initza trip were sisters or brothers
to them. It was a wretched day, gusty, and the rain sweeping round the
corners of the old streets. Early as was the hour, the wretched
prisoners were peering through the lattice windows of their prison,
which evidently once had been the harem of some wealthy Turk; where
beauties had once lain on voluptuous couches, wretched criminals now
crouched half-starved, racked with disease, and as we passed held out
skinny arms. All Montenegrin saddles are bound on with string, even
those of the highest in the land; indeed, one cannot imagine how the
people did before string was invented, and ours began to slip before we
were well clear of the town. Necessary adjustments were made, and on
once more.

Our guide was well armed--he carried two murderous-looking pistols, and
a long rifle slung over his back. He was in high spirits and showed us
that the proper way to ride Montenegrin horses was to drop the reins on
to the animal's neck, kick it in the stomach with both feet, elevating
your arms and uttering the most unearthly yells. Thus terrified, the
unfortunate wreck would canter a few yards, and our cicerone would turn
in his saddle and grin back at us, who were humanely contented with the
solemn jog-trot of our aged steeds along the well-worn horse-track--for
there was no road.

We crawled along, wretched in the downpour, the scenery completely
hidden by the clouds; but towards midday, as we climbed ever higher and
higher, we plunged into pine forests where the rain began to thin to
mist, veiling the trees with layers of drifting fog. Out of the forests
we came--the rain having ceased--into a strange-looking landscape, whose
japanesiness is equalled possibly only by Japan itself. There were the
queer rounded hills, the gnarled and twisted little pines and dim
fir-clad slopes cutting the sky with sharp grey silhouettes.

Here we stopped to eat. We opened a tin of meat and made rough
sandwiches with the coarse brown or black bread which is the staple food
of Serbian nations. When we were satisfied there was meat left in the
tin. Two wretched, ragged children came on the road singing some
half-Eastern chant, and we hailed them. They refused the food with
dignity, and marched on offended.

We came to the Grand Canyon of Colorado--we beg its pardon--of
Montenegro, The Tara. Great cliffs towered high on either side, great
grey, rugged cliffs topped with pine and scrub oak. Down, down, down to