ivilized and airy-looking compared with those of Traue, and the little
paved squares, as so often along this coast, suggest the memory of the
ruling city.

The memory of Venice is again called up by the graceful little scraps of
its characteristic architecture which catch the eye ever and anon among
the houses of Cattaro. The landing-place, the marina, the space between
the coast and the Venetian wall, where we pass for the last time under
the winged lion over the gate, has put on the air of a boulevard. But
the forms and costume of Bocchesi and Montenegrins, the men of the gulf,
with their arms in their girdles, no less than the men of the black
mountain, banish all thought that we are anywhere but where we really
are, at one of the border points of Christian and civilized Europe. If
in the sons of the mountains we see the men who have in all ages held
out against the invading Turk, we see in their brethren of the coast the
men who, but a few years back, brought Imperial, Royal, and Apostolic
Majesty to its knees ...

At Cattaro the Orthodox Church is on its own ground, standing side by
side on equal terms with its Latin rival, pointing to lands where the
Filioque[14] is unknown and where the Bishop of the Old Rome has even
been deemed an intruder. The building itself is a small Byzantine
church, less Byzantine in fact in its outline than the small churches of
the Byzantine type at Zara, Spalato, and Traue. The single dome rises,
not from the intersection of a Greek cross, but from the middle of a
single body, and, resting as it does on pointed arches, it suggests
the thought of Perigueux and Angouleme. But this arrangement, which is
shared by a neighboring Latin church, is well known throughout the East.

The Latin duomo, which has been minutely described by Mr. Neale,[15] is
of quite another type, and is by no means Dalmatian in its general look.
A modern west front with two western towers does not go for much; but it
reminds us that a design of the same kind was begun at Traue in better
times. The inside is quite unlike anything of later Italian work.

The traveler whose objects are of a more general kind turns away from
this border church of Christendom as the last stage of a pilgrimage
unsurpassed either for natural beauty or for historic interest. And, as
he looks up at the mountain which rises almost close above the east end
of the duomo of Cattaro, and thinks of the land[16] and the men to which
the path ove