From　Egypt　I　sailed　to　Cyprus　in　a　tub　of　a　ship；　where　a　rat　had　its　nest　behind　my　bunk。　It　was　my　first　visit　to　that　delightful　and　romantic　isle；　over　which　all　the　civilisations　have　poured　in　turn；　wave　by　wave；　till　at　length　came　the　Turk；　beneath　whose　foot　“the　grass　does　not　grow；”　and；　by　the　special　mercy　of　Providence；　after　the　Turk　the　English。

Here　I　was　the　guest　of　my　old　chief；　Sir　Henry　Bulwer；　who　at　that　time　was　High　missioner　for　the　island。

From　Government　House　at　Nicosia　I　made　various　delightful　expeditions　in　the　pany　of　Mrs。　Caldwell；　Sir　Henry　Bulwer’s　sister；　and　her　daughters。　For　instance　we　visited　Famagusta；　that　marvellous　mediaeval；　walled　town；　built　and　fortified　by　the　Veians；　that　the　Turks　took　after　a　terrible　siege；　for　the　details　of　which　I　will　refer　the　reader　to　my　book；　“A　Winter　Pilgrimage；”　written　many　years　later　after　a　second　visit　to　Cyprus。

In　1887；　strange　as　it　may　seem；　the　debris　of　this　siege　were　still　very　much　in　evidence。　Thus　after　about　three　centuries　the　balls　fired　by　the　Turkish　cannon　lay　all　over　the　place。　I　hold　one　of　them　in　my　hand　as　I　write；　slightly　pit…marked　by　the　passage　of　time；　or　more　probably　by　flaws　in　the　casting。

Here　in　this　beautiful　island　of　Venus　I　trusted；　before　turning　to　my　tasks　again；　to　have　a　little　real　holiday　after　a　good　many　years　of　very　hard　work。　But；　as　it　happened；　holidays　have　never　been　for　me。　At　the　age　of　nieen；　to　say