Author.  “You must excuse me, I must set out on my travels to-morrow.  You were in Egypt, I believe.”

Renegade.  “I was long there; my two sons, and a married daughter, are in Cairo to this day.”

Author.  “What do they do?”

Renegade.  “My daughter is married, and I taught my sons all I know of medicine, and they practise it in the old way.”

Author.  “Where did you study?”

Renegade (tossing his head and smiling).  “Here, and there, and everywhere.  I am no Ilekim Bashi; but I have an ointment that heals all bruises and sores in an incredibly short space of time.”

Me gave a most unsatisfactory account of his return to Turkey in Europe; first to Bosnia, or Herzegovina, where he was, or pretended to be, physician to Husreff Mehmed Pasha, and then to Seraievo.  When we spoke of Hafiz Pasha, of Belgrade, he said, “I know him well, but he does not know me; I recollect him at Carpout and Diarbecr before the battle of Nisib, when he had thirty or forty pashas under him.  He could shoot at a mark, or ride, with the youngest man in the army.”

The collector now re-entered with the Natchalnik and his captains, and the renegade took his leave, I regretting that I had not seen more of him; for a true recital of his adventures must have made an amusing chapter.

“Here is the captain, who is to escort you to Ushitza,” said the Natchalnik, pointing to a muscular man at his left.  “He will take you safe and sound.”

Author.  “I see he is a stout fellow.  I would rather have him for a friend than meet him as an enemy.  He has the face of an honest man, too.”

Natchalnik.  “I warrant you as safe in his custody, as if you were in that of Gospody Wellington.”

Author.  “You may rest assured that if I were in the custody of the Duke of Wellington, I should not reckon myself very safe.  One of his offices is to take care of a tower, in which the Queen locks up traitorous subjects.  Did you never hear of the Tower of London?”

Natchalnik.  “No; all we know of London is the wonderful bridge that goes under the water, where an army can pass from one side to the other, while the fleet lies anchored over their heads.”

The Natchalnik now bid me farewell, and I gave my rendezvous to the captain for next morning.  During the discussion of dinner, the arch-priest gave us an illustration of Bosniac fanaticism:  A few months ago a church at Belina was about to be opened, which had been a full year in course of building, by virtue of a Firman of the Sultan; the Moslems murmuring, but doing nothing.  When finished, the Bishop went to consecrate it; but two hours after sunset, an immense mob of Moslems, armed with pickaxes and shovels, rased it to the ground, having first taken the Cross and Gospels and thrown them into a latrina.  The Bishop complained to the Mutsellim, who imprisoned one or two of them, exacted a fine, which he put in his own pocket, and let them out next day; the ruins of the Church remain in statu quo.