As an useful sedative we have taken a Bosnian bath, and found both building and ceremony deliciously Oriental. We entered to find ourselves under a spacious dome, pierced with a constellation of star-like openings, which shed a dim religious light on marble pavements, and ogee archways and niches. In the centre a fountain, playing into a marble basin, glittered and twinkled in the artificial starlight, and faintly echoing with a cavernous murmur through vault and corridor, not only added a refreshing chill to the atmosphere—cooled already by exclusion of sunlight and the marble walls—but seemed to let in a sense of coolness by the ears. Here a venerable Turk came up, and beckoning us to follow him, led us up a flight of steps to an airy gallery opening from this cool vault, where was a divan with couches for our repose. Hence we presently emerged, attired, like the Turks about, in decorous togas and turbans, convertible into towels, and with clogs on our feet, clattered awkwardly through the spacious _Frigidarium_—how the whole brings to life the luxurious days of ancient Rome!—and thence, after passing through an antichamber still cool, plunged into the _Calidarium_ with a vengeance. This was a domed chamber of equal dimensions with the first, from which opened several lesser rooms swelling into cupolas above. But we were so suffocated with the hot steamy atmosphere, that it was not till after we had been seated by our attendant Turk on a daïs in one of these side-vaults, that we recovered breath sufficient to take stock of anything. Just behind us, from a leaden spout fixed in an ogival niche in the wall, gushed forth a hot fountain into a marble basin, out of which, after much patient endurance of preliminary sudation, we were basted by our minister. Then succeeded excoriation by a rough gauntlet that served as strigil, then we were well lathered, and so the process was repeated till a final douche of cold water from a wooden bowl gave the signal for girding ourselves once more and making our way through the cool chamber—tenfold refreshing now!—to our couch. Here, in the same turban and light attire as himself, we accompanied a Turk in _dolce far niente_ tempered with fragrant mocha and cigarettes—though sherbet is equally proper as a beverage, and a narghilé would perhaps have been more decorous. The whole process, including the time spent in recovering from our first succeeding lassitude, lasted about an hour.