PIFTEH “DAY, 91 
hundred yards into the wood. Herr Rampelt himself did 
not precisely know where the nest was; and while I was 
looking about for it, I suddenly observed a fine Raven 
roosting ona dead branch of a tall elm, with its head under 
its wing, although it was still quite light, and cautiously 
creeping within a fair range, shot down the powerful bird. 
I was quite amazed at having really killed, close to a village 
and a high road in Southern Hungary, a bird which I had 
seen in the loneliest cliffs of our Alps, in the desolate oak- 
forests of Central Hungary during snow and storm, on the 
barren peak of the Santi Deka mountain near Corfu, among 
the precipices of the Dalmatian hills, and on the desolate 
Karst—everywhere far from human habitations. 
I turned back to the carriages with my spoil; but Brehm 
did not seem to be so much. impressed by the Raven, as he 
had seen this bird even sitting on the houses in the villages 
of Siberia. 
This unimportant little wood, as I was further informed, 
harbours many Woodcock in spring, and is tenanted by some 
Wild Cats throughout the year. 
We now resumed our journey, and instead of keeping to 
the northerly direction we had hitherto followed, we gradually 
inclined towards the north-east, and soon leaving the main 
road turned off into a very rough track which led to the 
‘“auen ” already visible in the distance. 
In a little while we came to a miserable village straggling 
along the banks of a marshy stream. Its clay-built, straw- 
thatched dwellings hardly deserved the name of houses, and 
our progress along the broad street which ran through them 
was impeded by horse-troughs and great heaps of dirt and 
manure, while shaggy wolf-dogs sprang barking at the 
carriages, and wretchedly-clad children were running about. 
This was a village of Schokats, Catholic Servians who long ago 
migrated from Turkey, and who, curiously enough, still show 
