Joy and sorrow are undoubtedly the mirror, in which not only is the character of a people clearly reflected, but which likewise offers the most faithful image of their manners and customs. In joy and sorrow every sign of dissimulation vanishes, man shows himself in his true colours, and the lights and shades of his temperament become at once apparent; for, in any matter of real feeling, it is vain to try to speak and act differently to the dictates of this potent voice within us. And nowhere is a better opportunity offered for studying the various features of joy and sorrow, than at a birth, marriage, and death,--those three stages in the great family of mankind. The main outlines are no doubt everywhere the same, but in the colouring and composition a variety is produced, not found even among civilized nations. Ethnography has frequently thrown light on this subject in different parts of the world; but we must confess that Central Asia in this respect is wrapt in considerable obscurity. To attempt to dispel this darkness may therefore not be deemed superfluous; and, the savage Polynesian and Central African having resisted vainly the spirit of inquiry, we will in like manner raise the veil from the rude and suspicious Œzbeg. It is a first attempt, and consequently a feeble one. 1. BIRTH. As soon as a woman in Central Asia (I refer to a settled family), about to become a mother, feels the first pangs of childbirth, she sends for her neighbour, her nearest relations, a midwife, and a nurse for the child. A new felt or carpet is spread out in the tent or room, and upon this the woman is placed, with her legs doubled under her. As the pains increase, her nearest relations squat round her; and she, flinging both her arms round the neck of two of her most intimate friends, the midwife seizes her by the thighs, and moves her about, until she has been delivered of the child. She is now placed upon a bed, the relations taking the mother under their care, and the midwife having charge of the child. The former is restored to strength by friction on the temples and pulse, whilst the midwife sets about cutting out swaddling-clothes from a new piece of linen, in which she wraps the infant, strictly observing the various superstitious customs. Then taking the remainder of the linen to the mother, she informs her of the sex and appearance of her child; she also is the bearer of the happy tidings to the father, from whom she receives a present on this occasion. In fact, the kindik kesen (swaddling-clothes maker) plays a very important part in the whole affair. For three days the child is invisible to every one, during which time it is frequently smeared over with butter, and, to prevent any redness in them, which is considered extremely objectionable, the eyes are washed with salt water. It is then clothed in a little shirt, and finally it is laid upon a pillow of camel's hair, and exhibited. Now all the