y to announce our arrival.

I pulled repeatedly at the bell before I could rouse the _hausknecht_,
and induce him to make an appearance. At length he deigned to emerge
from the recesses of the dirty interior. Having discharged the Wallack
in a satisfied frame of mind (he had the best of the bargain after all),
I was at leisure to follow mine host to inspect the accommodation he had
to offer me. A sanitary commissioner would have condemned it, but _en
voyage comme en voyage_. With some difficulty and delay I procured water
enough to fill the pie-dish that did duty for the washing apparatus. I
had an old relative of extremely Low Church proclivities who was always
repeating--for my edification, I suppose--that "man is but dust;" the
dear old lady would have said so in very truth if she had seen me on
this occasion.

After supper I strolled into the summer theatre, a simple erection,
consisting of a stage at the end of a pretty, shady garden. Seats and
tables were placed under the lime-trees, and here the happy people of
Oravicza enjoy their amusements in the fresh air, drinking coffee and
eating ices. Think of the luxury of fresh air, O ye frequenters of
London theatres!

The evening was already advanced, the tables were well filled; groups
gathered here and there, sauntering under the greenery, gay with
lanterns; and many a blue-eyed maiden was there, with looks coquettish
yet demure, as German maidens are wont to appear.

A concert was going on, and I for the first time heard a gipsy band.
Music is an instinct with these Hungarian gipsies. They play by ear, and
with a marvellous precision, not surpassed by musicians who have been
subject to the most careful training. Their principal instruments are
the violin, the violoncello, and a sort of zither. The airs they play
are most frequently compositions of their own, and are in character
quite peculiar, though favourite pieces from Wagner and other composers
are also given by them with great effect. I heard on this occasion one
of the gipsy airs which made an indelible impression on my mind; it
seemed to me the thrilling utterance of a people's history. There was
the low wail of sorrow, of troubled passionate grief, stirring the heart
to restlessness, then the sense of turmoil and defeat; but upon this
breaks suddenly a wild burst of exultation, of rapturous joy--a triumph
achieved, which hurries you along with it in resistless sympathy. The
excitable Hungarians can lit