The other members of our happy family are the Bosniacs of the Greek Church—the Serbs or Pravoslaves, as they style themselves. Of these there are about 6,000 in Serajevo, and they approach the Serbs of the Free Principality in dress as well as in name. They show, as may be seen, a great variety of head-dress—sometimes the hair plaited round a central fez _à la Serbe_—sometimes light white muslin drapery—sometimes a fez stuck coquettishly on one side, from which descends what looks like a cascade of black hair flecked with golden spray, and of such a length as to fall about the hips. It needs close inspection to detect that this is really black silk interwoven with gold thread; so that the Serbian maidens of Serajevo may be congratulated on adding a cubit to their tresses! They further embellish their hair with flowery sprays, and, on high days, both fez and bosom with a barbaric superfluity of jewellery—especially coins. They carry their fortune about with them, and a Bosniac girl is admired in proportion to the number of coins that spangle her! Perhaps the same may be seen elsewhere under a civilized disguise, but here it is paraded with all the naïveté of the savage! ‘What a pretty girl!’ enthusiastically exclaimed a Bosniac, in the Russian Hilferding’s hearing; and on his asking with surprise what the Serajevan might find to admire in a flat nose and a decided squint: ‘What? Don’t you see? There are ducats there to last a lifetime!’ But there is one kind of beauty which even the Bosniacs can admire, and that is—fatness! A fat[261] girl is here synonymous with a beauty. The character of the Christian merchants of Serajevo is, perhaps, sufficiently indicated. They are, in truth, a money-grubbing, unamiable lot, and, it need hardly be added, set their faces against culture in every form. Next to the Jews, they are the richest class in Serajevo—richer than the Turks, for the Mahometan is incapacitated by his fatalistic want of enterprize from taking part in any but small retail trades. The Serbs, on the contrary, hold in their hands most of the external commerce of the country, for which Serajevo is the natural staple, being the meeting-place of the main roads leading to Austria, North of the Save, Dalmatia, and Free Serbia, and being situate on the caravan route to Stamboul. But they do not make use of the wealth thus obtained either to elevate themselves or to aid their oppressed countrymen who lie outside the pale of consular protection. On the contrary, they form themselves into an exclusive caste, not only standing apart from the miserable rayah, but even pooh-poohing his cry of agony when it happens to stand a chance of being heard by Foreign Consuls or the Turkish Governor. Is it likely, indeed, that they should do otherwise, with such a spiritual guide as the Fanar Metropolitan?