The towns and seaports of Moldavia partake of that mixed European character that results from the intercourse between merchants, dealers, &c. The peasants’ huts are all built of the same size and style; the walls are of clay, and the roofs thatched with straw, neither of which is calculated to protect the inmates from the inclemencies of bad weather. The ground-floors are, however, occupied as long as the weather will permit; and in the winter the inmates retire to cells underground, easily kept warm by a little fire made of dung, roots, and some branches of trees, which, at the same time, serves for cooking their scanty food. Each family, however numerous, sleeps in one of these subterranean habitations, the beds being formed of coarse woollen rags.
Perhaps the most extraordinary feature in the structure of Moldavian society is the vast number of gipsies residing therein. Their bodily constitution is strong, and they are so hardened by constant exposure to the cold weather, that they appear fit for any labour or fatigue; but their natural aversion to a life of industry is, in general, so great, that they prefer all the miseries of indigence to the enjoyment of comforts that are to be reaped by persevering exertion.
Both men and women are finely formed, but are exceedingly dirty in their habits and appearance. They acknowledge no particular religion; nor do they think of following the precepts of any, unless compelled. Their chief occupation, in their vagrant life, is the making of iron tools, baskets, and other cheap articles. They attend wine-houses and taverns, and are sometimes called to the houses of noblemen when a concert is to be given; as many of them play rudely on various concert instruments. When the public works are to be constructed, the Government gipsies, who are acquainted with masonry, are called in to assist the labourers, receiving food and no wages, and are, in other respects, treated like cattle.
I have, for the present, confined myself principally to the humbler classes of the Moldavians. I shall, in my next prattle, inform my young readers of the Wallachians, and of the country of Wallachia, which the Great Russian Bear wants to steal.
Something about the Old Abbeys and Castles of England.
We give in the above engraving a view of the rains of an Old Monastery, and as it suggests a train of ideas, pertaining to bye-gone ages, I must give my young friends the benefit of them.
What about Monasteries? I should like to hear something about them—for wherever we travel we come to ruins of some kind or other, most of which are of Old Castles, or Old Monasteries, and therefore I should like to know more about them. This is what many of my young readers would say, and upon this “would say”—I join issue.