eyes, pendant jaws, and white beard, was pointed out to me as a
centenarian witness of this national manifestation.

The grand screen, which in the Greek churches veils the sanctuary from
the vulgar gaze, was hung with rich silks, and on a raised platform,
covered with carpets, stood the archbishop, a dignified
high-priest-looking figure, with crosier in hand, surrounded by his
deacons in superbly embroidered robes. The huzzas of the populace grew
louder as the procession approached the cathedral, a loud and
prolonged buzz of excited attention accompanied the opening of the
grand central portal, and Wucics and Petronievitch, grey with the dust
with which the immense cavalcade had besprinkled them, came forward,
kissed the cross and gospels, which the archbishop presented to them,
and, kneeling down, returned thanks for their safe restoration. On
regaining their legs, the archbishop advanced to the edge of the
platform, and began a discourse describing the grief the nation had
experienced at their departure, the universal joy for their return,
and the hope that they would ever keep peace and union in view in all
matters of state, and that in their duties to the state they must
never forget their responsibility to the Most High.

Wucics, dressed in the coarse frieze jacket and boots of a Servian
peasant, heard with a reverential inclination of the head the
elegantly polished discourse of the gold-bedizened prelate, but nought
relaxed one single muscle of that adamantine visage; the finer but
more luminous features of Petronievitch were evidently under the
control of a less powerful will. At certain passages of the discourse,
his intelligent eye was moistened with tears. Two deacons then prayed
successively for the Sultan, the Emperor of Russia, and the prince.