six o'clock, and find that it is already half-past
ten. And again you feel you ought to be sleeping at one o'clock at
night, till you remember that it is really only about eight o'clock.

In the bazaar of Scutari representatives of every clan in Albania can
be seen, and each tribe has his distinctive dress, so that the variety
of national costumes to be seen there can be imagined. The Scutarines
are of course very much in evidence, clad in a jaunty sleeveless and
magnificently-embroidered jacket, silk shirt, and enormous baggy
breeches of black, and heavily pleated. How heavily pleated they are
can be gathered when twenty to twenty-five yards of a kind of black
alpaca are used for one pair of knee-breeches. White stockings and a
red skull-cap--not the high Turkish fez--with a huge blue silk tassel
reaching to the waist, complete the attire. Their women-folk look
picturesque in a large scarlet cloak, with a hood half covering the
face.

The student of Albanian costumes can make a complete study of the
subject in Scutari, rendering a journey into the vast country beyond
almost unnecessary.

We always took a camera with us, but with very poor results. It is
against the Mahometan religion to be photographed, neither are
photographers looked upon with pleasure. We did once plant our camera
in the main street of the bazaar, to the great anger of a policeman
who ordered us off, luckily after we had secured a picture.

When we were quite new to Scutari, it happened we were waiting for a
boat to take us off to the steamer, when we were struck with a
particularly fine old Scutariner in red fez and long flowing skirt.
Through the medium of an interpreter, I politely asked the permission
to take his picture. He solemnly nodded his head backwards, and I,
rejoiced at so good a subject, hurriedly erected the stand. When I
next glanced at him, his face was purple with rage, and he made a
threatening movement. For a moment I was quite at a loss to understand
the why and wherefore, until our interpreter hastily explained that it
was against the old man's religion.

"But he said 'yes,'" I expostulated. "At least he nodded."

"That means 'no,'" said the interpreter.

"What does?" I demanded. "Saying 'yes,' or nodding it."

Then the man explained to me at some length, as I repacked my camera,
that in the Orient to shake the head means "yes," and a nod--a quick
elevation of the chin accompanied by a click of the tongue--is
negativ