the same language, pointing to a number of new baskets she carried on her arm, and which appeared to be for sale.

"To Hermannstadt, buona Signora."

"To Hermannstadt? But where will you sleep? You cannot reach that town to-night."

"There!" was the laconic reply, motioning in the direction of the woods opposite.

The bestowal of ten kreuzers brought upon our heads a shower of gipsy blessings, and as she kissed our hands and went wandering on her way, we watched the blue mist rising from the valley and shuddered as we pictured to our minds the young creature lying with her baby in the lonely woods through the hours of darkness. To the free, unfettered, true-born gipsy, however, the canopy of heaven is her roof, the horizon the boundary of her habitation, the stars her companions, and grim night itself the kind and gentle mother soothing her to sleep, for familiarity with nature has made her one with it, and it with her.

As we recross the Roumanian frontier, and once more plant our feet on Hungarian soil we see approaching in picturesque procession a large herd of long-haired goats accompanied by a man playing the bag-pipes, the harsh strains of which he seems to be thoroughly enjoying as he slowly heads his woolly charge. He is a wild-looking fellow, clad from head to foot in sheep-skin, but we address him also in Italian, and ho understands our simple questions perfectly, and tells us he is leading his flock over into Turkey for pasture. On observing that we take an interest in his rude instrument, he takes from the capacious pocket of his loose jacket another consisting of a long horn made from the bark of a tree, through which he blows lustily,

waking the echoes along the valley for many a mile. He is followed by two lovely Roumanian girls, of whom it is said there are many in the Sultan's Harem, who have been stolen from this district from their parents and carried back captive to Turkey.

The natives of Roumania or Wallachia proper have a very Grecian type of feature, and seem to possess even yet the reflection of the Thracian blood of their ancestors.

VOL. II.

L

CHAPTER XL.

THE GREEK HERMITAGE OF BUCSECS.

IN consequence of its proximity to Turkey, Kronstadt wears an almost Eastern look, while, lying as it does between mountains that separate Transylvania from Wallachia, its position is exceedingly picturesque, its walls and towers and bristling spires standing out against a background of green. It is a bustling town, full of life and animation, a considerable trade being carried on between it and Moldavia and Wallachia in articles manufactured in the district, from which cause Kronstadt is frequently called the "Transylvanian Manchester."

Its population, which consists of about 50,000 souls, is, like that of many other parts of Hungary, "mixed," and the stranger, as he walks the streets, is jostled, not only by the canny "Saxon" and wily Székler, the cunning Jew, and the polished Greek, but by the demure and smooth-faced Armenian, likewise the "Quaker of the East."

If everything in Hermannstadt reminds one of the "life and times" of Albert Dürer, how much more does Kronstadt, in spite of its polyglot population and Eastern habits. What curious old passages, staircases, and galleries are there, and

strong buttresses, gateways, and towers which seem to be enclosing prison walls!

In the old quarter no two houses are alike. There are high ones against which small "leans-to" are clinging like barnacles against a ship's side, whilst others seem to have thrown out bulbs and bulbous protuberances like miniature reproductions of themselves, and there is a hopeless and bewildering medley of masonry everywhere.

In this neighbourhood, as in Hermannstadt, the churches are surrounded by high battlemented walls and other means of defence against the wild Moslem hordes, which, pouring in through the passes of the south-east Carpathians, once swept over the smiling plains of Kronstadt. In the quaint little suburban villages we are reminded of those of the Sieben Gebirge on the Rhine, their heavy stillness being full of the poetry of the middle ages.

In one of these villages it was also our fate to spend Sunday. As the great bell began to toll for Gottesdienst, the people pour out of the massive oak doorways of the houses as from old picture-frames, the women in their high, drumshaped, black velvet hats, and the men in quaint leathern sleeveless jerkins and small clothes precisely like those worn in England in the 17th century.

On many of the houses in these villages, painted in large German characters above the doors or windows, and sometimes stretching across the whole length of the house, are appropriate verses of Scripture, such as the following: "The Lord bless thy going out and thy coming in."

Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain who build it;" whilst on a barn where corn was housed, we read the words, "The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof,"

and on a house at the entrance to the village were the words, "Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain," all testifying to the devout minds of the inhabitants. But let us follow them into the old church, and taking our seats on the benches that are arranged, one side for the men, the other for women, await the commencement of the Lutheran service. The sermon, happily for us, on this occasion is in "High German." The preacher, a funny little man of unusual volubility of speech for one of the Teuton race, takes for his subject the "Peace of Heaven." No sooner had the hymn ceased and the sermon begun, than, with one accord, the old men and women deliberately folded their arms and went off into a comfortable doze!

Within the pulpit, as in many old Roman Catholic churches, were several steps, and the preacher, beginning his sermon on the lowest, mounts one by one as he warms to his subject. In olden times it would seem to have been the custom for these "Saxon" grandsires and grandams to fall victims to slumber, for in the ancient archives of their church are rules framed when they first settled in the land, one of which imposes a penalty of eight kreuzers— a large sum in those days-on any one who should fall asleep during Divine service-a rule that would, however, seem to be relaxed in these degenerate days.

Presently, whilst the other sleepers maintained rigid silence, an old goody clad in a black cloth cloak of mediaval pattern, and sitting on a bench immediately before me, began to snore, an occasion which was "improved " by a younger woman, who, by a series of strong-minded and well-directed pokes with her elbow, endeavoured to keep the offender awake. These demonstrations, however, had no effect, beyond that