Was there ever anything
so ridiculous?
We were about seven miles from Mehadia; I knew the country perfectly
well. Of course we made a confounded row with the idiot of a driver, who
certainly had been hired--not to go to sleep. I have known these
Wallacks drive for miles in a state of somnolency, the horses generally
keeping in the "safe middle course" of their own accord. As there were
some awkward turns not far ahead of us, it was perhaps just as well that
the horses stopped on this occasion.
Well, we jogged on all that day, reaching Karansebes between one and two
o'clock. We had been some eighteen hours on the road!
Here F---- and I parted, my friend returning to Uibanya, while I pursued
my way to Transylvania.
I slept the night at Karansebes, rising very early; indeed I started
soon after four o'clock. I was again on my little Servian horse, who was
quite fresh after his long rest, and I saw no reason why I should not
reach Hatszeg the same evening, as the distance is not more than
forty-five miles. About two miles from Karansebes I passed a hill
crowned with a picturesque ruin, locally called Ovid's Tower. Tradition
fondly believes that Ovid spent the last years of his banishment, not on
the shores of the stormy Euxine, but in the tranquillity of these lovely
valleys. Certain it is that the name and fame of many of the great
Romans are still known to the Wallacks; and the story is told by Mr
Boner, that they have a catechism which teaches the children to say that
they have Ovid and Virgil for their ancestors, and that they are
descended from demigods!
On my way I passed the villages of Ohaba, Marga, and Bukova.
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