I dined at the table of an Athenitan, and have seldom been better entertained; the room was small, but clean, and my hostess young and charming. Our fare, which was admirably cooked, consisted of fried eggs, roast fowl and pillau. For dessert, oranges, artichokes, and some excellent dark wine, were set before me. After dinner I enjoyed a refreshing sleep, and then bidding adieu to my good hosts, proceeded on my way. Dali, the ancient Idalion, was my next resting-place; here was formerly the Temple of Venus, now a mere heap of ruins, but I saw little worthy of note. These plains of Cyprus are watered by two streams, one of which flows east, and the other west. Both are named after the towns towards which they flow, the larger being called the Dali and the lesser the Morfu. In ancient times these rivers were known as the Pedias and Satrachos, and both much resemble the Nile in appearance. During the rainy season these streams run rapidly, spreading their yellow waters over the surrounding country, and when they retire, leave a thick deposit of slime or mud. I am told that the Pedias was formerly called the Cyprian Nile. The table-like rocks of the plain of Messaria through which I now journeyed, form a very peculiar and interesting feature of its scenery. These rocks, called τραωεζαι, from their table-like appearance, are considered by the Cypriotes to be useless for agricultural purposes; I rode over several of them to test the truth of this assertion, and found the chalk only visible in certain parts, the rest of the surface being well fitted for the growth of vines and other plants. But of what avail is it, that a few hills might be cultivated, in a country whose fruitful plains for generations have not been touched by a plough or hoe? Not a sheep or goat was to be seen in the plains, once called by the ancients μακαρια, or the blessed. Now that Cyprus again enjoys the comforts of a judicious government, she will speedily bring forth all the fruits of the earth with profusion. This, however, will not be done without much difficulty and patient perseverance. A Cyprian ox! βοῦς χύωριος was the ancient nickname conferred upon the Cypriotes in derision of their stolid obtuseness. Dirty, but contented, they lounge through life without making the slightest effort to improve their condition. All emulation, or pride in their professions, seems to have died out under the weight of a tyrannical and unsympathetic government. The following short sketch of the cultivation of Cyprus, under the various dynasties, will show its extraordinary natural resources, and the field for enterprise that will be opened out under British sway: