result has been that, on the whole, the births have not fully compensated for the deaths. There are villages where the population has remained stationary for a hundred years and more. In fact, the too-cautious Saxon has over-reached himself. An alien population, amongst whom no such check to population is known, swarm around him on all sides, and threaten to overrun him. Villages there are where originally every inhabitant was German, with but a few Wallack huts outside the boundary, but where now there is hardly one Saxon left, and a Wallack population has entered into possession. At Dunesdorf, near Elizabethstadt, this change has occurred within the memory of persons now living. The Clergy do their best, by their advice to young married persons, to counteract the causes that are thus tending to blot these people off the face of the earth, but the mischief continues to work. Everywhere throughout the land the Saxons, who took the lead, are now falling into an inferior rank. On the banks of the Vokel there are German villages which are so only in name. The Saxons have died out, and their homes are inhabited by those whose race they formerly despised. In Jakobsdorf is a large Saxon Protestant church, with a clergyman and clerk complete, but a single family constitutes the whole congregation. In 1847, the last family but one having somehow become Wallack in association and feeling, broke down the last barrier that divided them-that of religion-and went over to the Greek faith. In S. Bonyha, S. Danyan, and S. Czavas, the population was once all Saxon; the Saxons now have dwindled to a minority. At Erked, where formerly only five Wallack families were found, now they form onethird of the inhabitants. Everywhere else the same process is in operation, and the Wallacks are even assuming the upper hand in the government of affairs. Thus has the worldly wisdom of the Saxons proved itself to be foolishness. They expected that while their numbers remained stationary, those of their serf dependants would do the same. But their calculations have proved false; the vassals have grown in strength, and the hum of their voices, always raised to demand new concessions, grows louder and louder, like the murmur of the waves as, closely following each other, they dash forward to take possession of the shore.'

The presence of the Saxon colonists in Transylvania has not tended to amalgamate them with the Hungarians, or to civilise the Wallacks around them. The difference between the races in moral culture, education, and habits was too great. Seven centuries of life in each others' presence have not made them friends. The Hungarian nobleman, on the one hand, found

the

the political freedom of his Saxon neighbours a restraint, and their order, industry, and thrift a constant reproach. The Saxons always looked westward-to Germany-for support, and the Magyar was offended because they declined to rally round his standard. On the other hand, the Wailack's customs and manners are a strong barrier between him and the proud Saxon who formerly ruled over and still despises him.

The Saxons, short of labourers, partly through their own lack of fecundity, were obliged to avail themselves of the Wallacks, who became thus their herdsmen, employed at first in the season, like Irish reapers in England, and disappearing when it was over. After a while one or two, here and there, remained all the year round, and by degrees the one or two grew into numbers. They formed no acknowledged part of the Saxon community, and had nothing to do with its rights, privileges, or possessions. Politically, and in relation to land tenure, they were entirely outside the pale within which the Saxon lived. But having once got a footing, they could not be got rid of. Around the original solitary hut, a populous colony clustered; and a Wallack settlement of nearly equal size became invariably an appendage to each German, as it did also to each Hungarian village. The houses of the Saxons are substantial, roomy, stone or brick-built edifices, with good-sized windows and green blinds. A flight of stone steps leads to the entrance; or a verandah, as in Hungarian houses, forms a sort of porch in front and on one side of the dwelling. Where Saxon houses of this character cease, unwieldy Wallack structures of a very different appearance succeed. The walls bulge here and there; the forms are blurred in outline; the windows small; the gate roughly constructed and uncouthly painted; the whole house wattled and whitewashed. All the materials are inartificial; straw from the field, willow-branches and osiers from the water side, and wood from the forest hacked into such shape as necessity alone prescribes. Everything indicates a low grade of civilisation.

These Wallacks are descendants of hordes formerly dwelling in the mountainous districts of the Alt, who, in times of peace, wandered down into and settled in the valleys, becoming the serfs of the Hungarian nobles. A wild, unteachable people, they drove their herds on the pastures of the Saxons; they pillaged, burned, and murdered. Plagiarists of Proudhon before his time, they practically denied the right to hold property, except such as is in their own hands, and this denial is still prevalent amongst them, for a Wallack peasant of to-day will strip a garden or orchard of everything, and on being remonstrated with declare that he has committed no theft,

since what God makes grow must belong to him as much as to you! They are inveterate horse stealers, and resolute incendiaries. In 1599 they screwed a gimlet into the spine of the clergyman of Grossau, and hung him up by it in his own sacristy; and their cruelties were equally atrocious during the late Hungarian revolution. They are always the worst of neighbours, and the Saxons in old times more than once strove, by killing them when they could catch them, to exterminate the hated race; but in vain. The Turks and Tartars were driven back; other foes were repulsed; but the Wallacks contrived to make good their footing on the soil, and they already surpass in numbers any of the other races. They are aiming now at national recognition, and are grasping preponderant political power. Neither the Saxons nor the Hungarians, singly, can now cope with them; and, unfortunately, the hatred and contempt nourished by the Hungarian against the Saxon, prevents any useful political coalition between these.

