There is a depressing absence of all recent improvements in journeying through Cyprus; even at Dali, where the water from the river was used for irrigation, and large farms in the occupation of the wealthy landowner, M. Richard Mattei, were successfully cultivated, I could not help remarking the total neglect of tree-planting. The ancient olive-groves still exist by the river's side, and, could they speak, those grand old trees would be historians of the glorious days of Cyprus; but there are no recent plantations, and the natives explained the cause in the usual manner by attributing all wretchedness and popular apathy to the oppression of the Turkish rule. This wholesale accusation must be received with caution; there can be no doubt of the pre-existing misrule, but at the same time it is impossible to travel through Cyprus without the painful conviction that the modern Cypriote is a reckless tree-destroyer, and that destruction is more natural to his character than the propagation of timber. There is no reason for the neglect of olive-planting, but I observed an absence of such cultivation which must have prevailed during several centuries, even during the Venetian rule. It is difficult to determine the age of an olive-tree, which is almost imperishable; it is one of those remarkable examples of vegetation that illustrates the eternal, and explains the first instincts of adoration which tree-worship exhibited in the distant past. I spent some hours with the olive trees of Dali; they were grand old specimens of the everlasting. One healthy trunk in full vigour measured twenty-nine feet in circumference; another, twenty-eight feet two inches. Very many were upwards of twenty feet by my measuring-tape; and had I accepted the hollow or split trees, there were some that would have exceeded forty feet. There can be little doubt, that these olives throve at the period when Idalium was the great city in Cyprus; they may have exceeded two thousand years in age, but any surmise would be the wildest conjecture. It may not be generally known that the olive, which is of slow growth and a wood of exceeding hardness, remains always a dwarf tree; a tall olive is unknown, and it somewhat resembles a pollard ilex. When by extreme age the tree has become hollow it possesses the peculiar power of reproduction, not by throwing up root-shoots, but by splitting the old hollowed trunk into separate divisions, which by degrees attain an individuality, and eventually thrive as new and independent trees, forming a group or "family-tree," nourished by the same root which anchored the original ancestor.