fifty years of age, now entered. His habiliments were
somewhere between decent and shabby genteel, and his voice and manners
had that distinguished gentleness which wins--because it feels--its
way. This was the Disdar Aga, the last relic of the wealthy Turks of
the place: for before the Servian revolution Shabatz had its twenty
thousand Osmanlis; and a tract of gardens on the other side of the
_Polje_, was pointed out as having been covered with the villas of the
wealthy, which were subsequently burnt down.

Our conversation was restricted to a few general observations, as
other persons were present, but the Disdar Aga promised to call on me
on the following day. I was asked if I had been in Seraievo.[2] I
answered in the negative, but added, "I have heard so much of
Seraievo, that I desire ardently to see it. But I am afraid of the
Haiducks."[3]

_Cadi_. "And not without reason; for Seraievo, with its delicious
gardens, must be seen in summer. In winter the roads are free from
haiducks, because they cannot hold out in the snow; but then Seraievo,
having lost the verdure and foliage of its environs, ceases to be
attractive, except in its bazaars, for they are without an equal."

_Author_. "I always thought that the finest bazaar of Turkey in
Europe, was that of Adrianople."

_Cadi_. "Ay, but not equal to Seraievo; when you see the Bosniacs, in
their cleanly apparel and splendid arms walking down the bazaar, you
might think yourself in the serai of a sultan; then all the esnafs are
in their divisions like regiments of Nizam."

The Disdar Aga now accompanied me to the gate, and bidding me
farewell, with graceful urbanity, re-entered the bastioned miniature
citadel in which he lived almost alone. The history of this individual
is singular: his family was cut to pieces in the dreadful scenes of
1806; and, when a mere boy, he found himself a prisoner in the Servian
camp. Being thus without protectors, he was adopted by Luka
Lasarevitch, the valiant lieutenant of Kara Georg, and baptized as a
Christian with the name of John, but having been reclaimed by the
Turks on the re-conquest of Servia in 1813, he returned to the faith
of his fathers.

We now returned into the town, and there sat the same Luka
Lasarevitch, now a merchant and town councillor, at the door of his
warehouse, an octogenarian, with thirteen wounds on his body.

Going home, I asked the collector if the Aga and Luka were still
friends. "To this very d