settlers took possession of it; artists, weavers, and artisans in large numbers poured in, and dwelt side by side with the Syrians, but occupying their own part of the town, gradually introducing their own language to common use as in Antioch and Alexandria, and giving a Grecian tone to the education of the higher classes. The Latin tongue, on the contrary, seems never to have gained a footing in the East. Cyprus, however, formed an exception to this rule, and during the four centuries that the island was subject to the sway of the Lusignan dynasty, and Venetian rule, Latin was in general use. Not a trace of it, however, now remains. Modern Greek is spoken, even in most of the Turkish houses, and is understood in every part of the country. The consulate body in Larnaka has representatives from every state in Europe. Its haven is the best in the island, although on account of the shallowness of the water, vessels are compelled to steer clear of the sand and ride at some distance from the town.

The whole of this interesting island may be regarded as one huge graveyard, the treasures of which are disclosed at every turn of the spade. In Idalion, the Greeks, it appears, had formerly made their graves three feet below the surface, and, probably unknown to themselves, only some three or four feet above those occupied by the Phœnician colonists. In these graves, now filled up by the drifting earth of successive centuries, are found embedded small earthen articles, trinkets, coins, and a great variety of interesting trifles. Amongst other articles shown me, were elegant little figures, sucking bottles for children, and every variety of vases and cups in clay and glass.[1] What struck me most, however, were some delicate gold chains and ear-rings, and some yellowish blue vases of Phœnician glass.

Towards evening I visited the chief part of the town, which is about a quarter of an hour’s walk from the haven, and called upon the bishop. Here I learnt many interesting facts concerning the recent improvements made in means of popular education. Until thirty years ago, schools were strictly prohibited, whereas now, every town has its training school; whilst in three of the chief towns, Larnaka, Nikosia, and Limasol, these are of three grades, and in them are taught history, geography, and Grecian literature, even to the reading of Homer and Xenophon. The prices for these classes are from 100 to 300 marks. Anything over and above this charge is covered by the bishop, and a toll upon the exports and imports of the towns.

I then visited the church of St. Lazarus, which is surrounded by fine rows of pillars, with pointed arches, which give an impressive and sacred aspect to the building. The main part of the church is built in the form of a cross, with a dome in the centre, and is evidently of great antiquity. The building comprises three long large vaults, surmounted by three small cupolas. It seems that the Pacha Kudschuk Mehemed commanded the demolition of these domes, on the ground that only a mosque should be so adorned, but after long and earnest entreaties, at last yielded so far as to consent to their being only half torn down, and the openings filled up with planks. They were afterwards restored, and fifteen years ago, a handsome clock tower was erected, surmounted by the Russian double eagle.

When I issued from the church, evening had closed in, and the priests, robed in black, with lights in their hands, lent an air of solemn mystery to this fine building. St. Lazarus is supposed to have died in Cyprus, and his marble coffin, adorned with one rose, stands in a narrow recess. The tomb is empty; the bones, in all probability, having been taken possession of by the Venetians as sacred relics. Next morning I wandered out to explore the environs of the town. The air was spring-like and balmy, flowers, amongst which I observed tulips and hyacinths, enlivened the ground, and the blue waves danced in the light of the sun. Waving palms and high hedges of Indian cactus, hid the haven from my sight, and lent an air of solitude and repose to the whole scene, whilst as far as the eye could reach, the fields were filled with fruit trees, and the landscape enlivened by flocks of goats and sheep. The whole scene formed an Oriental picture of great beauty, and I could not help exclaiming to myself, “If this is the worst part of the country what a paradise the interior must be!”

In the evening, having obtained the loan of a fine Arab horse, I rode off to investigate a curious building, at no great distance from the town. This remarkable structure, which is half embedded in the earth and rock, resembles a baker’s oven, and is high enough to permit a man to stand upright within it. The sides are formed of large blocks of stone, and the roof covered by one huge slab. This erection is divided into three parts. A small chamber is hewn in the bare rock, which forms a natural wall at the back of the structure. Formerly a similar chamber opened upon the front of the large centre portion, but this is now destroyed These apartments seem to have been closed by slabs let down from above into grooves, which are still visible. This ruin was probably first used by the Phœnicians as a burial-place, and at a later date consecrated to the virgin mother Phaneromene Panagia. This spot has a great attraction for the peasant women of the surrounding country, who believe that its sacred walls possess a peculiar virtue for those suffering from grievous sickness or for childless women. These latter often make pilgrimages hither, carrying a lamp concealed under their garments. At the entrance the lamp is kindled, and the suppliant steps barefooted into the third chamber, where she offers her prayers to Panagia, and leaves her lamp as a votive offering. Turkish women, I am informed, also practise this ceremony.

At a very short distance from this interesting relic, and almost close to the sea, lies the celebrated lake from which the Phœnicians extracted the salt they so largely exported. Its value has in this respect by no means deteriorated. During the winter rains it becomes filled with brackish water, which evaporates as in a vast cauldron, under the burning sun of July and August, and deposits a thick coat of fine salt at its bottom. Night soon closes in in these latitudes, and as I left the spot, the sun suddenly lit up sea, sky, and earth in one blaze of glowing colour, and then rapidly sank to rest. Darkness at once set in, and I rode home through a silence as complete, and a solitude as profound, as if I were traversing the open desert.

The cause of unhealthiness in most towns in Cyprus is quite local and easily removed. Thus round Larnaka and Famagusta are marshes which infect the air, and are apt to induce fever and ague in summer.

CHAPTER II.

ATHIENU.

At seven o’clock the following morning I started for Athienu, and as I passed through the streets of Larnaka, the town was still quiet, and almost empty.

The better class of houses stand within a court-yard and garden, and are furnished with large verandahs, supported by light pillars. Women and girls of the lowest class were to be seen lounging about the narrow, crooked streets. As I quitted the town, the day became all that a traveller could desire. The air was bright and pure, and a balmy breeze swept over the green plains. The swallows were skimming through the air, and countless larks were trilling their sweetest notes.