the 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 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.