d finally twelve years in Montenegro
had quite "Montenegrinised" him. He was very angry if we told him
this. In the course of his duties as sole veterinary surgeon he had
travelled, and travelled continually from one end of the land to the
other, there was not a corner or collection of huts where he had not
been. He had been snowed up in winter in the mountains, attacked by
wolves, and shot at by Albanians, and had witnessed many a scene of
the vendetta.

Another even more interesting character was L., an Austrian, who for
years had been employed by scientific institutions in ornithological
and geological research in Montenegro and Albania. He had carried his
life in his hands for weeks together amongst the untameable
mountaineers across the border. A man whose terribly hard life had
turned him into a man of bone and muscle, rivalling the most active
Montenegrin in strength and endurance. And what a fund of anecdote and
adventure he could reel off! Without doubt he was one of the most
interesting and fascinating men we have ever met; a perfect rifle,
gun, and revolver shot, fine horseman and entertaining companion.

Then there was a Montenegrin professor, he was the father of the
party, though the tales _he_ told were not at all becoming to his age
and learning. He spoke about eight languages well and perhaps that had
slightly turned his brain. Once he had served a term of imprisonment
for an outspoken criticism, and when he became tired of it, he sent
an ultimatum to the effect that if he were not released at once, he
would break out himself, take a rifle and bundle of cartridges and
hold the Lovcen (a high mountain) against all comers. The originality
of his threat gained him his freedom. Since then he has kept a closer
guard over that unruly member and only unburdened himself in the
seclusion of the Club. Otherwise P., myself, and a young and intensely
patriotic Scotchman completed the list of regular members.

We had a few occasional "country members," officers and officials whom
some of us knew well from Cetinje or Niksic, but we were mostly alone.
At first we met in the garden of one Petri, a good-tempered giant of
about six feet eight inches, but in spite of our patronage he managed
to ruin himself at cards and so we were forced to adjourn to an old
Albanian rascal named Gugga. What fun we had with that dear old boy,
whom we irreverently called Skenderbeg! One day in a moment of
ill-advised confidence he had t