Dinner was preceded by cheese, onions,
and slivovitsa as a _rinfresco_, and our beds were improvised in the
Turkish manner by mattresses, sheets, and coverlets, laid on the
divans. May I never have a worse bed![6]
Next morning, on waking, I went into the kiosk to enjoy the cool fresh
air, the incipient sunshine, and the noble prospect; the banat of
Matchva which we had yesterday traversed, stretched away to the
westward, an ocean of verdure and ripe yellow fruits.
"Where is the Drina?" said I to our host.
"Look downwards," said he; "you see that line of poplars and willows;
there flows the Drina, hid from view: the steep gardens and wooded
hills that abruptly rise from the other bank are in Bosnia."
The town doctor now entered, a middle-aged man, who had been partly
educated in Dalmatia, and consequently spoke Italian; he told us that
his salary was L40 a year; and that in consequence of the extreme
cheapness of provisions he managed to live as well in this place as he
could on the Adriatic for treble the sum.
Other persons, mostly employes, now came to see us, and we descended
to the town.
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