on, splinters of shells are tastefully arranged on the walls.
Immediately in front of us stood the once famous fortress of Bar, now
a shot-riddled and ruined mass of stone, a mere shell of its former
strength.

Even then the town is hardly apparent, but in a few seconds one enters
it down a steep and slippery path of well-worn stones. On either side
are Turkish bazaars, out of which Turkish faces peer at the infidel
dogs. There is very little of the Montenegrin element apparent. We
only walked through the town once, as our destination was Prstan, the
actual seaport of Antivari.

We were somewhat rudely disillusioned. After an hour's drive along a
flat and ugly road, we espied a collection of some half a dozen
houses. Two or three of them are large and modern in appearance but
that was all. Was this, then, Antivari, Montenegro's important seaport
and the bone of contention with Austria?

Right well has Austria maintained its control of this little port. One
large house is that of the Austrian Vice-Consul, who lives in solitary
state, watching everyone who passes through the port. Opposite, on the
further horn of the bay, lies Spizza, an Austrian military station.
Antivari is, indeed, but Montenegrin in name.

Right on the shore and in the centre of the large bay stands a white
house, a short distance from the Austrian frontier, which is Topolica,
the favourite residence of the Crown Prince. Square, undecorated, and
uninteresting, it is almost an exact counterpart of the other
Montenegrin royal residences. Yet its position is superb. From either
corner of the bay, where the mountains meet the sea, stretches an
unbroken chain of mountain peaks, rugged and forbidding, but extremely
picturesque. Witnessed at sunset when the soft lights mellow the sharp
outlines, and the sombreness of the mountains is tinged with red, the
fascination which this place holds for this lover of nature, Prince
Danilo, can be well understood. We spent two days revelling in its
wild solitariness.

Our hotel was distinctly quaint, but we were very comfortable. Again
we had but one room for all, but it was clean, and the hostess, an
Austrian, an excellent cook.

We hoped to have started on our further journeys the following day,
and found a small sailing vessel anchored in the bay; the captain
consenting to take us on to Dulcigno. It was an Albanian boat, manned
by about half a dozen cut-throats, and in spite of warnings we
arranged to leave n