a boat, and reached the famous village of Zabljak
about one o'clock. The village is still overlooked by a formidable
fortress, but in the rude collection of huts it was hard to see the
ancient capital of Montenegro, the home of the famous Black Prince
dynasty.

One of the most wretched inns that it was our lot to find in
Montenegro received us and our baggage. The village of course turned
out to inspect us, and watched us eat our meal with interest. It was
of the usual kind, consisting of eggs, raw ham, eggs, and dessert of
_more_ hard-boiled eggs, washed down with a remarkably sour wine.

After this repast we retired for a short nap into the room beyond. P.
was tired and got on one bed, but I, displaying more caution, lifted
the pillow before I trusted myself to the arms of Morpheus. My
fore-sight was rewarded better than I deserved, and I had P. off his
bed in the twinkling of an eye. As an explanation which his
threatening attitude demanded at once, I silently lifted his pillow.
It likewise teemed with life, and we postponed our post-prandial
slumbers till a more fitting occasion.

At the foot of the village the Moraca flowed past, now a formidable
and swiftly running river. We were amused to see several oxen driven
into it, and swim serenely to the opposite bank.

Only one small canoe could be found for us, which would ordinarily
hold one man besides the two paddlers, with comfort. Into it were
crowded three men and a quantity of baggage. In addition, it leaked,
and periodically we were turned out on to a muddy and marshy bank
while the canoe was bailed out.

This end of the lake is very curious, a series of natural canals run
in all directions through vast swamps which only afford foothold in
the height of summer. The thrifty peasants utilise the dry season to
plant fields of maize, for the scorching sun dries these swamps in a
very short space of time. In the winter or early spring, they are
nearly or quite under water. As the lake is reached, small islands of
dense willow trees grow out of the water, and in these islands are
vast colonies of waterfowl. The effect is decidedly pretty, but very
irritating to the sportsman, as the birds hide in the centre, and it
is nearly impossible to force one's way in, even by wading.

We reached our destination, a little chapel with a house for the
priest adjoining it, locally termed a "manastir," built on a rather
high and conical hill on the south end of the island of