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ON a dark night last autumn I crossed the Dniester. The jolting of my conveyance over the loose wooden planks of the bridge woke me, and I saw the dark rolling stream and overhanging banks; but I was too sleepy to feel much interest in the matter, and when, in answer to my shout to the postilion to tell me where we were, he replied, "Zaleszczyki," I groaned, and went to sleep on the spot. It was not until day dawned that I realised the fact that I had actually entered the Bukovine, and had exchanged a Polish for a Roumain population. The village of Kotzmann, where we changed horses, was as different in the aspect of its inhabitants from our dining-place of the night before, as Calais is from Dover. It reminded me of an Indian station, little cottages surrounded by compounds," forming three sides of a large square, the centre being a wild piece of common, and the "bazaar" huddled together by itself. We seemed, in fact, to have moved in a few hours from Europe into Asia, and the change in the costume of the peasantry was absolutely startling; women with yellow Turkish boots, a white yashmak wrapped round the head, but leaving the features, nevertheless, visible, with sheep-skin coats trimmed with fur, beneath which bright-coloured skirts reached to the ankles, trooped across the green on their way to church, for it was a lovely Sunday morning. The aroma of the Moslem seemed to linger in the atmosphere, and it was difficult to believe that one was still in Austria. followed the groups as they converged towards the little wooden building where a cracked bell in a very primitive belfry was calling them to worship. Instead, however, of entering the church, the congregation ranged themselves in an

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outer enclosure-the men on one side, and the women on the otherand went through those prostrations characteristic of the ceremonials of the non-united Greek service. I am afraid the sudden apparition of two Englishmen in shootingcoats in this remote Bukovine village somewhat distracted their devotions, but we could scarcely have wished it otherwise, since we thus had an opportunity of examining the type of their features and the colour of their eyes. The result was decidedly satisfactory. Perhaps it was owing to the brightness of their holiday costume-perhaps this our first experience of Roumania was unusually favourable; but the fair worshippers of Kotzmann produced an impression not easily effaced. There was something theatrical in the effect of these groups of brightly dressed men and women, facing each other like the grand chorus in an opera, with the quaint old church in the background, and the rickety wooden walls of the enclosure for side-scenes, with every now and then the solemn swell of music. In another part of the village there was another church, apparently an opposition creed; but we had not time to enter it; it looked more commonplace, and all the congregation were inside; so we swallowed our usual early meal of plums, brown bread, and coffee, and were soon once more rattling across the rich undulating corn country towards Czernowitz. Though this city is the capital of the Bukovine, it has scarcely any of the distinctive features of the country villages. It is rapidly becoming destroyed by civilisation, and the railway will efface the traces which yet remain of its past traditions and national character. Situated upon a high bank overhanging the Pruth, Czernowitz commands an

extensive view of the surrounding country, and is backed by a range of hills sufficiently high to be a pleasant relief to the eye after the steppe country which stretches to the Black Sea in a southerly direction, and far into Russian Poland to the north. Containing about 20,000 inhabitants, the town consists principally of a broad centre street, which passes through the great square in which are situated the Government offices. Under the new and pretended liberal constitution of Austria, the Bukovine enjoys the privilege of a representative Chamber, consisting of twentyfive members. It is not supposed that these deputies do anything except what they are told by the Government; indeed, there is not a province more submissive and easily governed than the Bukovine. Its representatives in the Vienna Reichsrath are thoroughly harmless; nor is there a class with any other aspirations than those which should satisfy all well-ordered communities, and which consist in attaining a high degree of material prosperity without reference to abstract principles. No doubt the fact that about two-thirds of the population are Jews, accounts to some extent for the very simple view of the case which the Czernowitz public take of their interests. But if they are satisfied, why impress upon them the rights of the Roumain na tionality, or check the development of their physical resources by introducing an element of political confusion? At present, so far as I could gather, they refuse to sympathise with any one. With a population of 300,000, extremely mixed, the Bukovinians are content to sit under their vines and under their fig-trees, and to keep themselves clear of the disturbing influences of the Polish insurgents on the one hand, and of the machinations of Prince Couza on the other. It is probable that, in the event of a European war, the Bukovine will find itself in what would be called out cover-shooting-"a hot corner."

