TYPES OF CHARACTER AT A ROUMANIAN RAILWAY STATION.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 5118, 18 August 1877, Page 2 (Supplement)

TYPES OF CHARACTER AT A ROUMANIAN RAILWAY STATION.

Edward King gives the following bit of description in his last letter to the Boston Journal .—lt would be difficult to grow weary over the thousand new type 3 that one sees in these long Roumanian journeys. Let us stop at a railway station, where a gently tinkling bell warns the traveller to be ready the third or fourth time it peals forth its melodious chime. A group of peasant men and women and bright-eved, brown-faced little children huddle at the fence, with long strings of wild cherries in their hands, and scream at you the price and the special' excellence of their wares. As the moments decrease the clamor rises, whereupon the station guard, picking up a huge bush, which he always keeps handy, bestows harmless blows right and left until the peasants retreat. Around a well at the station a dozen Roumanian troopers are gathered, each waiting his turn to drink from the huge bucket which comes up dripping with cold water. The little maidens who offer Adam's ale in long jugs, or in bits of pottery rudely stained with cherry or green colors, find no customers, and look sullenly at the well which spoils their trade. Near the formidable looking office, ■ivliich has Commissary of Police written over it, and in the door of which a dark - haired young Russian, in a white tunic, black trousers, and jack-boots, lolls negligently, with his hand upon his sword, stand a little company of conscripts, young fellows of all sizes—some of them so diminutive that they seem hardly able to carry a long gun. A masr sive Montenegrin, with huge moustache, and with his rich costume, full of startling colors with his girdlde filled with knives and pistols, with his round red cap shrouded in mourning because of the downfall of the Servian Empire of old and the triumph of the Turks—a fine specimen Montenegrin, strolls up and down the platform, the object of infinite admiration on the part" of the Roumanian ladies. The Russian servant, with his blonde hair cut square away in the back of his neck, so that his head appears to have been whittled out of ft block—although he is certainly a thousand removes from a blockhead—is to be humbly seen following the footsteps of his master. Waiting for the train-master to find them a seat in a coupe, stand half-a-dozen Roumanian beauties, whose languishing eyes, plump forms, ■ and gracious manners are not lost upon their Sclavic visitors; and chatting with these ladies, the Roumanian officers, holding their hats in their hands, stand respectfully by. Meanwhile, a long, lean, cynical-looking Circassian, whose lengthy blue coat would give him an almost clerical appearance in my eyes, were it not for the row of ■cartridges which he wears in a species of belt stretched across his breast, walks solemnly up and down the platform, 1 and seemß inwardly annoyed that the struggle has not begun long ago. His elongated form his sad, almost whimsical look, rendered still more peculiar by the huge cap of Astrakan or fur—-I have not been able to decide by which it i 3 surmounted —and his measured march, are in striking contrast to the puny form, almost black skin, wild features, and flowing hair of the Bohemian, the gypsy who stands in a corner, shifting from one foot to the other in a modest, deprecating manner, as if admitting that he knows he is a cumberer of the soil, and ought to be cut off.