they are! Often and often have I watched them turn their heads this way and that way, for the least sound of danger, and then securely basking in the fierce and reflected sun-ray. In the hollow of the crescent-shaped wall, I passed one herd of cattle, which were diligently turning over the stones for the scant short herbage below them,—when a black serpent, at least four feet long, darted across my path. So I passed westward and upwards, till I again caught a view of the sea—the narrow blue strait. Mount Lyss, in Cherso, directly opposite—the white spire of Predoschizza at its foot: Mount Goly, in Istria, towering behind both. And at the same time, I caught sight of the tall tower of my own immediate goal, Poglizza.
The church was worthless; a large pseudo-classical white building; altar at west end of choir: but I was in time for a Glagolitic mass. The epistle and gospel were read, not from the Missal, but from the Pistole i Evangelja, of which I have already spoken. It was, I confess, with singular interest that I heard the Sctènje knighè Blàxenòga Jakova Apostolà given out. Here also were two ambones, both used: only in the gospel, the acolyth did not ascend with the taper, but stood in front and below the Priest. The congregation, of some 300, were very devout; men of the north, women on the south, side; the married of both sexes, east; the unmarried, west. The Priest, before the creed, and still in the ambo, made a short address with reference to the Rogation Processions, and ending with a few words on the efficacy of prayer. I should observe, that neither in this church, nor
