dish had the appearance of a salad, with the accompaniment of black
bread. On carefully tasting, I discovered the ingredients to be raw salt
fish chopped fine, cucumbers, and--beer. The taste of the first spoonful
was peculiar, of the second tolerable, of the third decidedly palatable.
Beyond this I did not go, for we had fresh fish, boiled in enough water
to make a soup. Then the same, fried in its own fat, and, as salt and
pepper were allowed, we did not scorn our supper. P. and R. afterwards
walked over to the Skit, a small church and branch of the monastery,
more than a mile distant; while I tried, but all in vain, to reproduce
the Holy Island in verses. The impression was too recent.

The next day was the festival of Peter and Paul, and Alexis had advised
us to make an excursion to a place called Jelesniki. In the morning,
however, we learned that the monastery and its grounds were to be
consecrated in solemn procession. The chimes pealed out quick and
joyously, and soon a burst of banners and a cloud of incense issued from
the great gate. All the pilgrims--nearly two thousand in
number--thronged around the double line of chanting monks, and it was
found necessary to inclose the latter in a hollow square, formed by a
linked chain of hands. As the morning sun shone on the bare-headed
multitude, the beauty of their unshorn hair struck me like a new
revelation. Some of the heads, of lustrous, flossy gold, actually shone
by their own light. It was marvellous that skin so hard and coarse in
texture should produce such beautiful hair. The beards of the men, also,
were strikingly soft and rich. They never shave, and thus avoid
bristles, the down of adolescence thickening into a natural beard.

As the procession approached, Alexis, who was walking behind the monks,
inside the protecting guard, beckoned to us to join him. The peasants
respectfully made way, two hands unlinked to admit us, and we became,