At Bucharest Station I was seen off by several kind friends, with many parting injunctions to “take care of myself” in Macedonia, and it was not without regret that I left the gay little Roumanian capital, where I had received so much hospitality, from Her Majesty the Queen down to some of the humblest of her subjects. The “Orient,” on the Constantza line, is not so well fitted, nor is the food so good, as upon the direct line from Paris to Constantinople by way of Belgrade and Sofia. The whole train was shabby, dusty, and over-heated, and the dinner, instead of the usual _table d’hôte_, was _à la carte_. The only item on the bill of fare, however, proved to be beef-steak. The small piece cooked for me was fit only for a dog, and served on a dirty tablecloth; therefore I was compelled to make my dinner off stale bread and soapy cheese. And this on a _train de luxe_—and one of the principal European Expresses! The Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits et Grand Express Européenes are not very considerate towards travellers to the East. There is neither competition in sleeping accommodation nor buffets, therefore the rolling-stock is often old-fashioned and dirty, and the food leaves very much to be desired. Surely upon a journey of three or four days, the maximum degree of comfort should be secured! Why should the traveller who spends one night between Calais and Nice be better provided for than he who goes East from Ostend to Constantinople—a four days’ journey? In the “Orient,” the old-fashioned coal-fire heating in every carriage is still in vogue, and consequently the person who is unfortunate enough to have a berth near the stove is half roasted, while he who is at the farther end is half frozen. The traveller who goes East would certainly welcome the up-to-date _wagons-lits_ of the Mediterranean or Carlsbad Expresses. I travelled in the “Orient” from Paris to Vienna, from Belgrade to Sofia, from Bucharest to Constantza, and from Nisch in Servia to Paris, and on each of the trains were the same defects in sleeping comfort, and often in food. It is to be hoped that the Company will shortly remedy this, for on some of their routes, notably Calais-Paris, or Paris-Marseilles, the food is all that can be desired. The Express, after passing the wonderful bridge over the Danube, arrives at the quay at Constantza, or Kustendji, as is its local name, at eleven o’clock at night, where the mails from London and Vienna are quickly transferred on board, and we are soon under steam, with the flashing light of Cape Tusla fast disappearing at the stern.