Busovac, where we are stopping for the night, is a village of about 700 inhabitants, with a couple of mosques rising among low houses, each in its little enclosure with the shed for kukurutz, the small dwelling-house, the square hearth and fire-dogs, all as in Slavonia and Croatia, but on a smaller scale. Hearing that there was a Roman Catholic chapel here, we asked to be allowed to see it, and were conducted by the priest through some backyards and houses to a small shed, where a plain room was fitted up with an altar, a few crucifixes, and pictures. The priest conversed with us in Latin; he also knew a smattering of German. He was inclined to do full justice to the tolerance of the Turks, who, he said, did not molest the Latin Christians here in any way. We entered our Han—which is a fair sample of the ordinary house of the better-off Mahometans in Bosnia—by an archway on either side of which are the stables and abodes of menials, and found ourselves in a court (a garden in private houses) from which we ascended by an out-door staircase to the Divanhané, a gallery running the whole length of the house, and overlooking the yard or garden, but secured from view by a lattice. From the middle of this a kind of transept runs out to the front of the house with a bay overlooking the street, and this recess is spread with mats and cushions for the usual mid-day siesta. On either side of this central hall are the rooms with doors opening on to the gallery. We found ours fairly clean, our Hanjia obliging, and altogether fared very well. Our repast consisted of a soup compounded of milk and rice, very fine trout, a chicken very well roasted, and succeeded by kaimak[211] with little bits of sugar floating in it—all excellent; so that it is possible to _dine_ even in Bosnia.