on which crops of maize are grown, while during the
winter or rainy months the whole district of fertile land becomes
again submerged. This view of the Rijeka was decidedly one of the
prettiest in the country, combining, as it does every now and then,
glimpses of the lake and the majestic Albanian Alps.

Always followed by our rival party, we halted at a wayside inn to
refresh both man and beast. These inns are quaint little places. There
is seldom any other floor than that already provided by Nature, which
has been beaten flat.

We called for coffee, and partook of the country's wine, to whose
acidity we never accustomed ourselves, and entered into conversation
with our convivial companions. One, a horse dealer, spoke excellent
Italian, and we met him often afterwards in the course of our travels.

When we had finished our libations, we naturally wished to have the
bill or rather to know how much there was to pay.

"Nothing," was the answer.

"But we have had ----" It is not well to particularise--it was a
thirsty day.

"There is nothing to pay," the woman reiterated.

The other party had guiltily slipped out of the room and climbed into
their carriage, and our driver became impatient to maintain the lead.
With mixed feelings we followed him out, and in another second were
off again at a gallop.

It was always like that in Montenegro. We have gone into an inn or
cafe and drunk a liqueur (a polite name for the fiery but wholesome
local spirit), when a fresh glass will be silently placed before us.
We have waved it away.

"Not ordered it," we would say.

"That man has," answers the boy, and points at a smiling Montenegrin
on the other side of the room. Sometimes, and very often too, other
guests follow suit, and the result is trying. We gave up visits to
cafes afterwards, except when we were on pleasure bent and had an hour
to spare. Hospitable, reckless, poverty-stricken Montenegrins--one can
travel far before another such a race can be found.

The last two hours of the drive are uninteresting, chiefly because
eight hours in a carriage is trying. Podgorica comes in sight long
before it is reached, in the form of a cluster of trees on a grassy
but dead-level plain, out of which two minarets show their graceful
spires. The background is imposing, lowering Albanian mountains rise
abruptly to their lofty heights from the level of the plain.

For an hour we drove along the plain, and passed a solitary buildin