“Nogo Svet.—­This is the whole world,” said the peasant, who stood by me.

I myself thought, that if an artist wished for a landscape as the scene of Satan taking up our Saviour into a high mountain, he could find none more appropriate than this.  The Kopaunik is not lofty; not much above six thousand English feet above the level of the sea.  But it is so placed in the Servian basin, that the eye embraces the whole breadth from Bosnia to Bulgaria, and very nearly the whole length from Macedonia to Hungary.

I now thanked the captain for his trouble, bade him adieu, and, with a guide, descended the north eastern slope of the mountain.  The declivity was rapid, but thick turf assured us a safe footing.  Towards night-fall we entered a region interspersed with trees, and came to a miserable hamlet of shepherds, where we were fain to put up in a hut.  This was the humblest habitation we had entered in Servia.  It was built of logs of wood and wattling.  A fire burned in the middle of the floor, the smoke of which, finding no vent but the door, tried our eyes severely, and had covered the roof with a brilliant jet.

Hay being laid in a corner, my carpet and pillow were spread out on it; but sleep was impossible from the fleas.  At length, the sheer fatigue of combating them threw me towards morning into a slumber; and on awaking, I looked up, and saw a couple of armed men crouching over the glowing embers of the fire.  These were the Bolouk Bashi and Pandour, sent by the Natchalnik of Krushevatz, to conduct us to that town.

I now rose, and breakfasted on new milk, mingled with brandy and sugar, no bad substitute for better fare, and mounted horse.

We now descended the Grashevatzka river to Bruss, with low hills on each side, covered with grass, and partly wooded.  Bruss is prettily situated on a rising ground, at the confluence of two tributaries of the Morava.  It has a little bazaar opening on a lawn, where the captain of Zhupa had come to meet me.  After coffee, we again mounted, and proceeded to Zhupa.  Here the aspect of the country changed; the verdant hills became chalky, and covered with vineyards, which, before the fall of the empire, were celebrated.  To this day tradition points out a cedar and some vines, planted by Militza, the consort of Lasar.

The vine-dressers all stood in a row to receive us.  A carpet had been placed under an oak, by the side of the river, and a round low table in the middle of it was soon covered with soup, sheeps’ kidneys, and a fat capon, roasted to a minute, preceded by onions and cheese, as a rinfresco, and followed by choice grapes and clotted cream, as a dessert.

“I think,” said I to the entertainer, as I shook the crumbs out of my napkin, and took the first whiff of my chibouque, “that if Stephan Dushan’s chief cook were to rise from the grave, he could not give us better fare.”

Captain.  “God sends us good provender, good pasture, good flocks and herds, good corn and fruits, and wood and water.  The land is rich; the climate is excellent; but we are often in political troubles.”