fast line is bound to avoid. It is one of the
most beautiful sea-trips in Europe, each little port possessing gems
of old Roman and Venetian architecture, unrivalled, perhaps, in the
world and set in a perfect framework of lovely country and dancing
seascape.

It was a glorious morning in May when the _Graf Wurmbrand_, the
Austrian-Lloyd's fast steamer, left Trieste, bearing us to Cattaro.
The Gulf of Trieste is very beautiful, for the green hills, all
dotted with villas, the busy harbour life, the Julian Alps rising up
majestically far away on the starboard, and directly behind the town,
gaunt and grey, the naked Karst, of which we were to see so much in
Montenegro; all made a picture that it would be difficult to forget.

At midday we arrived at Pola. The entrance to the harbour is well
covered by islands, and on each of these frowns a great fort, some of
which, however, are so carefully hidden that their locality is only
betrayed by a flagstaff. A narrow channel leads to the inner harbour,
Austria's naval dockyard and arsenal. Here are the warships and
building yards, and away to the left, as a strange and unfitting
contrast, the Arena, one of the best-preserved specimens of Roman
work, rises seemingly from amongst the houses. Pola is full of Roman
remains. All is so green and peaceful, in spite of the countless
fortifications which render the harbour well-nigh, if not quite,
impregnable, that Nature and War seem for once to go hand-in-hand.

[Illustration: THE GRAF WURMBRAND IN THE BOCCHE DI CATTARO]

At twilight Zara looms up into view, and another short stay is made.
The town turns out _en masse_ for the coming of the _Wurmbrand_ or the
_Pannonia_--the fast boats from Trieste or Fiume are the events of the
week. There is no railway here. Unluckily Dalmatia's finest scenery is
passed in the night. Trau, with its splendid loggias and churches;
Spalato, with the grandeur of Diocletian's palace, are denied to
the traveller; Lesina, proudly calling itself the Nice of Austria;
Curzola, whose mighty Venetian bastions stand out into the sea, and
many another delightful little town and island, only show a twinkling
light or two in the darkness as the steamer ploughs by. At daybreak we
are nearing Gravosa, Ragusa's modern port. As we leave again, and
round the peninsula of Lapad, glorious in a mass of semi-tropical
vegetation, Ragusa bursts upon our view. Seen on a sunny morning it is
a sight for the gods. Built well in