it was four thousand feet above us.  Through a gap rises a peak, round which a filmy cloud had lovingly wrapped itself like a lace shawl upon the snowy shoulders of a beautiful woman.  We took a turn down the quay, and at the end we turned our back on this witching view.  Hardly had we retraced our steps a few yards when we and all our surroundings were bathed in a glorious white light.  We turned again, and were almost forced to shield our eyes as we gazed on the gentle orb which had now surmounted the intervening ridge.  The whole fjord was now transformed into a sea of silver almost as bright as midday.  Each nestling village was distinct, even to the tiniest window; each tree and shrub on the wall-like mountain, and even the grim forts, were softened in that sweet radiance.  The little paths which zigzag up the hills to the forts above look like great white snakes turning and twisting up those rugged cliffs.

At four o’clock on the following morning we made a start, and were well up the mountain by the time that the sun began to make his presence felt.

[Illustration:  THE BOCCHE DI CATTARO]

The high road to Cetinje was built by the Austrians, and it is a marvel of engineering skill, particularly the ascent of the almost perpendicular wall of mountain rising abruptly from Cattaro.  In series of serpentines and gradients, which often permit the horses to trot, the road winds up and up, every turn giving a still finer view of the lake below.  Cattaro remains in view practically the whole ascent.  The view from the top is magnificent and unsurpassed in Europe.  The grand bays look like miniature glass ponds, fringed with white toy villages, and far away in the distance the deep blue Adria sparkles and glitters in the sunshine.

Montenegro is entered some little distance from the top, but, as only a row of paving stones indicates the spot, it is not till the carriage dashes through a rocky gorge and out into the open Karst beyond that the traveller realises that he has crossed the border.  The sudden change is startling, from the blue sea and green valleys to grey masses of limestone rock and barren mountains.  It is the Katunska, the original stronghold of the Montenegrins, within which they defied all comers.

At the first house, solidly built of stone, our carriage halted, and the driver entered it, emerging with the revolver which he had to relinquish on entering Austria.  It is a formidable weapon specially manufactured in Vienna for Montenegro, a foot and a half long, firing an enormous cartridge.  The revolver is always worn, by all classes alike, and carried loaded by order.  The upper classes carry a much smaller and handier weapon, but a revolver must be carried by prince and peasant alike.

Njegusi is the first town or village reached, and here an hour’s rest is always made.  It is interesting, since it was once the temporary capital, and as the home of the Petrovic family, the reigning dynasty.  It lies in a great hollow of fertile ground, and on the southern side the historical Lovcen ascends.  On the top the great prince and hero, Peter II., is buried, and his mausoleum brings large numbers of pilgrims yearly.