enough, such is the variety of habits and manners to be witnessed, such the contrasts everywhere presented to the observer's eye. But the night is often infinitely more strange. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the moonlight night, as it settles down peacefully and calmly upon the wide sea beyond, upon the harbour and its ships, upon the long line of cottages forming the distant seaport, upon the ruined houses, the hovels and the palaces of Larnacca proper. The rich vegetation covered with dew and glistening in the moonbeams is noteworthy enough. The brilliant flowers catch a new lustre from the soft silvery light showered down upon them in profusion. The pleasantly cool verandah looks cooler and more pleasant as the moonbeams alternate with lines of lengthened shadow upon the stone or marble terrace beyond. All this makes the gazer loth to retire from viewing such a scene to seek his couch. He will have another lookhe will inspect this glorious scene once again, ere he buries himself in forgetfulness and slumber.

It is still early, and the hum of insect life alone disturbs the stillness of the night, as the traveller turns at length from the beautiful view without, to seek the needed repose. He has laid himself down comfortably, and, thinking perhaps of a far-off home, and a far off-land, resigns himself to "tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep." The eyelids are closing, the form is perfectly composed, the heaving of the chest alone tells of life. The drowsy god is laying his hand upon the slumberer, when, hark! he stirs, he rouses himself, he involuntarily rubs his eyes" pshaw, it's all a dream" he whispers to himself, as he listens attentively. All is silent, and he composes himself once more on his couch. Before he has had time, however, to obtain a wink of sleep, another loud, deep, long-protracted yell disturbs him. There can be no doubt about it. It was no dream, no illusion, but a howl of a singular, of an almost unearthly character. "What can it be?" asks the unsophisticated tourist" what can it be?" and with that he seeks the window again, and there he finds all quiet, all beautiful, as before. The yell or howl has died away, and

silence is disturbed only by the insect hum.

The jackals are up and about, and the jackals have roused the traveller from his slumbers. They come down to the environs of the town in troops, and nothing can be more strange or alarming than the whining howl or discordant yell they utter forth at intervals. These howls or yells are, however, but the overtures to a grand concert of barks and yelpings indulged in by the troops of wanderers for hours together, particularly on moonlit nights.

It is evident our traveller must get accustomed to them as best he can. It is useless complaining. The

heaviest maledictions on the whole tribe of wolves, foxes, dogs, and jackals are of as little use as the benignest blessings. He must resign himself to inexorable fate, and sleep as best he may. He resolves he will do so. The loudest of barks, the most diabolical of yells, shall not disturb him again, or make him start once from his repose.

He composes himself, and the jackals and their howls, notwithstanding, would soon be in the land of oblivion again, were it not for a confused hum of many voices and many musical instruments borne to his ears from a distance. He may try and convince himself that it is all imagination, but it will not do. The reality is there floating on the air all around him in many-toned dissonance. The sounds draw nearer and more near, until he can distinctly recognise the tink, tink, tink, of many a guitar and the lachrymose ditty of many a Cypriot youth. It is a custom of these youths to wander about on moonlit nights singing love-songs by way of serenades to all and sundry whom it may concern. It does concern many who would gladly purchase their silence. Anything more woe-begone, more melancholy, than those nocturnal serenades of Larnaccan minstrels, it would not be easy to hear anywhere. It is only in a little worse time and tune than the howls of the jackals by which it is occasionally drowned.

Impatiently does our weary traveller hear the sounds drawing gradually nearer impatiently and fretfully. The discord, produced by the several

instruments and the lackadaisical drawling voices, becomes clearer and more distinct, until it booms from without the court-yard into every nook and corner of every chamber in the house. There is no escape from

it, let him turn himself never so artfully from the window, let him envelope himself never so artistically in his scanty bedclothes. It comes

sweeping on like destiny, and lurks about him for a time, and then sweeps as gradually off again, till lost in the distance.

If no other serenading party takes the same route subsequently, the weary traveller may now compose himself to sleep, disturbed only by the yelping and howling of the unwearied jackals.

