posing a little in the parlour, I came out to view the church
again, and expressed my pleasure at seeing so fair an edifice in the
midst of such a wilderness.

The Superior slowly raised his eyebrows, looked first at the church,
then at me, and relapsed into a frowning interrogative stupor; at
last, suddenly rekindling as if he had comprehended my meaning, added
"_Blagodarim_" (I thank you). A shrewd young man, from a village a few
miles off, now came forward just as the Superior's courage pricked him
on to ask if there were any convents in my country; "Very few," said
I.

"But there are," said the young pert Servian, "a great many schools
and colleges where useful sciences are taught to the young, and
hospitals, where active physicians cure diseases."

This was meant as a cut to the reverend Farniente. He looked blank,
but evidently wanted the boldness and ingenuity to frame an answer to
this redoubtable innovator. At last he gaped at me to help him out of
the dilemma.

"I should be sorry," said I, "if any thing were to happen to this
convent. It is a most interesting and beautiful monument of the
ancient kingdom of Servia; I hope it will be preserved and honourably
kept up to a late period."

"_Blagodarim_, (I am obliged to you,)" said the Superior, pleased at
the Gordian knot being loosed, and then relapsed into his atrophy,
without moving a muscle of his countenance.

I now examined the church; the details of the architecture showed that
it had suffered severely from the Turks. The curiously twisted pillars
of the outer door were sadly chipped, while noseless angels, and
fearfully mutilated lions guarded the inner portal. Passing through a
vestibule, we saw the remains of the font, which must have been
magnificent; and covered with a cupola, the stumps of the white marble
columns which support it are still visible; high on the wall is a
piece of sculpture, supposed to represent St. George.

Entering the church, I saw on the right the tomb of St. Simeon, the
sainted king of Servia; beside it hung his banner with the half-moon
on it, the insignium of the South Slavonic nation from the dawn of
heraldry. Near the altar was the body of his son, St. Stephen, the
patron saint of Servia. Those who accompanied us paid little attention
to the architecture of the church, but burst into raptures at the
sight of the carved wood of the screen, which had been most minutely
and elaborately cut by Tsinsars, (as the Macedoni