30 IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 



I ought rather to have tried the rocky ridges and 

 peaks, and not the flat, I should very likely have 

 had some sport. Unfortunately, I did not. 



From the punch-bowl I took a beat up a long 

 stretch of moor — all rocks, of course — and finally 

 struck a long narrow glen running due south. The 

 dry watercourse running down it accounted for the 

 luxuriant nature of the bushes here — as before, 

 mostly rhododendron-like shrubs mixed with 

 juniper and enormously high heather. I could 

 not help thinking what a lovely beat this would 

 be in October, when there are plenty of woodcock 

 about. The glen went on deepening, with masses 

 of rocks on each side, and finally brought me out 

 a mile behind Pasman village. This is a mere 

 hamlet, with houses enough for four times its 

 population. But disused houses are to be found all 

 over the island. It appears that in the seventeenth 

 century the plague reduced the population to 

 three individuals, and, though the island is now 

 repopulated, the superstitious natives invariably 

 refuse to utilize any of the old houses, which they 

 allege to be haunted. From this point a hot walk — 

 for the sun was already very strong — brought me 

 back to camp at eight, quite ready for bathe and 

 breakfast. 



As I am on the subject of the superstitious 

 nature of the Dalmatian peasant I may quote a 

 German writer on the subject. He says, " They 



