marsh flies, swarm round us in every direction,
and settle so pertinaciously on the flesh that they
must be quashed there, for they will not move
off. We have quite a campaign against
these filthy creatures, and keep up a weary
slaughter of them till about four o'clock in
the morning, while the sun has risen, and our
paddle-wheels turning again, we go snuffling
up the dark muddy waters of the lower Danube.
At about three o'clock in the afternoon we
arrive at Galatz, and never in my life have I felt
the heat so intolerable, and the air so oppressive
as it was then and there. Flies are more
numerous than ever, they settle down on the
dinner-table in such countless myriads that
everything to eat is quite black with them. But
Galatz is a gay place, and the Metternich
is one continual hubbub of eating and drinking,
laughing, singing, and piano-playing till
we are transferred to the other boat, the
Szechenyi, so called after the gifted and patriotic
nobleman who first sent a steamer down this
mighty river. On both sides of Galatz, the lower
Danube grows rather prettier than elsewhere.
There are the Moldavian mountains in the
distance, some pretty villages scattered about, and
the stream is broader and less muddy.

The hubbub of the merry-makers follows us
to the Szechneyi, and is kept up till late into
the night. The Moldavians are naturally a gay,
careless, pleasure-seeking, sociable race, and the
European commission just now among them
sends a whole host of agreeable travellers up
and down the waters about here. So we hear
them whispering, and chatting, and flirting, and
humming love songs about the cabins, and in
the nooks and corners of the ship, or
roystering jollily in drinking bouts upon deck, and
clinking their glasses together, and smoking,
and telling the most wonderful stories ever
heard, till the early summer daylight comes
round again, and they fall asleep in their
smart clothes and lackered boots—a gipsy
company, in all sorts of impossible places, and in the
drollest attitudes. These Danube steamers are
amazingly entertaining in a general way. There
is usually a great deal of good and curious
company on board. The Rouman and
Hungarian peasants, who join us at the village
stations, mostly wear the national costume, and
now and then there is a patriotic Boyard or
magnate does the same. The ladies dress for these
steamers as smartly as for pleasure parties on
shore. The captain assembles a chosen half-dozen
immediately round him, and so we go, a bright-
coloured mass of gossiping, flirting, loud laughing,
junketing humanity, all jumbled into close
acquaintanceship for a week together or more, if
we have the good fortune to be delayed by
fogs or sandbanks.

An hour after leaving Galatz we come to
Ibraila, a thriving port, and there stop till two
o'clock on Sunday morning, when we begin to
move again. The voyage might be done in half
the time if we did not dawdle and loiter about
so. But time never seems of consequence
to anybody in these countries. Towards ten
o'clock on Sunday morning we arrive at
Tchernavoda. Here two Turkish women—poor things
—came on board with a cavass and a husband.
Their veils are thin—their shrivelled wizen
faces might be plainly seen by the curious.
There is little of the sensitive Oriental
modesty about them. There is a dispute about
their fare, and they are going away very
humbly, not understanding what was said to
them, when somebody goes up to the
captain and explains the mistake. Then they
sit down in a row, like children, on their good
behaviour, taking place in the fore cabin, though
they had paid steerage places. They look
wondering and frightened enough till we land
them at the next station. I could not help
feeling a sort of sorrow, notwithstanding all
we know, to see the pride of the stately
Osmanli so fallen. A few years ago there would
have been brief words and fierce deeds had
any one laid hands on a Turkish lady, as one
of our well-meaning sailors did.

The Szechenyi is a fine vessel. The captain,
a pleasant, sensible, courteous man, as the
captain of a passenger-boat should be. The dinners,
too, are very fair. There is the delicious
sturgeon, and several other kinds of fish almost as
fine and as seldom seen elsewhere. Good
poultry, good wine, good fruit. With respect
to the table arrangements, it may be objected
that the waiters are in the habit of moistening
the napkins, previous to pressing them, with
water spirted from their mouths; but this is a
trifle, and travellers must not be fastidious.
The conversation, which was tolerably general,
might have been entertaining. There were
plenty of ingredients for good talk; pleasant
travelled old men, full of the smaller charities,
and rich in wise saws and good stories. There
was a wit or two, and some charming chatty
ladies; but unfortunately we drifted into
philosophy, and here the inhabitants of these
Danubian countries have hardly got beyond
Voltairianism. If such narrow and false views of
life are always troublesome and wearying to
listen to, judge what they must be bawled out
at a steamer dinner in July by a stout person
three places off talking at one for exercise.

The voyage is full of memories to me. Yonder
stands Silistria. The last time I saw those
gentle slopes and scanty woodlands, with the
water-wheels in the distance, they were covered
with tents; the last time I saw one of the
bravest who fell there was on a day when each
of us backed his own horse for a holiday
gallop from Pera to Buyukdéré. Here come
more Turks, one bringing a whole sheep for his
provision while on board, the simple fellow.
My heart warmed towards the saddle-bags and
the earthenware water-jugs, and the long pipes,
the kalliballek, and the stout cavass which
made his travelling equipage. My pulse beat
quicker at the thought of the old wandering
Arab horseman-life of the East, and I would,
have given something for a breezy gallop on
one of those red saddles which I see piled up on
the landing-place.