At 8.30 we left Dervent, passing the shapeless ruins of an old castle, two walls of which can alone be traced now, and two mosques, one of them almost as dilapidated as the castle wall. Our march lay through a beautiful country, over the undulating hills which separate the valleys of the Save and Bosna, beyond which, in the exquisitely clear air, rose the lilac outlines of loftier ranges, while every now and then a gap in the hills would reveal to us the rich Possávina spread out below in dim vistas of forest and cornland. We partly kept to the road, partly indulged in short cuts and by-paths through a country sparsely scattered at long intervals with huts and stray maize-plots. Then the scenery took a wilder aspect. We passed through lonely woods of scrubby oak, and next set to traversing long stretches of open land, relieved with island-like patches and clumps, of nut-trees weighed down by the fond embraces of wild vines. Rare commons they were! and of varying mood; funereal with juniper, or a-frolic with a bright array of butterflies—azure blues, clouded yellows, silver-washed fritillaries, majestic swallow-tails, rising in short flights, and then floating through the air steered by their twin-rudders—they and all drinking in the nectar which the tropical sun distilled from seas of heath and bracken, till the whole air was filled with a kind of subtle steam. But butterflies have no knapsacks! and we ourselves were glad enough to take refuge for a while from the intense heat of noon in a little Han called Modran, where we obtained a light refection, consisting of coffee and a water-melon. Beyond this we crossed a neck of land where the oaks gave place to stunted beeches, and noticed by the roadside two small tombstones. ‘Hajduks’ graves!’ ejaculated our Zaptieh. On one was engraved a Latin, on the other a Greek cross, so they were the graves of Christians; but how had they met their fate? Had they turned brigands?—to redress, perhaps, some wrong unutterable?—or were they rather the victims of some outrage? For in Bosnia it is usual to bury the murdered on the side of the road where they fall, and there are other highways in the province lined with such monuments. But the stones are hoar and without inscription.