WE sallied forth in the evening again to commence our journey from Larnacca to the capital, intending to take up our quarters for the night at a sort of halfway village, with an unpronounceable Greek name. Our cavalcade was miscellaneous, if not picturesque. A carriage contained the ladies in riding habits, who were to take to their horses five miles out of the town. It drove off in grand style, soon leaving us so far behind, as we walked our horses leisurely-for we had only ten miles to go-that it was lost to view. Mounted on small native horses, we sauntered on pleasantly enough towards the northwards, whilst our servants, with mules, brought up the rear.

In our

western innocence we thought we were going slowly enough, but we did not go half slowly enough for the -mules and their drivers.

Especially agreeable was the scene as we made our way along. Gardens, with vines, oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, bloomed on every side, embosoming the prettiest and most picturesque of houses, decked with every hue of the rainbow. The long shadows thrown by the evening sun enhanced the beauty of the prospect. The fruits and flowers gave a fragrancy to the air, and an appearance of agricultural prosperity pleasant to contemplate. Thomson's lines were brought forcibly to our memory by the scene before us:

Bear me, Pomona! to thy citron groves;
To where the lemon and the piercing lime,
With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green,
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd
Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes,
Sun'ed by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit.
Deep in the night the massy locust sheds,
quench my hot limbs,

The citron and the lemon, the orange and the tamarind were all here, and even an occasional specimen of the locust tree was to be met with, although the extreme eastern side of the island, in the neighbourhood of Famagosta, is its favorite locality.

The sun was just sinking behind the highest summits of Mount Olym pus on our left, as we issued from the environs of Larnacca to make our way northwards. A train of camels, which had evidently journeyed from the capital, laden with corn, cotton, and fruit, passed us by when we had emerged from the suburbs and gained the open country. It was an interesting spectacle to see the long line of patient desert-ships, the nose of the one behind tied to the tail of the one before,--making its way noiselessly, stealthily, with undulating motion, slowly along. At the best of seasons the camel is a melancholy animal to contemplate; the soft solemn looking eyes, the drooping neck, so unlike the proudly arched neck of the horse, the huge joints bending and becoming straight again as if by means of springs, the monotonous see-saw motion as one side is raised after the other, rolling the burden about from side to side incessantly, all conspire to give to the laden camel the air of endurance and sad submission to inevitable fate, rather than that of cheerful, brisk, and hopeful labour.

A more striking contrast between the Turkish horses, as they cantered about the caravan, they and their owners brisk and active as their labours were drawing to a close-a more striking contrast between them and the long line of burdened camels which they were escorting, it wou'd not be easy to discover anywhere.

From its earliest years, indeed, the camel seems to be the most miserable of animals. It never scampers or plays about like the young of other animals. It lies moaning on the ground, or runs crying after its dam, as if every movement were painfulevery lifting of its leg a new source of torture. Yet one is by no means disgusted with this most melancholy and most patient of animals. large sad eye is full of meaning and of expression, as it is turned towards the observing stranger; the ungraceful neck, as it bears the head from side to side, has a character of its own that is far from being repulsive; and although the animal itself is neither symmetrical nor elegant, it interests, perhaps, more than many other animals more shapely would do.

The

The shadows of the laden train, with the Turkish horsemen flitting about, their long spears forming a pleasant oriental feature of the scene, were stretching over the road in regular patches of the evening sunshine and dark shade. As we passed them by, the camels looked at us and passed on. Our horses looked at them and passed on. A few of the Turks graciously returned our salute of salaam alikam -" Peace be with you" as they inspected us in passing. One old greybeard, of portentously scowling features, rich, doubtless, in the odour of Mohammedan sanctity, bestowed upon us no blessing at all, but a curse, deep and emphatic, as we "infidel dogs," swept past him. Ignorant of the unfriendly import of his reply, one of our party, a vivacious Frenchman, gave the old gentleman a polite bow, lifting his hat in a cordial manner, in return for the malediction.

They

One or two Greek families were to be seen here and there in the gardens which dotted the country, rare and more rarely as we advanced. were enjoying the refreshing coolness of the evening air, with its balmy fragrance; and very picturesque were such little groups, when we happened to be near enough to observe them particularly. The graceful, closefitting bodice of the young girls, generally of the most brilliant colours, their amply wide though short petticoats, their full trousers of silk or satin, and their sandaled feet were all pleasant to contemplate, as

they tripped blithely over the grass, or tended the flowers, or played with their more grave parents, or their less sprightly brothers.

