172 
NATURE NOTES 
insect life must surely abound ; yet once again we returned home 
with the now customary barren result. Just before reaching the 
Gorch Blau our eyes were gladdened with the sight of that 
lovely pink endemic, Digitalis duhia. 
Hence, the next afternoon — after leaving a contribution for 
the Church with the custodian of the monastery and settling 
up our modest account at the Fonda in the courtyard — we 
put our baggage on a mule and set out over a wild, rocky pass 
tor Pollensa, a picturesque, but rather dirty, old town, ten miles 
away, and within three miles of the coast, where there is a 
small port. The quantity of loose stones on this road carried 
our thoughts back to the Classical slingers (ballistarii) of our 
school-days, for which the island was renowned. The practice 
of the art no longer exists, although the sturdy build of the 
natives suggests that it might easily be taken up again on an 
emergency. 
Our last four or five miles lay through a broad, highly 
cultivated valley, and here an incident occurred which illustrates 
the genial courtesy and hospitality of the native. 
In the train between Palma and Inca I got into conversation 
(through the medium of Italian) with a middle-aged individual 
whom I judged to be a small farmer. He hopped out of the 
train at Inca to make a bargain for us with the man who was 
to drive us to Lluch, gave us his address near Pollensa, hoped 
we would call there on our way, and rushed back to the train 
again. To our surprise, when we asked for his house, were 
shown what might well be called, for these parts, a “ Palacio,” 
to which we ascended by a flight of steps on to a broad 
terrace, and, on being announced, w’ere at once welcomed, 
in hearty English fashion, by our burly friend of the train. He 
appeared to be the possessor of a large estate, and then and 
there conducted us over the gardens and grounds immediately 
surrounding the house. Here, for the first time, we saw water. 
The torrent itself rushed along, out of sight, in a deep ravine, 
but it fed a pretty fountain in the garden, in the centre of 
which a stone nymph seemed to be oozing at every pore. His 
dependents — men, women and children — were swarming all over 
the place, and while he sent a woman to strip a standard 
apricot of its fruit, he showed us over the capacious and well- 
appointed house, down to a luxurious lavatory with all the 
latest appliances. Then fruit and wine were produced on the 
terrace, now in shade, followed by coffee and some wonderful 
cognac, seventeen years in bottle. Before parting he filled all 
our pockets with apricots, and we left him with the impression 
of having fortuitously fallen upon a very fine example of 
Mallorcan hospitality and bonhomie. 
The name of this gentleman is Senor Don Antonio Jaume 
Nadal, and his address. Can Serra, near Pollensa. At Pollensa 
the Hotel Bestard exemplified the truth of the adage that 
“things are not always what they seem,” for certainly nothing 
