n villages in the neighbourhood. From here to Ushitza the road
is paved, but by whom we could not learn. The stones were not large
enough to warrant the belief of its being a Roman causeway, and it is
probably a relic of the Servian empire.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: On my return from Servia, I found that the author of
Eothen had recorded a similar impression derived from the Tartar
journey on the high road from Belgrade towards Constantinople: but the
remark is much more applicable to the sylvan beauty of the interior of
Servia.]

[Footnote 8: After seeing Ushitza, the captain, who accompanied me,
returned to his family, at Derlatcha, and, I lament to say, that at
this place he was attacked by the robbers, who, in summer, lurk in the
thick woods on the two frontiers. The captain galloped off, but his
two servants were killed on the spot.]

CHAPTER XV.

Arrival at Ushitza.--Wretched streets.--Excellent Khan.--Turkish
Vayvode.--A Persian Dervish.--Relations of Moslems and
Christians.--Visit the Castle.--Bird's eye view.

Before entering Ushitza we had a fair prospect of it from a gentle
eminence. A castle, in the style of the middle ages, mosque minarets,
and a church spire, rose above other objects; each memorializing the
three distinct periods of Servian history: the old feudal monarchy,
the Turkish occupation, and the new principality. We entered the
bazaars, which were rotting and ruinous, the air infected with the
loathsome vapours of dung-hills, and their putrescent carcases,
tanpits with green hides, horns, and offal: here and there a hideous
old rat showed its head at some crevice in the boards, to complete the
picture of impurity and desolation.

Strange to say, after this ordeal we put up at an excellent khan, the
best we had seen in Servia, being a mixture of the German Wirthshaus,
and the Italian osteria, kept by a Dalmatian, who had lived twelve
years at Scutari in Albania. His upper room was very neatly furnished
and new carpeted.

In the afternoon we went to pay a visit to the Vayvode, who lived
among gardens in the upper town, out of the stench of the bazaars.
Arrived at the house we mounted a few ruined steps, and passing
through a little garden fenced with wooden paling, were shown into a
little carpeted kiosk, where coffee and pipes were presented, but not
partaken of by the Turks present, it being still Ramadan. The Vayvode
was an elderly man, with a white turban and a green benish,