With these agreeable
sensations still soothing me, coffee was brought by the lady of the
house, on a very pretty service; and I could not help admitting that
there was less roughing in Servian travel than I expected.
After supper, the pariah priest came in, a middle-aged man.
_Author_. "Do you remember the Turkish period at Karanovatz?"
_Priest_. "No; I came here only lately. My native place is Wuchitern,
on the borders of a large lake in the High Balkan; but, in common with
many of the Christian inhabitants, I was obliged to emigrate last
year."
_Author_. "For what reason?"
_Priest_. "A horde of Albanians, from fifteen to twenty thousand in
number, burst from the Pashalic of Scodra upon the peaceful
inhabitants of the Pashalic of Vrania, committing the greatest
horrors, burning down villages, and putting the inhabitants to the
torture, in order to get money, and dishonouring all the handsomest
women. The Porte sent a large force, disarmed the rascals, and sent
the leaders to the galleys; but I and my people find ourselves so
well here that we feel little temptation to return.
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