The outlines of the mountains that reared their heads before us, a little to our left, became gradually more and more distinct as we advanced. We could discern, from a miserable village at which we stopped for a few hours, the ruins of the church said to have been erected by Queen Helena, on the summit of one of these mountains; whilst upon the side of another we discerned what we were informed were the ruins of the temple of Venus. The former was at too great a distance and in too wild a region of the country to permit of our visiting it in company with the ladies of our party; but the temple we all determined forthwith upon inspecting together, as soon as we could spare a day in Nicosia for the purpose.

In the course of the twenty-five miles which we passed over in journeying from Larnacca to Nicosia, we saw but two villages, properly so called, both situated on the high road. The first of these, Arradippé by name, was originally the only place in the island in which the Turks allowed swine to be reared. That prohibition, however, has long since. been withdrawn, and pigs are now to be seen in the streets of Nicosia and Larnacca; nay, even in the very bazaars frequented by Turks and Jews.

At the second village, that in which we passed the night, there are more evidences of cultivation in the neighbourhood; both mulberry plantations and the cotton shrub still exist. A tiny waterfall in the neighbourhood of the village gives it a pleasant and picturesque aspect, particularly as the surrounding flatness is relieved by the mulberry trees. These trees aro usually planted in long lines, forming squares, and containing two, three or five thousand plants. They are diligently pruned, and not allowed to reach a greater altitude than seven or eight feet. In the heats of summer they require watering once or twice a day when first planted. The Cypriots make a little trough round each tree to serve as a reservoir. These troughs are then filled by means of little canals.

We passed the night in the best

house the village afforded, and experienced much pleasure in walking out by moonlight amid the mulberry plantation. The signs of industry were pleasant to witness after the utter stagnation of Arradippe and its neighbourhood. We were objects of curiosity, as might have been anticipated, to the inhabitants, particularly as there were two European ladies in our party; so that our walks were attended by all the idlers of the district-men, women and children-all the Greek idlers only; the few Turks in the village were too dignified or too self-satisfied to trouble themselves about us.

The best house in the village, and the cleanliest, had been prepared for our reception by the provident care of Signor Baltisiniko. For a few

piastres, indeed, there was not a villager in the district who would not gladly have surrendered his cottage and all it possessed to anybody. The owners of the mulberry and cotton plantations resided at Nicosia, so that there remained but the poorest of labourers, the most miserable of shopkeepers, the least enterprizing of traders, as the staple inhabitants. For a sum that would have scarcely provided us with a decent breakfast in a London hotel, we had a night's lodging, accommodation and provender for our cattle, a supper and a breakfast for ourselves.

Nothing could be more abject than the condition of the villagers-nothing more striking than the contrast between the wealth of nature around and the poverty of man. In the midst of luxuriant vegetation, of fruits and flowers in profusion, of numerous poultry and pigs, poverty, want, and degradation seemed stamped on the inhabitants. There was an air of patient submission about them too, the worst feature in their lot. They were content to be miserable-appeared, indeed, to regard it as essentially necessary, in the system of things, that they should be miserable, and filthy and squalid. It struck us as particularly remarkable in connexion with these villages, that not a single Turk was to be seen out of doors in them. All the inhabitants to be met with were Greeks, Cypriot Greeks-the laziest of living men. They appeared to subsist on the vegetables and poultry raised in

the neighbourhood of their diminutive cottages, reared more by the fostering hand of nature than by any care they appeared to bestow upon them. They were in the habit, too, of supplying the travellers along the road with a few necessaries, for there were two or three shops, or what pretended to be such, in each. Pigs were to be met with also in one or two of the tumble-down enclosures in the neighbourhood of the cottages, the boniest of pigs, rooting about and grunting with satisfaction. It was, doubtless, easy to rear them where the vegetation was SO rich and luxuriant. Not a single ox, or sheep, or horse, was to be seen anywhere near. The milk we had with our coffee was procured from a goat belonging to the proprietor of the abode in which we took up our quarters. A stray donkey now and then caught our eye, the only beast of burden the villagers possessed.

