Milutinovich, in his address to the youthful surgeon, compares his
transcendent generosity to the sacrifice made by Lasar in the wild and
distasteful legend I have here given.

I introduced the poet and the traveller to each other, and explained
their respective merits and peculiarities. Poor old Milutinovich, who
looked on his own journey to Montenegro as a memorable feat, was
awe-struck when I mentioned the innumerable countries in the four
quarters of the world which had been visited by the blind traveller.
He immediately recollected of having read an account of him in the
Augsburg Gazette, and with a reverential simplicity begged me to
convey to him his desire to kiss, his beard. Holman consented with a
smile, and Milutinovich, advancing as if he were about to worship a
deity, lifted the peak of white hairs from the beard of the aged
stranger, pressed them to his lips, and prayed aloud that he might
return to his home in safety.

In old Europe, Milutinovich would have been called an actor; but his
deportment, if it had the originality, had also the childish
simplicity of nature.

When the hour of departure arrived, I descended to the court yard,
which would have furnished good materials for a _tableau de genre_, a
lofty, well built, German-looking house, rising on three sides,
surrounded a most rudely paved court, which was inclosed on the fourth
by a stable and hay-loft, not one-third the height of the rest.
Various mustachioed _far niente_ looking figures, wrapped _cap-a-pie_
in dressing gowns, lolled out of the first floor corridor, and smoked
their chibouques with unusual activity, while the ground floor was