_Aug. 28th._—This morning our Belgian, who was hardly reassured by the news which we brought from Serajevo, has suddenly discovered that he has a pressing engagement at Trieste—to meet his mother—and hands us a letter to the Vali demanding ‘a temporary leave of absence’—his sole object of course being to visit the old lady. We were much touched by this display of filial affection. The heat being again cruel, we secured the luxury of a horse to carry our knapsacks to Mostar, the destination of our to-day’s trudge; and, while waiting for the due equipment of our beast in the yard of our Mahometan _Kiradjì_ or driver, we have leisure to observe a most curious phenomenon in the costume of the female Moslems of this district. In every other part of Bosnia and the Herzegovina the veil is _de rigueur_ with the wives and mothers of the faithful. But here at Jablanica, and in this part of the valley of the Narenta on both sides of the spot where the little river Rama[281] debouches into it, the Mahometan women discard their _yashmak_[282] with one accord, and not only show themselves before strangers of the other sex bare-faced, but do not blush to hold converse with them. It is true that even here they display on occasion a certain shyness of male regards; and the Belgian warned us that, if looked at too curiously, they did not confine themselves to a prudish _Haiti!_ but were known to vindicate their modesty with a volley of stones. We, however, were never saluted after this fashion, the fair Mahometans contenting themselves at most with turning away their faces from the passing Giaour.