Next morning I sent on my dragoman and horse-boy to Limasol, with orders to try and get lodgings for me in the Franciscan cloisters, and then rode forward with Hussein on the way to St. Nicholas. After about an hour and a half’s hard riding, we reached the south portion of the peninsula. The spot was a bare, open plain, and the water by which it was surrounded, full of reeds. We had scarcely reached our destination, than torrents of rain began to fall, and we were forced to take shelter under a ruined wall, standing our horses in front of us, to prevent our being literally washed away. Happily, the storm was only of short duration, and the ground was soon dry again, and we could continue our investigations. The little church of St. Nicholas, which was evidently built in the fifteenth century, is in good condition, and stands in the midst of the ruined abbey, the rectangular walls of which surround it. On closely examining the church it was easy to trace the solid foundations of the ancient temple, on the site of which it had been built. Rows of broken pillars, some extending along the hinder walls, indicated what had once been a covered walk for the monks. Over the doorway was a huge marble tablet, on which five coats-of-arms were chiselled. The ancient temple which preceded the abbey had evidently been very extensive, and I could trace its foundations for some feet beyond the cloister walls. In one corner stood what had been an altar, and near it a very deep cistern. The old walls here, which are as hard as iron, had been taken in large masses to form, evidently, the abbey walls. Marble pillars lay in all directions, but I saw none as fine as the two that had attracted my attention in the inn yard at Kolossin. No trace of the abbey garden was left, beyond some olive-trees, the roots of which were buried quite impartially under the ancient and mediæval walls. A few goats were wandering about, and gave a touch of animation to the melancholy and deserted scene. The water about this peninsula is as rich in salt as is that near Larnaka. I mounted a neighbouring eminence, but could see no trace of life. Not a ship, or boat, appeared upon the bosom of the sea beyond, and I could not help asking myself, as I descended, if this whole country was destined to remain desolate for ever, or if we could hope that, under a new government, it might attain fresh vitality, and again take its place as one of the animated spots of the earth. The road from the ruins of the temple and monastery upon the southern peninsula, a distance of about three and a half hours’ ride, winds around the salt marsh, and then turns towards the sea. Limasol is more European in its appearance than any other town in Cyprus. Houses built of clay and stone predominate here, more especially in the part inhabited by the Turks.