old us that he was descended from that
great Albanian hero and patriot. But he was an educated and travelled
man, having lived for many years in Venice, spoke an excellent Italian
and correspondingly atrocious German, which latter he delighted to
inflict upon us. He was most amusing in his hatred and contempt of the
Montenegrin peasant.

Gugga kept a big shop, and when irritated by a customer he had a
regular formula which loses much of its wit when translated, as it
rhymes in Serb. The humble Montenegrin is remarkably feminine in the
way he shops. He will spend half an hour in the store examining
everything with great curiosity. At last he will ask the price of a
certain article. Gugga, whose choler has been slowly rising during his
customer's long and tiring inspection, gives a purposely indistinct
answer, whereupon the Montenegrin will inquire "What does he say?"
Gugga, furious at being spoken to in the third person, turns savagely
upon the astonished Montenegrin saying--

"What dost thou say? What dost thou mean?
What stinks here? Get out, ass and son of an ass."

Another famous saying of his was in speaking of Montenegro, its past
and present rulers. "This land," Gugga would say in all seriousness,
"was first accursed by God, its maker; then by Diocletian, then by the
Sultan, then by our Gospodar (Prince), and lastly by Gospodin
Milovan." Gospodin (Mr.) Milovan was the last Governor of Podgorica, a
man always endeavouring to introduce modern improvements into the
town, much to the disgust of its inhabitants who are nothing if not
conservative, and amongst other sufferers was our friend Gugga. He
substitutes the word "blessed" for "accursed," according to his
audience.

We met after the arrival of the mail diligence from Cetinje about
half-past six or seven o'clock in the evening. Proceedings usually
commenced with a heated argument as to the time, the last comer being
accused of unpunctuality. It was always an unsatisfactory argument,
for no member ever had the same time as another. A sort of
go-as-you-please time was kept in the town, but as either your watch
invariably gained ten minutes in the day--according to the town clock
it did--or lost a quarter of an hour, no one had any confidence in the
official time, and each swore to the regularity of his own timepiece.
One great advantage of this discrepancy of time was that try as one
would, one was never late for an appointment. Somebody was sure to be
prese