Those of the Wallachs generally consist of a ring some three or four inches in diameter, from which hang loose pendants of rich design. They do not go through the ear, but are fastened round it; hence the necessity of the long, loose chain which crosses the neck and connects them for safety to each other. These circular earrings are very becoming to their Wallach wearers, who have oval faces, and possess, like the Magyars, bewitching beauty when young, but, alas! how soon their beauty fades.

Mr. Bonar was evidently well known here also, our host remarking that he remembered having seen him when a lad, and whenever he is alluded to it is invariably as "the Englishman."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE ROTHER THURM PASS.

COPLE never keep time in Transylvania, neither do the

PEOPLE

clocks. By the one ticking in our room it is just half-past four, whereas our watches, differing somewhat in opinion, point to a quarter to seven.

The previous evening a droszky had been ordered to be ready at six o'clock to take us on our proposed excursion to the Valley of the Aluta, but still it made no sign. At length, after sending András, two waiters, and the landlord himself to hasten its arrival, at half-past seven it came dashing under the old archway with "exemplary punctuality" according as that substantive is understood in Hungary.

Anxious to see some of the by-ways of Transylvania, and having left our own carriage at Pest on starting for the Danube, we hire one here for a week, together with a stout pair of horses, for which András agrees to pay eight gulden a day and the driver's expenses.

Some difficulty, however, was experienced in finding a driver, the landlord of the hotel being unable to spare his own for so long a period. There were plenty of Wallachs to be met with who could drive, but the difficulty was to find one of sufficiently lax morals to consent to start on the day

we desired. To do so on a fast day would be out of the question, and as Tuesday and Saturday are unlucky days, and to start on a Friday would inevitably result in the most disastrous consequences, there were not many days left to choose from. Monday, however, fortunately happened to be an "off" day. True, it was the Vigil of St. Philomena, V.M., but on our proposal to start so early in the morning, that little obstacle was in some measure overcome.

Few arrangements were necessary for the journey. In a country where such Oriental hospitality exists, more than one day's provisions were unnecessary. Our programme in the first instance was to travel due south through the Valley of the Aluta into Roumania, and then, rejoining the highroad at Vestan, journey to Kronstadt, the latter being only two or at most three days' distance from Hermannstadt.

The morning is heavenly, and our hearts light as air, as, thundering through the archway, we emerge into a street and go rattling off towards the Fogaras Mountains. As we pass the barracks the cavalry are parading on the plain outside, and fifes and drums playing vigorously; but away we go into the open country between boundless stretches of yellowing corn. The road which is wide is crowded with vehicles on their way to market; waggons filled with hides, barrels of wine, and farm produce; pedestrians driving cows and calves, the latter so extremely juvonile that they cannot walk alone and require assistance, for infantine veal is much esteemed by the "natives." Other pedestrians are driving small colts-also weak on the legs-and carrying in their bosoms tenderly and lovingly wee, snow-white lambs.

Next comes a Transylvanian swine-herd driving his unsavoury flock of yellow pigs--lean as Pharaoh's kine-

and in form hyenas, with long, red-brown hair and high backs resembling those we saw when travelling amongst the Slovaks. All have come from distant villages, and who shall say how early in the dawn their owners started, for the Wallachs, whatever else may be laid to their charge, are at any rate no sluggards. Plenty of Saxons," too, are hastening along the road clothed in white fricze jerkins and felt hats.

"

The two races are not easily distinguished by their dress, but we recognise them by a truer sign. The Wallachs as they pass us lift their hats, and in their soft and melodious tongue exclaim "Bune deminiace!" (good morning). A carriage passes us containing a Wallachian gentleman, who also takes his cigar from his lips and greets us with the word, "Applecaciune!" which also means good morning," but a form of salutation used between equals, the former expression being invariably adopted by an inferior when addressing a superior. Even when lying down in their coats, the otherwise lazy Wallach, unless he happen to be fast asleep, will rise to perform this little act of civility, but the "Saxons" take no notice of us whatever, and go trudging on their way in dogged silence. Very pleasing is the courtesy of the Wallach, and we are careful to return it, upon which they lift their hats again and again and add something which we cannot understand.

Now and then a waggon covered with an awning of plaited reeds, and filled with peasant women and girls clad in holiday attire, comes lumbering along, and sometimes an old weather-beaten, time-worn caleche drawn by three horses abreast, with nodding hood, in which sit the squires and squireens of the neighbouring country, smoking long pipes,

on their way to Hermannstadt to see the price at which the produce of their estates sells at the market.

Away right before us tower the Transylvanian Alps, their summits covered with snow. All the market people have passed by this time on their way-the last herd of swine; the last shaky little calves and long-legged, straddling colts; the last waggon-load of "Saxon" or Wallach girls; and the last family of unkempt, unwashed gipsies, their legs bound up in flannel à la Wallach, and tied round with leather thongs-all have passed, and we have the road to ourselves with the exception of a heavy bullock cart driven by a woman with a baby in her arms, and now and then a waggon driven lazily by a drowsy Wallach.

Already women from distant and unseen villages have begun their labours in the pastures, some guiding the rude plough, whilst others are sowing seed, grain by grain from their blue aprons, like people in the Bible. On the uplands,