ough men in their
brightly coloured and novel costumes are in complete unison with the
picture. These national costumes seem so absolutely fitting to
Montenegro that the otherwise plain and uninteresting buildings of
the town are turned merely into a background for the ever-moving
stream of colour. The Turkish bazaars with their gaudy wares hung out
into the street, the red-jacketed Montenegrin, the Turk in pure white,
the Scutarines in their distinct and original costume, and the
Albanians who flock in hundreds to the market in coarse white serge,
heavily bordered with black braiding, rifles over their shoulders and
a bandolier round their waists, make a never-ending picture. We never
wearied of wandering about the streets on market days. Then the town
is filled to overflowing with a multi-coloured crowd, and every man
from a distance brings his rifle.

How odd it looked at first to see an Albanian with perhaps a
shilling's-worth of field produce spread out before him, and at his
side a rifle loaded and cocked; or, again, a Montenegrin boy of
perhaps fourteen, with his rifle across his knee! To keep order in
this formidably armed crowd of men, many animated with the fiercest
racial and religious hatred of each other, are some dozen Montenegrin
gendarmes, armed, as is every Montenegrin, with but a heavy revolver.

Deadly enemies meet on the market-place, men standing in blood feud
with one another, and speak, often expressing a fervent prayer soon to
be able to put a bullet into the other at the first opportunity,
but--outside the town. Podgorica is mutually held as neutral
territory, and is very rarely violated. This is strange where men fear
not death.

But, outside, perhaps but half an hour from the outskirts of the town,
these men will meet and shoot and kill; for murder, or sudden death,
to use their euphemistic way of looking at matters, is by no means
uncommon.

There is a great tract of land about an hour's ride from Podgorica
characteristically called the "Crna Zemlja" or Black Earth. It is
neutral, lying between Montenegro and Albania, and the man who sets
his foot on it carries his life in his hands. Men who know, say that
every inch is soaked in blood. It is overlooked by some small hills
from Albania, and is covered with long pampas grass, affording good
cover for a man, and they shoot there for love of killing.

But to return to Eastertide.

It is a good time to visit Montenegro for first impressio