amateur. The efforts of the other rowers
appear to me to be directed almost as much
to throwing this fellow down as often as possible,
as to the progress of the boat. Every
time he is knocked the wrong end uppermost
there is a hoarse laugh, in which the idlers,
of course distinguish themselves. When the
young boatman is overthrown also they begin
to splash him, and as they splash us also this
occasions rather a warm discussion.

The joking, however, would probably have
died away without our interference as we got
farther out into the centre of the river, for,
to say truth, the Danube is by no means an
agreeable customer when he blusters.

The current in the middle of the stream
ran with fearful violence; we could not breast
it and go straight across, but were obliged to
turn, and tack, and twist not a little, while
the large full waves rolling down, struck us
blows which made our timbers shiver as if
they had been hit with a rock. Our immense
heavy boat was tossed and blown about as if
it had been a mere wherry, and for at least
ten minutes, the chances appeared very small
of our being able to reach the opposite coast
without swimming for it. The water swept
over us in blinding spray, and we were obliged
to cling on to the sides of the boat for dear
life. The amateur waterman lay motionless
where he was last knocked down, and the
remaining rowers toiled at their oars;
beards bristling at the imminence of our
danger. As for the egg-merchant, the Jew
pedlar, and the old woman, they coiled
themselves up into balls as small as possible, and
cowered in the wet at the bottom of the boat,
groaning piteously. At last, after a tremendous
struggle with the wind and waters, we
were beaten away considerably down stream
to leeward of a small island opposite Giurgevo,
but then fortunately we got into smooth
water, and so crept up the shore, till at last
we got among the shipping which lay
anchored in the little Wallachian port; and
then, but not till then, did we feel safe, and
light the pipes of mutual relief and congratulation,
feeling that we had escaped a danger
which has been fatal to so many in these
piping times of war.

The first words we hear on the Wallachian
shore are German. There is an harangue
about passports and formalities of all
sorts, which at once assures me, if I had had
the smallest doubt on the subject, that I am
in the near neighbourhood, and under the
domination, not to say in the custody of, my
old friends, the Austrians.

There, indeed, are the smart white liveries,
which distinguish the servants of the Imperial
Royal Apostolic Emperor of that joyous
country, strutting about in all directions.
They have evidently taken possession of the
land, and all that in it is, and they have
indoctrinated the inhabitants thereof, with
their cheerful, but peculiar tenets. If you
were to turn round a corner, and say, "how
do you do?" to the first man you met, that
man would be, without doubt, an Austrian.

For the rest, the difference between the
Wallachian town on this side of the Danube,
and the Turkish town on the other is very
striking and remarkable. Rustchuk, we
have already attempted to describe. Let
us now, therefore, say something about
Giurgevo.

In the first place, there is an excellent European
hotel, kept by an Italian. All the
principal inhabitants are dressed in Frank
clothes, very oddly made, certainly, but still
Frank clothes. There are even some dandies
in varnished boots, strutting about, and the
only thing which still reminds us of Turkey,
is, that we have a little Greek consul, who is
always in hot water, and having a game at
braggadocio with everybody, after the custom
of his craft and countrymen.

Giurgevo is a large, straggling, rambling
place. Some of the streets are paved, and some
are not. There are a good many imposing
houses, also some churches. It was immediately
in front of the churches, that the Russians
planted their guns, and took up their
position, that they might cunningly raise the
cry of sacrilege, when Omar Pacha fired at
them. Giurgevo still shows many traces of
the recent Russian occupation. It is rich in
spirit shops; and there is that air of tinsel
and immorality about it, which is one of the
most marked characteristics of all semi-
Russianised places. The small gentry of the
place are fond of playing the Grand Seigneur.
They are rather too affable and epigrammatic
in their conversation. There is a rude, semi-
barbaric splendour about their doings, which
is half-laughable, and half-sad. Otherwise,
they are as pertinaciously good humoured,
and easy going, as all Wallachians are. Most
of them speak French in a naïve, quaint sort
of way, but still French. As I am standing
at the door of the hotel, a Wallachian gent
enters into conversation with me in this
language. He is a curious compound of the
walking gentleman at a provincial theatre, a
Polish huzzar, and the Brompton brigand.
He wears a white hat, and yellow gloves.
His moustachios are waxed and pointed, till
they stand out, like a pair of lady's scissor-
blades, used for very fine work. His frock-
coat is frogged, rabbit-skinned, and braided.
His trowsers are of an exaggerated green
pattern, and his small, gray, jean boots, are
of French origin, and lacquered.

"Eh bien! Well," he says, with that good
humoured, droll impertinence, which belongs
to his race. "What do you think of our
country? " Being satisfied with respect to
my ideas on this important subject, he proceeds
to examine me with much curious attention.
I perceive now, that his first question
was merely an excuse for further researches.
He takes out my studs, looks at them closely,
weighs them, asks what they cost, and puts
them back again. Then he takes out my