The Circassian nation have no written laws. The Russians, like many of their neighbours, have a whole library containing such, but nine times out of ten these written laws are perverted; but with the Circassians custom supplies their place, and these unwritten customs are inviolate. Nowhere are these more rigidly observed than by the Cherkesses. They are also celebrated for the religious observance of their oath; and although the Zaporavians, or the Tchernomorskie Cossac, and this people entertain towards each other a hate so deadly, that, when some of both sides have fallen in their skirmishes along the line of the Kouban, the Cossacs dare not bury them together, but are at the trouble of digging separate holes, under the apprehension that the bodies would not rest in peace within the same grave. Yet no Tchernomorskie would consider himself in the slightest peril in venturing into the heart of the hostile mountains, if his safety was secured by the word of a Cherkess.

E brought my father home from India, where, in order to obtain his rank as colonel, he had stayed so long that he now evidently laboured under mortal sickness. Having married a poor woman, his father deprived him of all assistance, and cast him off entirely; so that the rank, with its consequent income, had been a great object, for my father was not one of those who made fortunes in India. However, we hoped much from his native climate. On arriving in England, we heard that my grandfather had died, and a letter was sent to the

heir, his eldest son. It was returned, opened, and enclosed in a cover, inscribed within "From Mark Boteler," in my uncle's own hand. He did not wish to incur the expense of a reconcilement with a brother who had, at least, an equitable claim on a share in the family property. My father was almost a stranger in England, and he wrote to an old friend who had settled as a lawyer at Lynford, in Kent. The answer was from Mr. Lane's son, saying that his father was dead, but strongly inviting my father to come down and visit him. My father was now so ill that all devolved upon my mother and me; and I wrote to young Lane, asking him to hire a house for us in his neighbourhood; for his manner was that of a friend, and we thought it well to secure some kind of companion for the invalid.

We soon set out for Lynford, which we found to be a cheerful country town, Lane's house was just on the outskirts, hidden by well-tarred palings and clus-tering trees, and pointed out by a neat brass plate on the door in the palings. A ring at the bell brought forth, first a motherly and decent-looking servant, then Lane himself-a very young man, fair, stout, beaming with good nature, and as familiar with us, especially with me and little Ellen, as if he had been our brother. The house which he had taken for us was next to his own; a very small and comfortable cottage.

Lane proved a friend indeed. He was equally a companion to my father and myself, and the adviser of all. Not long after we had settled, my father

received a letter, without date, but bearing the postmark of Ashdean (near which my uncle Mark lived), and written in a very clownish hand and manner, telling him to look after his own interests, for that Mr. Boteler was very ill-dying, and that he was at the mercy of a woman who had been his cook, but who had persuaded him to marry her, and that she and her son were perfect tyrants to the sick man. My father, in spite of his bad health, set out for Ashdean with me; we reached the place without difficulty, and saw my uncle alone. He was in bed, evidently dying; he condescended to "forgive" my father; but said that all the property would go to the heir; and supposed, with a sneer, that it was a brotherly reconciliation that my father came for, not the money. We made our visit short; and it was a fatal one to us, for the fatigue and chagrin destroyed my father, even before Mr. Mark Boteler was laid among his ancestors.

My father died all the happier at thinking that he left us near so good a protector as Lane. I had grown old enough to incur some blame at not having yet chosen a business; but my father's health absorbed every other anxiety. Not long after that suspense had ceased, Lane settled that, although so old, it would be best for me to be articled to him; and articled I was accordingly. He undertook every trouble, every expense, every responsibility.

I had been with him some time, when another letter came, in the same hand as the former, addressed to my father; from the context it seemed to be writ

ten by a dicharged servant, who had grievances of his own; but its main object was to tell my father that his brother Mark had repented, and had left him some money had revoked his will; but that there was some foul play, of which Lawyer Harris could give an explanation. Through Chance, Mereweather, and Bannerman, his London correspondents, Lane made inquiries, the result of which was, that there were some odd proceedings at Applefield, my uncle's place, just about the time of his death; but Mr. Harris was too respectable a man to be the object of suspicion. However, the effect of all these matters was, to give us a strong suspicion that there had been some foul play; the suspicion took complete possession of my mind, and I secretly determined to take some decided step to confirm or remove it. To satisfy me, Lane kept up inquiries, which served indeed to strengthen his own doubts; and thus it was that we heard of Harris's being without a clerk. I determined to apply for the situation, and obtained not only Lane's consent, but by his means, are commendation from several respectable lawyers in London.

Before I left Ashdean, I was agreeably surprised by an event of which, as is often the case in such matters, I had no anticipation. Lane announced to me, with a timidity and deference towards myself that were not the least surprising part of the business, that he was attached to my sister, whom I still thought of as a mere child-for she was even now barely sixteen; what is more, he told me that she had no dislike to