But besides the music heard on these extraordinary occasions, the singing of ballads coupled with the telling of stories is the common entertainment of the Circassian winter evening. Then when the large logs of oak blaze on the hearth of the apartment reserved in every house for the reception of guests, and the door of which remains hospitably open throughout the day, a little company is assembled at nightfall to while away with song an hour or two before retiring to rest. The professional minstrel, who is capable of extemporizing both words and melodies, may not be present, but there will be some one, perhaps an aged blind man, or a lad skilled in music beyond his fellows, who can touch the lyre. Any person, however, happening to be present, _furore dulci plenes_, is at liberty to volunteer a song. It may be a humorous one, pointed with quaint wit, barbed with sarcasm, seasoned with homely proverbs, and acted out with singular powers of mimicry and even of ventriloquism. But more frequently it will treat of the adventures of the hunter or the traveller, and the still graver themes of war and love. If a solo, it will often be a rapid recitative, varied at short intervals by a few tenor and bass notes thrown in by three or four other voices, and producing an effect like the swell and fall of the organ. If a trio or quartette, there will still be added from time to time a heavy bass accompaniment, a sort of fugue, and in war-songs often resembling the moaning of the sea in a storm, or the wailing over the dead brought home from the battle field. Other ballads again will be more gay and lively, with responses executed by three different parties alternately. Let whatever be the theme and whoever the performers, as the song proceeds, and the feelings of all become wrought up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm by the recital of the great deeds done in battle, or gallant sacrifices dared in love, the voices of one or more of the listeners will be sure to break into the strain; the whole audience will join in the cheerful chirrup of hai-hai-cha! or the dirge-like wail of wai-wai-wai! and at the finale some deli-kan, inspired perhaps by the sight of maiden faces cautiously peering in at door or window, will scarcely be able to refrain from firing his pistol up the chimney, or even through the ceiling.