dreary steppe of central Hungary, and on our right the low distant
hills of Baranya. Alas! this is not the Danube of Passau, and Lintz,
and Molk, and Theben. But now the Drave pours her broad waters into
the great artery. The right shore soon becomes somewhat bolder, and
agreeably wooded hills enliven the prospect. This little mountain
chain is the celebrated Frusca Gora, the stronghold of the Servian
language, literature, and nationality on the Austrian aide of the
Save.

A few days after my arrival, Wucics and Petronievitch, the two pillars
of the party of Kara Georgevitch, the reigning prince, and the
opponents of the ousted Obrenovitch family, returned from banishment
in consequence of communications that had passed between the British
and Russian governments. Great preparations were made to receive the
popular favourites.

One morning I was attracted to the window, and saw an immense flock of
sheep slowly paraded along, their heads being decorated with ribbons,
followed by oxen, with large citrons stuck on the tips of their horns.

One vender of shawls and carpets had covered all the front of his shop
with his gaudy wares, in order to do honour to the patriots, and at
the same time to attract the attention of purchasers.

The tolling of the cathedral bell announced the approach of the
procession, which was preceded by a long train of rustic cavaliers,
noble, vigorous-looking men. Standing at the balcony, we missed the
sight of the heroes of the day, who had gone round by other streets.
We, therefore, went to the cathedral, where all the principal persons
in Servia were assembled. One old man, with grey, filmy, lack-lustre