Jammed in between Galicia, Moldavia, and Bessarabia, there will very likely be a good deal of shooting going on all round; and it is not impossible that, in spite of its present exemplary conduct, it may undergo some more phases, such as have already marked its history. Originally Bukovine belonged to Transylvania; but in the fifteenth century, Stephen V. united it to Moldavia, and it was subsequently occupied by the troops of the Sultan until after the Treaty of Kaniardji. Moldavia was at that time held by Russia; and Marie Therèse having claimed the Bukovine as an appanage to Hungary, it was handed over to Austria in defiance of the remonstrances of the Porte, which has always maintained its rights, as there is no act of cession existing on the part of Turkey. There is a small Roumain aristocracy in Bukovine, consisting of a few barons; but they are a partially civilised class, and leave the development of the resources of their country entirely in the hands of Jews. In matters of religion there is a great diversity of creed, and the town is full of the churches of united and non-united Greeks, of Roman Catholics, of Lutherans, and of Jewish synagogues. To a tourist in search of unexplored mountain scenery, the Bukovine offers great attractions. The country is sufficiently civilised to secure him against the chance of an undue amount of roughing it; and before long he will be able to reach the scene of his excursions by rail. I had scarcely returned to England when I received the prospectus from the Lemberg-Czernowitz Railway Company (limited), with a capital of a million and a quarter, and a guarantee of 7 per cent from the Austrian Government. Now that a concession has been granted by the Chambers of the Principalities for a continuation of the line through Moldavia to Galatz, there can be no doubt of the advantages of the speculation, provided that political events do not interfere

with the financial arrangements of these States. For my own part I did not regret that the absence of railways compelled us to travel in the old-fashioned way. We had bought a carriage at Lemberg, in which we had already journeyed with great comfort for some hundreds of miles; and after some haggling, we finally bargained with a Jew at Czernowitz to take us with the same team in two days to Jassy. A lovely morning-undulating, prettily-wooded country, forming a pleasant contrast to the everlasting grain steppes which we had been for many days traversing a first-rate team of four horses, and a most amiable and honest-looking Jew driver, were influences which combined to put us in good spirits as we rattled along the well-kept Austrian road towards the frontier of the empire. In less than five hours we had reached Michaeleni, and plunged headlong into the dust and troubles of Moldavia. A group of soldiers in rags clustered round a tumble-down gate, a jumble of hovels on the other side of it, and, conspicuous among them, a more substantial building, with a device over the door, indicating that it was the Government custom-house, were the objects which enabled me to form my first impression of Moldavia. I had leisure to moralise upon it; for we were not permitted to pass through until our passports had been examined, and this gave me time to watch a soldier rob a Icart while the driver left it for a moment to get his pass. The head official had probably made an arrangement with the soldiers to divide the spoils thus acquired. It was a valuable piece of experience to us, as we never left the carriage unwatched afterwards. Notwithstanding liberal offers of bribes to all the Michaeleni officials, from the highly-polished superior, who spoke Parisian French, to the lowest of his subordinates, we were detained no less than three hours in the dust and sun opposite his door, and then our troubles were only beginning; for

our honest-looking Jew turned out an exceptional rogue, even for his race. He had received half the contract money before starting, and now, having performed less than a fourth of the journey, he announced his intention of handing us over to a brother Hebrew, and returning with his own team to Czernowitz. In vain did we implore and anathematise alternately; he was master of the situation, and, deliberately informing us that we should not be required to pay more than the other half to our new driver, he trotted back to Czernowitz with £5 in his pocket. Three miserable rats, and a driver who spoke no known tongue, contrasted wretchedly with the four strong blacks and the too civilised Israelite who had departed, and we crawled out of Michaeleni at three in the afternoon in a very low state of mind, and muttering vows of vengeance against the race which had betrayed us.

It was nine o'clock at night when, to our surprise, we found ourselves rumbling along the streets of a large city. My ignorance of Moldavia had been so profound that I had never even heard that such a place as Botuchany existed until within the last few hours, and then I pictured it a miserable Moldavian village. At that hour the hum of a large population, crooked and narrow streets and bazaars, squares ill lighted up, and shops still driving a busy trade, a circus and a band, were sights and sounds which took us as much by surprise as the very tolerable house of entertainment to which our exhausted nags had just strength enough left to drag us. Though Botuchany is a city containing about forty thousand inhabitants, it is not often visited by the British traveller, and the master of the hotel and his guests inspected us with no little curiosity, and asked us the question to which we had by this time become accustomed

whether we were engineers for the railway? We found him a sympathetic and intelligent host.

He informed us that Botuchany was a thriving, prosperous place, and the residence of several great boyards, and offered us a team of horses to Jassy for the half price which was still due to the Jew. We thus had an opportunity of retaliating upon the fraternity, and left him and his ponies to recover what they could from the original swindler who had let them in for this unprofitable job. Before we left Czernowitz we had been regaled with anecdotes about the insecurity of the roads at night, and the plundering propensities of the gypsies who infest the country, and were reported to be skilful and daring highwaymen. When, however, we repeated these tales to our host at Botuchany, he laughed them to scorn. It turned out a Bukovinian invention. The only more cowardly race in Europe than the Roumains are the gypsies who inhabit these provinces, which accounts for the safety of the most lonely roads at night. The character of the country from Botuchany to Jassy differed entirely from that which we had already traversed. We exchanged hills and woods for boundless arid steppe, such as I had once crossed years ago in the country of the Don Cossacks. The road, a mere track, was knee-deep in the finest dust in summer, and an impassable slough in winter. The high wind, which seemed to blow for our especial benefit, carried it in moving clouds over the face of the country-now it swept up like a waterspout in a spiral column-now obscured the sun and landscape with a dense yellow haze. Soon every crevice of one's clothing and skin became a receptacle for the almost impalpable particles, and our eyes smarted to that extent that the beauties of the scenery, had there been any, Iwould have been lost upon us. Fortunately we could cover our eyes in all confidence; except here and there a solitary shepherd in a sheep-skin, his form clearly defined against the sky-line, not a human being enlivened the prospect, and

