ine that we lost much that was worthy of note owing to the darkness,
for the line continues to traverse a sanely plain utterly devoid of good
scenery. Towards morning we passed two important towns--namely, Nagy
Karoly and Szathmar. The hitter is the seat of a Catholic bishop, and
has no less than 19,000 inhabitants--a good-sized place for Hungary. In
1711 the peace between the Austrians and Rakoczy was signed in this
town. Not far from here are the celebrated gold, silver, and lead mines
of Nagy Banya.

We arrived at the junction station of Kiraly-haza early in the morning,
and there learned the agreeable news that we must wait ten hours, though
only a few miles from our destination. From this place there is a line
to Satoralja-Uihely, a junction on the main line between Buda-Pest and
Lemberg. The town of Kiraly-haza is situated in a wide valley bounded by
high mountains. The plain is left far behind, and we are once more under
the shadow of the Carpathians. The heat of the day was intense, and
there was not much in the immediate neighbourhood to tempt us out in the
broiling sun, so we just got through the time as best we could. The food
was very bad and the wine execrable, an adulterated mixture not worthy
of the name. This is a rare occurrence in Hungary, and it ought not to
have been the case here, for there are good vineyards close to the town.

It was getting towards evening before our train appeared, and when it
stopped at the station as wild a looking crew turned out of the
carriages as I ever remember to have seen. On inquiry I found that these
people were Rusniacks. Their occupation at this time of the year is to
convey rafts down the Theiss. It seems their work was done, and they
were returning by train. After the halt of ten minutes, and when the
passengers were resuming their seats, I found that these fellows were
all crowded into some empty horse-boxes attached to the train. The
officials treated them as if they were very little better than cattle.
These people, with their shoeless feet encased in thongs of leather,
with garments unconscious of the tailor's art, and in some instances
regardless of the primary object of clothes as a human institution, were
the most uncivilised of any I had yet seen in Hungary.

These Rusniacks, or "Little Russians," as they are called, are tolerably
numerous--not less than 470,000, according to statistical returns. They
are to be found almost exclusively in the north-east o