clad in a linen shirt and trousers so wide as to resemble petticoats,
strolled thoughtlessly on the bank singing a plaintive melody, and now
and then turning his brown face skyward as if to salute the sun. This
child of mysterious ancestry, this wanderer from the East, this robber
of roosts and cunning worker in metals, possessed nor hat nor shoes:
his naked breast and his unprotected arms must suffer cold at night,
yet he seemed wonderfully happy. The Jews and Greeks gave him scornful
glances, which he returned with quizzical, provoking smiles. At last
he threw himself down on a plank from which the generous sun was
rapidly drying the rain, and, coiling up as a dog might have done, he
was soon asleep.

With a marine glass I could see distinctly every movement on the
Servian shore. Close to the water's edge nestled a small village of
neat white cottages. Around a little wharf hovered fifty or sixty
stout farmers, mounted on sturdy ponies, watching the arrival of the
Mercur, the Servian steamer from Belgrade and the Sava River. The
Mercur came puffing valiantly forward, as unconcerned as if no
whirlwind had swept across her path, although she must have been in
the narrow and dangerous canon of the "Iron Gates" when the blast
and the shower were most furious. On the roads leading down the
mountain-sides I saw long processions of squealing and grunting swine,
black, white and gray, all active and self-willed, fighting each other
for the right of way. Before each procession marched a swineherd
playing on a rustic pipe, the sounds from which primitive instrument
seemed to exercise Circean enchantment upon the rude flocks. It was
inexpressibly comical to watch the masses of swine after they had
been enclosed in the "folds"--huge tracts fenced in and provided with
shelters at the corners. Each herd knew its master, and as he passed
to and fro would salute him with a delighted squeal, which died away
into a series of disappointed and cynical groans as soon as the
porkers had discovered that no evening repast was to be offered them.
Good fare do these Servian swine find in the abundant provision
of acorns in the vast forests. The men who spend their lives in
restraining the vagabond instincts of these vulgar animals may perhaps
be thought a collection of brutal hinds; but, on the contrary, they
are fellows of shrewd common sense and much dignity of feeling.
Kara-George, the terror of the Turk at the beginning of this century,