommend it to the more careful perusal and study of our readers.

I HAVE in my possession an article of jewellery which costs me many an uncomfortable twinge, though it was certainly not stolen. Neither was it begged, borrowed, given, or bought; yet looking at it, I often feel myself in the position of the old man in the nursery tale, who, having peculated from some churchyard a stray ulna, or clavicle, was perpetually haunted by the voice of its defunct owner, crying, in most unearthly tones, "Give me my bone." Now, the ornament that has unluckily fallen to my lot-I picked it up in the street-is a miniature-brooch, set with small garnets, in heavy antique gold. It is evidently a portrait of somebody or other's great-grandmother, then a fair damsel, in a rich peaked boddice and stomacher, and a heavy necklace of pearls; her hair combed over a cushion, and adorned with a tiny wreath. sweet-looking creature she is, though not positively beautiful. I never wear the brooch (and on principle I wear it frequently, in the hope of lighting upon the real owner) but I pause and speculate on the story attached to it and its original, for I am sure that both had a story. And one night lying awake, after a conversazione, my ears still ringing with the din of many voices -heavens! how these literary people do talk!-there came to me a fantasy, a vision, or a dream, whichever the reader chooses to consider it.

а

It was moonlight, of course; and her silvery majesty was so powerful that I had drawn the "draperies of my couch" quite close, to shut her out; nevertheless, as I looked on the white curtains at the foot of the bed, I saw growing there I can find no better word. an image like what shall I say?-like the dissolving views now so much the rage. It seemed to form itself out of nothing, and gradually assume a distinct shape. Lo! it was my miniature-brooch, enlarged into a goodly-sized apparition; the garnet setting giving forth glimmers of light, by which I saw the figure within, halfhuman, half-etherial, waving to and fro like vapour, but still preserving the attitude and likeness of the por

trait. Certainly, if a ghost, it was the very prettiest ghost ever seen.

I believe it is etiquette for apparitions only to speak when spoken to; So I suppose I must have addressed mine. But my phantom and I held no distinct conversation; and in all I remember of the interview the speech was entirely on its side, communicated by snatches, like breathings of an Eolian harp, and thus chronicled by me :—

How was I created, and by whom? Young gentlewoman (I honour you by using a word peculiar to my day, when the maidens were neither "misses" nor "young ladies," but essentially gentlewomen), I derived my birth from the two greatest Powers on earth-Genius and Love; but I will speak more plainly. It was a summer day-such summers one never sees now that I came to life under my originator's hand. He sat painting in a quaint old library, and the image before him was the original of what you see.

A look at myself will explain much; that my creator was a young, self-taught, and as yet only half-taught, artist, who, charmed with the expression, left accurate drawing to take its chance. His sitter's character and fortune are indicated too though she was not beautiful, sweetness and dignity are in the large dark eyes and finely-pencilled eyebrows; and while the pearls, the velvet, and the lace, show wealth and rank, the rose in her bosom implies simple maidenly tastes. Thus the likeness tells its own tale-she was an Earl's daughter, and he was a poor artist.

Many a time during that first day of my existence I heard the sweet voice of Lady Jean talking in kindly courtesy to the painter as he drew. "She was half-ashamed that her father had asked him to paint only a miniature; he whose genius and inclination led him to the highest walks of art." But the artist answered somewhat confusedly, "That having been brought up near her father's estate, and hearing so much of her goodness, he was only too happy to paint any likeness of the Lady Jean.' And I do believe he was.

"

"I also have heard of you, Mr. Bethune," was the answer; and the lady's aristocratically pale cheek was tinged with a faint rose colour, which the observant artist would fain have immortalised, but could not for the trembling of his hand. "It gives me pleasure," she continued, with a quiet dignity befitting her rank and woman, hood, "to not only make the acquaintance of the promising artist, but the good man.' Ah! me, it was a mercy Norman Bethune did not annihilate my airy existence altogether with that hurried dash of his pencil; it made the mouth somewhat awry, as you may see in me to this day.

There was a hasty summons from the Earl, "That himself and Sir Anthony desired the presence of the Lady Jean.' An expression half of pain, half of anger, crossed her face, as she replied, "Say that I attend my father. I believe," she added, "we must end the sitting for to-day. Will you leave the miniature here, Mr. Bethune ?"

The artist muttered something about working on it at home, with Lady Jean's permission; and as one of the attendants touched me, he snatched me up with such anxiety that he had very nearly destroyed his own work,

"Ah! 'twould be unco like her bonnie face gin she were as blithe as she was this morn. But that canna be, wi' a dour father like the Earl, and an uncomely, wicked wooer like Sir Anthony. Hech sir, but I am wae for the Leddy Jean!"

I know not why Norman should have listened to the "auld wife's clavers," nor why, as he carried me home, I should have felt his heart beating against me to a degree that sadly endangered my young tender life.

I suppose it was his sorrow for having thus spoilt my half-dry colours that made him not show me to his mother, though she asked him, and also from the same cause that he sat half the night contemplating the injury thus done.

