Like three Tartarins of Tarascon, we found everything at Monostorszég arranged for our amusement and entertainment as if by a stock company. In the court-yard of one of the well-to-do farmers’ houses, where we stopped to examine the stock of home-made embroideries and fabrics for which the housewife was justly renowned in the neighborhood, we soon saw assemble quite a large party of youths and maidens, many of them in holiday dress, and all ready for a dance. From somewhere, we never knew how or whence, a group of strange-looking musicians and stranger instruments appeared casually in the crowd, and the inspiriting tinkle of native dances set every bare foot patting time on the smoothly trampled earth. There were a bass-viol, a guitar, a medium-sized mandolin, and one, the tamboura, no larger than a lady’s hand, all of them strung with wire, and played with a bit of bone or horn. On the last-named instrument, which had a neck out of all reasonable proportion in length, a tall, brawny native picked the most intricate and encouraging melodies, and the feet must indeed have been heavy which did not rise to the rhythm of this music. Out of deference to the visitors the csárdás was for some time the only dance, but as the excitement increased, and the presence of strangers was forgotten, their own dance, the kollo, took its place, and we all participated in this, with more zeal than skill. The kollo, which is the common dance all through Croatia, Slavonia, and Servia, is more solemn and stately than either the Hungarian csárdás or the Roumanian hora, but, like these, comes to an end only with the strength and endurance of the participants. A ring is formed, usually of an equal number of dancers of both sexes. Each maiden places her hands on the shoulder of a youth on either side of her, giving both the strings of her girdle or the ends of a kerchief, passed behind her back, to twist around their forefingers, thus binding the circle firmly together. The dance consists in stepping one measure by a rhythmic patter with the feet, and then the next measure by a movement to the left, with now and then a few steps backward and forward, as the caprice of any part of the circle may decide. In this dance, as in the csárdás, the performers are swayed and directed by the leader of the orchestra, who alternates a slow, almost mournful, strain, with wild and passionate bursts of music, which, like shocks of electricity, set every figure in spirited action.