ry ear-pick against
my tympanum; but, calling for a wash-hand basin, I begged to be
relieved from all further ministrations; so putting half a zwanziger
on the face of the round pocket mirror which he proffered to me, he
departed with a "_S'Bogom_," or, "God be with you."

The collector now accompanied me on a walk through the Servian town,
and emerging on a wide space, we discovered the fortress of Shabatz,
which is the quarter in which the remaining Turks live, presenting a
line of irregular trenches, of battered appearance, scarcely raised
above the level of the surrounding country. The space between the
town and the fortress is called the Shabatzko Polje, and in the time
of the civil war was the scene of fierce combats. When the Save
overflows in spring, it is generally under water.

Crossing a ruinous wooden bridge over a wet ditch, we saw a rusty
unserviceable brass cannon, which vain-gloriously assumed the
prerogative of commanding the entrance. To the left, a citadel of four
bastions, connected by a curtain, was all but a ruin.

As we entered, a cafe, with bare walls and a few shabby Turks smoking
in it, completed, along with the dirty street, a picture
characteristic of the fallen fortunes of Islam in Servia.

"There comes the cadi," said the collector, and I looked out for at
least one individual with turban of fine texture, decent robes, and
venerable appearance; but a man of gigantic stature, and rude aspect,
wearing a grey peasant's turban, welcomed us with undignified
cordiality. We followed him down the street, and sometimes crossing
the mud on pieces of wood, sometimes "putting one's foot in it," we
reached a savage-looking timber kiosk, and, mounting a ladder, seated
ourselves on the window ledge.

There flowed the Save in all its peaceful smoothness; looking out of
the window, I perceived that the high rampart, on which the kiosk was
constructed, was built at a distance of thirty or forty yards from the
water, and that the intervening space was covered with boats, hauled
up high and dry, and animated with the process of building and
repairing the barges employed in the river trade. The kiosk, in which
we were sitting, was a species of cafe, and it being Ramadan time, we
were presented with sherbet by a kahwagi, who, to judge by his look,
was a eunuch. I was afterwards told that the Turks remaining in the
fortified town are so poor, that they had not a decent room to show me
into.

A Turk, about