dark complexioned man, of about thirty-five, with a serious composed
air, wore a plain blue military uniform. The princess and her _dames
de compagnie_ wore the graceful native Servian costume. The Pasha wore
the Nizam dress, and the Nishan Iftihar; Baron Lieven, the Russian
Commissioner, in the uniform of a general, glittered with innumerable
orders; Colonel Philippovich, a man of distinguished talents,
represented Austria. The archbishop, in his black velvet cap, a large
enamelled cross hanging by a massive gold chain from his neck, sat in
stately isolation; and the six feet four inches high Garashanin,
minister of the interior, conversed with Stojan Simitch, the president
of the senate, one of the few Servians in high office, who retains his
old Turkish costume, and has a frame that reminds one of the Farnese
Hercules. Then what a medley of languages; Servian, German, Russian,
Turkish, and French, all in full buzz!

We proceeded to the dining-room, where the _cuisine_ was in every
respect in the German manner. When the dessert appeared, the prince
rose with a creaming glass of champagne in his hand, and proposed the
health of the sultan, acknowledged by the pasha; and then, after a
short pause, the health of Czar Nicolay Paulovitch, acknowledged by
Baron Lieven; then came the health of other crowned heads. Baron
Lieven now rose and proposed the health of the Prince. The Pasha and
the Princess were toasted in turn; and then M. Wastchenko, the Russian
consul general rose, and in animated terms, drank to the prosperity of
Servia. The entertainment, which commenced at one o'clock, was
prolonged to an advanced period of the afternoon, and closed with
coffee, liqueurs, and chibouques in the drawing-room; the princess and
the ladies having previously withdrawn to the private apartments.

My time during the rest of the year was taken up with political,