I had not been long at my post when I heard two shots in quick succession fired below me.  I found a chamois had been shot.

For our next battue we turned right-about face, the beaters coming from the other side; but we had bad luck.  One of our party saw a bear at some distance, fired, and—­missed it.  The fact of a bear having been sighted encouraged us in keeping up our battues pretty late, but nothing more was shot that day.  It was very disappointing, because if the bear was thereabouts our numerous staff of beaters ought to have turned him up again.  Some of the party were altogether sceptical about a bear having been seen at all.  Of course the man who had fired held to the bear as if it was the first article in his creed.  The dissentients remarked that “believing is seeing,” as some one cleverly said of spiritualism.  I don’t know whether it was better to think you had missed your bear or had no bear to miss.

When we returned to the hut in the evening we found that a couple of men left in charge had made some great improvements.  The Wallacks, who are sharp ready-handed fellows, to do them justice, had in our absence cut down some trees, split them with wooden pegs, and constructed out of the rough timber a long table and a couple of benches.  These were placed in front of our hut; the supper was spread, the table being lighted with some four lanterns, supplemented by torches of resinous pine-wood.

The weather had been fair, though sport had been bad, so with a feeling not “altogether sorrow-like” we sat down to a hearty good meal.  One of the dishes was chamois-liver, which is considered a great delicacy.  We had, indeed, several capital dishes, well dressed and served hot—­a most successful feast at 5000 feet above the sea-level.  A vote of thanks was proposed for the cook, and carried unanimously.  The wines were excellent.  We had golden Mediasch, one of the best wines grown in Transylvania, Roszamaber from Karlsburg and Bakatar.  The peculiarity about the first-named wine is that it produces an agreeable pricking on the tongue, called in German tschirpsen.

Before turning in we had a smoke, accompanied by tea with rum, the invariable substitute for milk in Hungary.

As there were four big fires burning in the clearing outside the hut, the whole scene was very bright and cheerful.  The wood crackled briskly, the flames lit up the green foliage, and the moving figures of our attendants gave animation to the picture.  Amongst ourselves there were a few snatches of song, and from up the hill where the Wallacks were camped came a chorus of not unmusical voices.  One after another of our party dropped off, betaking himself to his natural rest.  I was not the last, and must have slept as soon as I pulled the plaid over my ears, for I remembered nothing more.