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POOR ISAIAH the men, and the robes and the veils of the women, looked in the sunlight as brilliant as Joseph's coat ; and their strange forms, as Sir Eobert appeared in the verandah, would begin slowly to glide towards him, over the asphalt floor of the lawn-tennis court, as if he were a Sultan with power to right everything. The rest of the day I had usually to myself ; and I rarely found that my lonely hours were vacant. Not to mention other occupations and amusements, I had plenty of work cut out for me in developing the photographs I had taken, and in exploring the innumerable pages of De Mas Latrie's ' History of Cyprus.' Amongst these, shortly after my visit to the Greek monastery, I was delighted to find the history of the renowned relic I had seen there. I hope the reader will be as much pleased at it as I was. In the year 1090, Manuel Youtoumitis, then Duke of Cyprus, was one day hunting amongst the moun-tains of Myriânthoussa. There, in the midst of forests full of wild animals, at that time dwelt a large number of anchorites—some in communities, some as hermits in lonely oratories. One of this latter class, by name Isaiah, was so shy and be-wildered at sight of the duke coming that he scuttled out of the path into the bushes, quite for-getting to salute him. This scandalous conduct was more than the duke could stand. 'What do you mean, sir,' he shouted, ' by not touching your

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