walls, towers, and half a hundred churches dating from the remotest antiquity, are only seen to advantage when half-buried in snow, and when long white beards in the shape of icicles hang down from the chins of the evil spirits which do duty as waterspouts outside the sacred edifices. In winter time a profound stillness reigns in the city, and instead of the incessant rattling of wheels over the stones, the silence is only broken by the musical tinkling of bells which tell of a passing sledge. Somewhat the same sensation as is conveyed to one used to the perpetual din of a crowded thoroughfare by the solemn silence of Venice may be experienced in Cracow when the snow lies deep on the ground.

Among other things which cannot fail to strike the traveller as grotesque in a Polish town in winter is the appearance of the pumps. These are carefully packed up in straw to keep them warm, and look as if they were suffering one and all from a severe cold in the head, and were subject to a perpetual running at the nose. Then the appearance of the gutters is not attractive-except to pigs, who have a glorious time of it. It is the habit of the inhabitants to empty their slops into the open drains in front of their houses, and this does well enough in summer, when there is a stream of water to carry off the refuse. In winter, however, when the gutter is frozen, a most unsavoury-looking mixture -a kind of frozen Irish stew-stagnates in front of each house, to what would be the exceeding disgust of an English housewife, but in Poland it is taken as a matter of course. In the country you hear no sound of running water. The action of all water-mills is stayed, and the flap-boards of the wheels are all silvered over

with frozen spray. The windmills, on the other hand, betray increased signs of activity, and I fear it must generate angry passions in the breast of the watermiller, standing there idle with his hands in his pockets, to see his neighbour driving such a brisk trade.

Since the autumn the rigour of the Austrian régime had increased to an alarming extent, and no matter what time of day or night, you could not stir out without coming across patrols conveying prisoners to the lockups, which were crammed to overflowing. One night I happened to be returning home from the house of a friend, a little before midnight, and was struck with the dead silence which reigned around. As I crossed the marketplace I was admiring the picturesque old market hall, lighted up by the moonlight, and the effect of the dark shadows thrown across the snow, when I was attracted by the sound of many voices in high dispute. It was not long before some dozen figures emerged from a narrow dark street into the open market-place at some distance from me. The sight of their bayonets flashing in the moonlight made it clear to me at once that a patrol was doing its usual work. As the captives continued protesting loudly against being kidnapped in that manner, I could not resist following them, wishing, if possible, to make out the circumstances under which they had been arrested. On approaching nearer, I perceived the prisoners to consist of three men and two women, who were made to plough their way through the snow, which lay upwards of a foot deep, the soldiers surrounding them with fixed bayonets. I heard one of the soldiers say roughly to one of the women, who was unable to keep up, "Go quicker," and if one of the men lagged behind,

a soldier went at him with his bayonet, and whipped him up as a huntsman does a lazy hound. As I had not my own passport about me, I dared not follow the party to their destination, but I saw enough to give me an idea of the brutal treatment with which Poles, whether guilty or not, without distinction of sex, had to put up at the hands of the Austrian authorities. Whether these persons had been kidnapped in their beds I know not; all I can vouch for is, that at a few minutes before midnight they were plodding their way through the snow, with the thermometer a little above zero, with the uncomfortable prospect before them of passing the night in a common lock-up.

Hearing on my arrival at Cracow that a friend who had shown me considerable kindness in the summer, had been kept for the last five months in solitary confinement in the Castle, and that his nerves had suffered thereby to an alarming extent, I applied to the authorities for permission to visit him. In the first instance it was necessary to present yourself at the bureau of the PlatzCommandant, and, having ascertained that on his side there was no objection, to apply in person for a written permission from the president of the criminal court. Following this course, I attended at the military bureau, and was given to understand that there would be no objection in that quarter, and the general's secretary informed me that if I returned the next day with the requisite permission of the civil authorities, he would at once send an orderly with me to the prison, adding that I must be there betimes. Accordingly I repaired at once to the residence of the president of the criminal court, and after kicking my heels in the ante-chamber of

the great man for some time, was at last admitted to an audience. With the blandest of smiles he assured me that he could have no possible objection, and proceeded to write out a lengthy permission on a huge sheet of paper, signing his name at the bottom with a tremendous flourish, and affixing the official seal. Rising next morning at daybreak, I repaired with my credentials to the general's bureau, in the fullest confidence that I should have no further difficulty, where, to my astonishment, instead of the expected orderly, I received the shortest possible of answers, to the effect, that the general absolutely refused to permit me to visit my friend.

CHAPTER XXIV.

EXPULSION FROM CRACOW.

ON March 1st, the state of siege was proclaimed in Galicia, and all foreigners—including Poles, not Austrian subjects-ordered to present themselves with their travelling documents at the police-office, to ask leave to prolong their stay in the country.

The month of March was fixed for the recruitment in Austria, and in consequence of the existence of one or two guerilla bands among the outlying spurs of the Carpathians-the border-land between Poland and Hungary-the Government was naturally enough apprehensive that the peasants might prefer swelling the ranks of these bands to being taken as recruits for the regular army. Troops were accordingly despatched from Cracow to Nowy Targ, the principal town in the mountainous district, where guerilla bands were reported to have been seen. The mountaineers of the Carpathians are remarkably distinguished from the heavy, dull inhabitants of the plain, by their patriotism and love of liberty, which they share in common with the Tyrolese, Swiss, and Scotch. In one instance, they got hold of an Austrian employé and his son, and gave them a good beating, to let them know that they were made of