mphasises his feelings
occasionally by throwing a dead pig into a mosque. On other occasions
playful Albanians have been known to tie white cloths round a fez,
thereby imitating the headgear of a Mahometan priest, and so parade
through the town. Very naturally the Mahometans object to it, and
trouble ensues. About a year ago Scutari was in a state of siege, and
closed to trade for a fortnight.[3]

The consular quarter of the town is really quite fine, and here all
the rich merchants, of whom there are very many, live in large houses
often beautifully fitted up and surrounded by a formidable wall. A
street where such houses are situated is externally very gloomy,
nothing to be seen but high walls pierced by massive gates. Behind
those walls, however, are lovely gardens and imposing houses.

[Footnote 3: This has again happened since writing the above.]

The consulates are very much in evidence, with guards of
splendid-looking Albanian kavasses. Politically only Austria and Italy
are vitally interested in Albania, and these countries have large
consular staffs and fine buildings and post offices.

Owing to the absence of the British Consul, we went to see the acting
Vice-Consul, who is a Scutarine, and a very courteous gentleman. Like
all the rich merchants of Scutari, he spoke Italian fluently, and
through him we got an insight into the merchant houses. An extremely
aged kavass, in the long white skirt or kirtle worn largely in
Scutari, and with the British Arms emblazoned on his fez, respectfully
kissed our hands, and we were told that he had been in English service
for over forty years. But he could not speak a word of any language
except Albanian.

The Vice-Consul placed another kavass at our disposal to accompany us
on our explorations of the town, and gave him further permission to
attend us on our proposed ride to Podgorica. This latter idea we were
forced to give up ultimately, as the roads were considered too
dangerous. As a matter of fact, a big shooting affray took place in
the district through which we should have traversed a few days
afterwards.

Quite one of the sights is Mr. Paget's house (of Paget's Horse fame),
situated in the heart of the town. The clock tower affords a fine
view, though the time that it keeps is startling to the new-comer. As
is known, the Turks have a time of their own, which has a difference
of four hours and a half to our time. It is misleading to get up at
an early hour, say