The water which flows round them is not less pure than the air is balmy; they seem to float in a sea of singular transparency, so clear and lucid that objects are distinctly seen at the greatest depths; and the caïque which glides over it seems supported by a fluid less dense than water, and nearly as invisible and transparent as air. From various circumstances, it is conjectured that the islands were originally one mass, and torn asunder by some convulsion of nature; abrupt promontories in the one correspond with bays and indentations in the opposite, and the space between is so deep, that the large ships of Admiral Duckworth’s fleet anchored everywhere among them with perfect safety, when they passed into the Propontis, to menace the capital. Fish of many kinds abound in the streights, and their capture is one of the employments and amusements of the residents. The fishing carried on by night is very picturesque. The boats proceed with blazing faggots lighted in braziers of iron projecting from their bow and stern; and at certain times the shores are illuminated every night, by innumerable moving lights floating round them. The islands labour under two disadvantages; one is, the want of water: there are no streams, and the springs found are impregnated with mineral ingredients, everywhere mixed up with the soil, particularly in the island of Chalki. To remedy this, the houses, and particularly the convents, have deep excavations, forming reservoirs into which the rain is received; so sacred is this deposit, that the wells are covered with iron stopples, carefully locked, and only opened with great caution at stated times. On the smaller deserted islands, deep cisterns of former times exist, where passing ships and boats at this day draw up water. The next is, the sudden hurricanes to which they are subject in the most calm and beautiful weather. The air seems to stagnate, and a death-like stillness succeeds; then a dark lurid spot appears near the horizon, which suddenly bursts, as it were, and an explosion of wind issues from it, which sweeps everything before it. The doors and windows of the houses are instantly burst open, and every thing on land seems splitting to pieces; the sea is raised into mountains of white foam; and the only hope of safety for ships is to drive before it. The boats of the islands are sometimes overtaken thus in their passage to the capital: the boatmen at once lose all power of managing their caïques, and throw themselves on their faces in despair, crying out “For our sins, for our sins!” In this state the vessel turns over, and goes down with all her passengers. Accidents of this kind happen every year.