The Hungarians in Transylvania are a highly polished race, with many very excellent natural qualities. They are hospitable to a remarkable degree. Indeed, with them hospitality seems to be an instinct; they exercise it because it is their nature to do so. 'High or low, they cannot help being hospitable; it is a natural impulse with them to take in the stranger and make him break bread under their roof.' A natural ease and grace of mien and movement characterise the Hungarians. The charm of manner with which a Hungarian lady or gentleman receives a guest is something to be remembered. Nothing can be more gracefully winning,' says Mr. Bonar; 'I confess I have found nothing like it elsewhere. And this is seen not only amongst the rich, but amongst all ranks.' The German, like the Englishman, is awkward in dealing with a stranger; the Hungarian never. The former feels embarrassed; the other is perfectly collected and self-possessed, no matter what may be his rank or that of the stranger. The Saxon lives frugally and economises; the Hungarian is generous to a fault, and he has not the prudence and thrift of the Saxon. The German makes you welcome, but it is evident that your presence deranges his household movements. The Hungarian has the talent of making you feel at home under his roof from the first moment. A Saxon clergyman told our traveller that, whilst making a tour, he, with a party of friends, arrived at a Szekler village during the harvest. The place was empty, all the inhabitants being busy in the fields. At last they met a solitary peasant, of whom they inquired the way to the inn. His reply was, 'There is

no

no inn here;' and when asked where then they were to go, the peasant immediately said, 'I live yonder, at such a number. Here is the key of my house-door. In half-an-hour I shall be back with a load of corn. I must go now, or I would accompany you. Excuse my not doing so; but go alone, open the door, walk in, and make yourselves comfortable till I come.' The friendly offer was accepted, and in half-an-hour the Hungarian returned with his wife, who made a fire, and cooked a meal for the strangers.

In this cordial generosity the Hungarian resembles the Irishman; and there are other points of similarity. He has no disposition to hear the truth when it is not in accord with his own opinions. He shuts out from his mind every sentiment that might be distasteful because differing from his own. Politically, no one is more uncharitable than he. He attributes the most unworthy possible motives to his opponents; a political adversary he stigmatises as if immoral, and treats him as malefactor. Oppose him, and you are actuated by the worst of motives. When he is really convinced that you have done him a kindness, he is enthusiastically and lastingly grateful; but do him a disservice or incur his dislike, and he will never forget it. He cherishes the recollection of an injury as carefully as if it were a passport to heaven. He keeps deeply cut the memory-tablets in which were inscribed the wrongs of past generations of his clan. In these things he is very Irish; and he is Keltic in his tendency to react against the inevitable, to despise the facts of the case, and to knock himself to pieces against them. But he is unlike the Kelt in other respects. He has no weakness for dirt and disorder at home, no tendency to be insensible of its presence. Tidiness and order prevail in his mansions and cottages alike. He is neat in his person; self-respect, not self-conceit, is seen in his carriage and address, his household, and his personal appearance. Unlike the Kelt, again, he is not 'flashy,' he has a total absence of ostentation. But the feeling of the Irishman towards the Sassenach, is exactly that of the Hungarian for his Austrian rulers; and he cannot recognise any good thing in the Saxon, amongst whom he lives, because they resemble the Austrians in character, and are of similar origin with them. On the other hand, the Saxons are not jealous of the Hungarians; they freely acknowledge their many excellencies, the superiority of their endowments, and their, in many respects, splendid talent for political affairs.

Recent events have much reduced the Hungarians in their social position in Transylvania. They suffered fearfully in the days of the rebellion, especially from the Wallacks, who

ravaged

ravaged their property, and often inflicted on their persons the most frightful indignities. They are not now dominant as they once were. Unless great change should come, the Wallack is likely to carry everything before him in Transylvania, by sheer force of numbers and self-assertion, and through the fallen fortunes of the Hungarian noble, and the self-extinction of the Saxon.

ART. IV.-MY WEEK OUT: GLIMPSE OF LIFE IN FEN-LAND.

JULY in London, a hot, dry July-no rain since early May

the 'season' over, the 'long vacation' come-the Times rather dreary reading-walls of railway stations and advertising columns in the daily papers teem with invitations to travel, to the sea-coast, to the mountains, to the Channel Islands, to the Rhine, to Alpine 'peaks, passes, and glaciers,' anywhere, anywhere, out of London. Cabs are top-heavy with luggage, and lively below with smiling faces-letters from old friends bear unaccustomed postmarks, and everything tells the same tale, fosters the same desire. It is a general conjugating of the verb 'go out,' and I must take part in it. 'I go out, thou goest out, he goes out,' and so forth.

Out! First, out of my study, my semi-monastic cell, where I sit alone so many hours of every day, alone and silent, among a silent company of books, busily questioning them till they yield up their secrets of fact and truth, and making due record of what they disclose. I love the place and know it is my truest home; but I am weary and must away—for a time. Then, out of my own house. Linquenda domus et placens uxor,' sings gay Horace in his mournful way, of the last sad necessity that comes to us all. Linquenda domus et placens uxor,' say I, of a necessity less sad, and not house and spouse alone, but the half-score children, bless them!-and the brood of cares to match. Above all, out of London. Out of the vast infinite-seeming city, huge workshop of the world, with its myriad inventive brains, served by myriad pairs of skilful, nimble hands, so busy, noisy, restless, familiar, yet unknown-away from its thousands of miles of street, its hard, hot pavements, its jostling crowds walking always, the slow Javanese says, as if there was a fire;' away from its roar of traffic, its shops and palaces, hovels and shows. I am weary of it, and pine to be outside in the still green world, somewhere.

Vol. 9.-No. 35.

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