ns. The
Montenegrin outdoes himself in open-handed hospitality; every house is
open, and everyone visits his neighbour. The best chamber in the
house, as often as not the only living-room among the poorer classes,
is set out with all the good things the owner possesses. On the table
stand meat, eggs, bread, wine, and spirits; and it is a grievous
insult to leave that room without tasting, and tasting liberally, of
all. This lasts three days, and it is more than enough.

And we were particularly honoured, being Englishmen and strangers: one
might say we were painfully honoured. What quantities we were forced
to eat and drink! At one house, that of a poor man, who lived with his
wife in a tiny room, we were presented with a bottle of Munich beer,
his greatest treasure, given him once by a friend who had travelled.
He doubtless considered it a luxury of a priceless kind, and it cut us
to the heart to drink that man's beer. But we had to; he took no
denial, barely tasting it himself.

We might have stood it fairly well were it not for those eggs,
hard-boiled Easter eggs, the shells coloured red or blue. This
institution is a positive torture to the unfortunate digestion, which
suffers untold torments at Eastertide.

There is a game played with these hard-boiled eggs which reminds one
forcibly of schooldays. Two men each select an egg, and one, holding
his egg firmly, allows the other to endeavour to crack it, only the
pointed ends being used.

But this harmless if childish custom once led to a vendetta. A man
once cracked such an enormous quantity of eggs, that in the evening he
was challenged to show his marvellous egg, which he persistently
refused to do. This led to words and words to revolvers, and the man
was shot. Then the egg was found to be a clever imitation in stone.

Though Podgorica is the trading centre of Montenegro, business is not
carried on in the same brisk way as in other lands.

We once wished to send a parcel of feathers home, and went accordingly
to the post office. It was towards evening then, and we were informed
that the postmaster was "not at home," and were asked to come next
day. The following morning we again visited the post office, when the
contents were carefully noted, and long lists filled out which took
roughly about half an hour; at the end of which time a head was thrust
out of the window, asking us to call in about an hour and pay. This
was because no post-office clerk is allowed