The road now became most shockingly stony, strewed with detached fragments of the cliffs around, as we approached the bluff termination of the table land above us. A recent earthquake had brought down considerable quantities, and no attempt had been made to remove the blocks, travellers very patiently seeking out a new path around them. In two or three places, where the _detour_ was too great, some desperate spirits had forced their mules or donkeys to breast up the miniature precipices a few feet in height. At one of these situations I dismounted, preferring to walk through the delightfully hanging gardens on either side of me, and along an embowered lane, where a dense shade, and numberless little streams that traversed sometimes considerable distances, contributed to the agreeable coolness of an elevation between 6,000 and 7,000 feet above the level of the sea. Here, as everywhere else, where trees abounded, birds of all characters and colours gave liveliness to the scene. One similar in size and plumage to our sparrow, constructed pensile nests, dropping as it were from the extreme boughs that nodded with these novel appendages. The dove, slattern as she is, here also built her nest, a ragged stage of sticks; whilst in the thick bush beneath, the prying traveller could detect the round black speaking eye of some other little expectant mother of the feathered race, as, with head thrown aside, she confidingly and instinctively expects that the goodness of man’s nature will not allow him to disturb her sacred functions; a pleasing testimony it is to me, nature’s own evidence of the primitive excellence of man, when he and all around were pronounced by the Creator to be good.