In travelling through Cyprus there is a depressing aspect in the general decay and ruin of former works. I strolled with my dogs for some miles along the river banks, and examined the strong masonry remains of many old water-mills. I found a well-constructed aqueduct of wonderfully hard cement at the bottom of a cliff close to the present bed of the river: this must at a former period have passed below the bed, and the deepening of the stream has exposed and washed away the ancient work. There was no game beyond a few wild red-legged partridges, although the appearance of the country had raised my expectations. On the following morning I rambled with the dogs for many hours over the range of hills which bounds the plain upon the north, and from which the river issues. These are completely denuded of soil, and present a glaring surface of hardened chalk, in the crevices of which the usual prickly plants can alone exist. Some of the hill-tops exposed a smooth natural pavement where the rain had washed away all soluble portions and left the bare foundation cracked in small divisions as though artificially inlaid. Now and then a wretched specimen of the Pinus Maritima, about six feet high, was to be seen vainly endeavouring to find nourishment in the clefts of the barren rocks. I do not believe the tales of forests having formerly existed upon the greater portion of Cyprus: it would certainly be impossible for any species of tree to thrive upon the extensive range of hills near Arpera, which are absolutely valueless.