we reached our mid-day haltingplace without meeting a traveller. The spot was characteristic of the scene, but most un-European. A large square stone building, with a walled court, like an Eastern caravanserai, was placed near the only well in this tract of the country. Here a perpetual drawing of water went on for flocks and herds which gathered to it for miles. Had it not been for the short dry grass, one might have imagined one's self in the desert. The men and women, who seemed to live nowhere, but turned up with the flocks they were watering, seemed Eastern. A dozen gypsies' huts contained the entire population of this uncouth spot; and even these could scarcely be dignified with the name of huts, for they were simply oblong holes dug out of the ground to a depth of about three feet, and over them was placed a pent roof of grass thatch. The sides of the hole formed the walls, and the entrance admitted light and allowed the smoke to escape. Stark-naked children clung to their semi-nude mothers, and exhibited flesh that looked as if it had been smoke-dried and tanned expressly. They all seemed to present a sort of cooked appearance; one might almost say badly cooked, for they looked overdone and chippy. It no more mattered to them than to the beasts of the field, whether the sun blazed fiercely or the rain fell in torrents. From the moment of their birth they are exposed to the elements, and hang naked on their mothers' breasts in all weathers. Not until they are twelve or fourteen do they put anything on, and then as little as possible. Magnificent long black hair, and large wild lustrous eyes of the same colour, are the redeeming features of the race, which would indeed be generally considered handsome, were it not for the harshness of the expression. The chief product of the country is Indian corn; and behind the gypsy village was a curious arrangement for storing it, which puzzled us

at first, for it consisted of a series of rows of wicker - work frames, about fifteen feet high, three feet broad, fifty yards long, and six or eight yards apart. At a distance it presented all the appearance of a regularly built village in streets, but a closer inspection revealed to us its real purpose. Altogether we passed two hours without difficulty, surrounded by so much that was novel and characteristic, and had just exhausted the resources of the spot when we left it to pursue our way over country wilder if possible and more desolate than that we had already traversed. A bakedlooking ragged village, near a muddy pond, was a positive relief to the monotony; and the indication of civilisation furnished by a boyard's house, situated in a grove of trees, evidently the result of much care, although they looked stunted and weather-beaten, was quite refreshing. Then we came upon fields of water-melon and Indian corn, and met carts and passengers, and felt we were approaching a large city. A few miles before reaching it, we came upon several hundred carts encamped in a valley for the night, with the oxen lowing for food and water, and groups of swarthy men and women clustered round camp-fires, eating or gambling; while, hovering on the outskirts like pariah dogs picking up the crumbs of a feast, gyp sies prowled and begged and pilfered: and so, as evening closed in, up a steep ascent, from the summit of which we looked gratefully down upon the the capital of Moldavia, its large handsome white buildings running along the crest of a hill and down its sides. At the entrance to the town we were stopped for our passports and the other documents with which we had been furnished at Michaeleni, and, rattling over the rough uneven pavement, finally pulled up at the door of the French cook to whose hostelry we had been recommended in consideration of the dishes which it produced. A week's residence

at Jassy only served to make me the more regret the necessity which compelled me to turn my back upon it; but if a consolation was needed, I found it in the pleasurable anticipations which were excited by the excursion upon which I was bound. When, in our capacity of tourists, my friend or I asked what there was to be seen in the country, we invariably received for answer, "The convents." Not being a bibliomane, or a member of the Greek Church, it seemed odd that convents should possess in Moldavia an interest for the chance traveller which did not belong to them elsewhere. Nor could we obtain any definite information as to the nature of the interest: it was not the scenery, though that was fine; nor the architecture, though that we took for granted was quaint; nor the political considerations which attached to them, though Prince Couza was recklessly despoiling the Church; to all further inquiries we were told that we had better go and see for ourselves. So, in a state of extreme bewilderment at so novel an expedition, we made preparations to post to Nyamptz, two of our Jassy friends kindly volunteering to accompany us, and do the honours of the establishments we were about to visit. It was ten o'clock at night before we had bidden our last adieux and galloped out of Jassy. I say galloped advisedly, for we were in two light open carriages and four, and Moldavian postilions have no notion of letting the grass grow under their wheels. Indeed, it is to be regretted it does not, for one would be spared the dust. It does not, however, produce the slightest effect upon the picturesque-looking ruffian who, riding one horse, does nothing but yell and crack his whip over the other three; and whose chief object seems to be, not only to make as much dust as possible himself, but to keep well in the cloud caused by the carriage ahead. Anyhow, it is exhilarating to whisk through