Our arrival and departure excited no small sensation amongst the unsophisticated inhabitants. Naked children danced with delight to see our horses and mules led forth and prepared for the journey. The strutting importance of the cawasses lent us by the English Consul at Larnacca, doubtless, impressed the little urchins with an ineffable sense of the greatness of these men. Old men, half stupid with constant smoking, hobbled to the sides of the road, many of them covered with sores, to see the cavalcade depart; some of them, doubtless, out of mere curiosity, others to obtain alms. Women, with matted locks and the most tattered raiment, left their culinary operations to sit down at the door or by the road-side, chewing some pungent spice the while, to see us off. Great was the hectoring noise of the cawasses, loud the shouts of the Greek servants, incessant the ordering of all parties by the dragomans, ere we finally departed-not in peace, but in the loudest possible of uproars, the constant talking of our own servants being a mere trifle to. the patronizing shouts of the naked children, as they danced almost frantically at our riding off, or the whining drawls of the mendicants, and the reiterated demands of everybody we had spoken to in the place for buxsheesh.

We had not left the village more than three or four miles behind us, when the ruins of Thremitus, destroyed by Richard Cœur de Lion of England, were pointed out to us. The town has never since been occupied, although evidently once a place of some consequence. Our delay to inspect these ruins was but a brief one, and, pushing on, we soon found ourselves on the borders of the Messarea, the plain nearly in the centre of which Nicosia is situated.

Whatever may have been its fertility in ancient times, the Messarea at the present day, except in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital, is an arid desert waste. Not a tree, not a blade of grass, not a solitary creeper is to be seen upon it for miles all one monotonous expanse of yellow clayey soil and half-caked sand. Ridge after ridge of these inhospitable wastes is to be passed in succession before symptoms of vegetation are at all visible any where. The horizon is bounded by one of these low ridges, running with monotonous regularity along, right in front.

"Once past that," says the eager traveller," and, doubtless, the scene will be altered."

Horses are pushed on, mules are belabored, the clay and sand are passed over as rapidly as toilsome travelling will permit; the cavalcade is ascending the hill or ridge which formerly bounded the view, and gradually the prospect opens beyond. And what is that prospect? Still the same unvarying waste of yellow sand and yellowish brown earth, terminated by another ridge equally bleak and sterile with the former.

"And where is Nicosia ?" asks the impatient traveller eagerly of his dragoman.

"Up on the ridge we can see him," is the reply, in dragomanic English, as the attendant points with his whip to the boundary in front, which appears to fringe the sky as with a clearly-defined sepia line on a blue ground. If Nicosia be not seen when you reach it, dragoman still points forward, and assures you you have not yet reached the ridge in front-a fact there is no gainsaying. length the view of the capital bursts all at once upon the traveller, and amply repays him for the toil and monotony of his journey.

At

We had been ascending for some

time previously, and on reaching the highest point of the ascent, which we did gradually and imperceptibly, the minarets and domes of Nicosia were distinctly seen outlined upon the glowing sky. In a few minutes the entire town, with its walls and forts, was visible, situated on an elevated portion of the vast plain of which it occupies the centre of the northwestern expansion.

From the southern side, Nicosia has the appearance of being strongly fortified. That it was strongly fortified under the Venetians there can be no doubt; and as the Turks have maintained its defences, and repaired them when necessary, it still looks formidable. Whether its fortifications are suited to the modern state of warlike science is altogether a different question. I should say not.

The ramparts, with their embrasures and guns, form, unquestionably, at the present day, an interesting feature of the scene which presents itself to the tourist. Behind them, sloping upwards towards the north, the loftier houses are apparent, surmounted by the Pasha's palace, and intermingled with the domed summits of the hummums, or Turkish baths. Loftiest of all, however, the graceful minarets soar upwards into the skies, the most fitting of ornaments for religious buildings, typical as they are of aspirations heavenward. When to these features of the scene the mind's eye adds the graceful vegetation of the Levant, forming a border of green to each minute portion of the landscape, fringing the houses, and contrasting pleasantly with the frowning battlements, it will be apparent that the first view of Nicosia is one to make an impression on the mind-one by no means to be forgotten as soon as seen.

We had hardly obtained our first peep at the minarets of the capital, when the character of the district over which we were riding completely changed. The clayey yellow soil and the sandy heaps were no longer to be met with. Vegetation, at first thin and scanty, served as a carpet, even on the road, for the feet of our beasts. As we advanced, however, this vegetation became richer and thicker on both sides of the way-a thin coating of grass still indicating the path on which we journeyed.

Cultivation soon exhibited itself