Again and again the young artist went to the castle, and my existence slowly grew from day to day; though never was there a painting whose infancy lasted so long. Yet I loved my creator, tardy though he was, for I felt that he loved me, and that in

every touch of his pencil he infused into me some portion of his soul. Often they came and stood together, the artist and the Earl's daughter, looking at me. They talked, she dropping the aristocratic hauteur, which hid a somewhat immature mind, ignorant less from will than from circumstance and neglect. While he, forgetting his worldly rank, rose to that which nature and genius gave him. Thus both unconsciously fell into their true position as man and woman, teacher and learner, the greater and the less.

"Another sitting, and the miniature will be complete, I fear," murmured Norman, with a consciencestricken look, as he bent over me, his fair hair almost touching my ivory. A caress, sweet, though no longer new to me; for many a time his lipsbut this is telling tales, so no more! My painted, yet not soulless eyes, looked at my master, as did others, of which mine were but the poor shadow. Both eyes, the living and the lifeless, were now dwelling on his countenance, which I have not yet described, nor need I. Never yet was there a beautiful soul that did not stamp upon the outward man some reflex of itself; and therefore, whether Norman Bethune's face and figure were perfect or not,

matters not.

"It is nearly finished," mechanically said the Lady Jean. She looked dull that day, and her eyelids were heavy as with tears-tears which (as I heard many a whisper say) a harsh father gave her just cause to shed.

"Yes, yes, I ought to finish it," hurriedly replied the artist, as if more in answer to his own thoughts than to her, and he began to paint; but evermore something was wrong. He could not work well; and then the Lady Jean was summoned away, returning with a weary look, in which wounded feeling struggled with pride. Once too we plainly heard (I know my master did, for he clenched his hands the while) the Earl's angry voice, and Sir Anthony's hoarse laugh; and when the Lady Jean came back, it was with a pale stern look, pitiful in one so young. As she resumed the sitting her thoughts evidently were wandering, for two great tears stole into her eyes, and down her cheeks. Well-a

The last sitting came-it was hurried and brief, for there seemed something not quite right in the house; and as we came to the castle, Norman and I (for he had got into the habit of always taking me home with him) heard something about "a marriage," and "Sir Anthony.' I felt my poor

master shudder as he stood.

The Lady Jean rose to bid the artist adieu. She had seemed agitated during the sitting at times, but was quite calm now.

"Farewell," she said, and stretched out her hand to him with a look, first of the Earl's daughter, then of the woman only; the woman, gentle, kindly, even tender, yet never forgetting her. self, or her maidenly reserve.

"I thank you," she added, "not merely for this (she laid her hand on me), but for your companionship;" and she paused as if she would fain have said friendship, yet feared. "You have done me good; you have elevated my mind; and from you I have learned, what else I might never have done, reverence for man. God bless you with a life full of honour and fame, and, what is rarer still, happiness!" She half sighed, extended her hand without looking toward him; he clasped it a moment, and then. she was gone!

My master stared dizzily round, fell on his knees beside me, and groaned out the anguish of his spirit. His only words were, "Jean, Jean, so good, so pure Thou, the Earl's daughter, and I the poor artist!" As he departed he moaned them out once more, kissed passionately my unresponsive image, and fled; but not ere the Lady Jean, believing him gone, and coming to fetch the precious likeness, had silently entered and seen him thus.

She stood awhile in silence, gazing the way he had gone, her arms folded on her heaving breast. She whispered to herself, "Oh! noble heart!

Oh! noble heart!" and her eyes lightened, and a look of rapturous pride, not pride of rank, dawned in the face of the Earl's daughter. Then she too knelt, and kissed me, but solemnly, even with tears.

The next day, which was to have been that of her forced marriage with Sir Anthony, Lady Jean had filed. She escaped in the night, taking with her only her old nurse and me, whom she hid in her bosom.

"You would not follow the poor artist to wed him?" said the nurse.ou

"Never!" answered the Lady Jean.

"I would live alone by the labour of my hands; but I will keep true to him till my death. For my father, who has cursed me, and cast me off, here I renounce my lineage, and am no longer an Earl's daughter." mola So went she forth, and her place knew her no more.

For months, even years, I lay shut up in darkness, scarcely ever exposed to the light of day; but I did not murmur; I knew that I was kept, as you mortals keep your hearts' best treasures, in the silence and secresy of love. Sometimes, late at night, pale wearied hands would unclasp my coverings, and a face, worn indeed, but having a sweet repose, such as I had never seen in that of the former Lady Jean, would come and bend over me with an intense gaze, as intense as that of Norman Bethune, under which I had glowed into life. Poor Norman! if he had but known.

All this while I never heard my master's name. Lady Jean (or Mistress Jean as I now heard her called) never uttered it, even to solitude and me. But once, when she had shut herself up in her poor chamber, she sat reading some papers with smiles, oftener with loving tears, and then placed the fragments with me in my hiding-place; and so some magic bond existing between my master and me, his soul's child-I saw, shining in the dark, the name of Norman Bethune, and read all that Lady Jean had read. He had become a great man, a renowned artist; and these were the public chronicles of his success. I, the pale reflex of the face which Norman had loved the face which, more than any other in the