a silver coffin in one of the Corfu churches. At first we supposed that
this was Spiro. But the absence of worshippers showed us our mistake.
This lonely witness to the faith was also a martyr; she suffered
decapitation. "They don't think much of _her_," said the same resident.
Then, explanatorily, "You see--she has no head." This practically minded
critic, however, was not a native of Corfu. The true Corfiotes are very
reverent, and no doubt they honor their second martyr upon her appointed
day. But Spiro is the one they love. The country people believe that he
visits their fields once a year to bless their olives and grain, and the
Corfu sailors are sure that he comes to them, walking on the water in
the darkness, when a storm is approaching. Mr. Tuckerman, in his
delightful volume, _The Greeks of To-Day_, says, in connection with this
last legend, that it is believed by the devout that seaweed is often
found about the legs of the good bishop in his silver coffin, after his
return from these marine promenades. There is something charming in this
story, and I shall have to hold back my hand to keep myself from
alluding (and yet I do allude) to a shrine I know at Venice; it is far
out on the lagoon, and its name is Our Lady of the Seaweed. The last
time my gondola passed it I saw that by a happy chance the high tide had
left seaweed twined about it in long, floating wreaths, like an
offering.

The name of the national religion of Greece is the Orthodox Church of
the East, or, more briefly, the Orthodox Church. Western nations call it
the Greek Church, but they have invented that name themselves. The
Orthodox Church has rites and ceremonies which are striking and
sometimes magnificent. I have many memories of the churches of Corfu.
The temples are so numerous that they seem innumerable; one was always
coming upon a fresh one; sometimes there is only a facade visible, and
occasionally nothing but a door, the church being behind, masked by
other buildings. My impressions are of a series of magnified
jewel-boxes. There was not much daylight; no matter how radiant the
sunshine outside, within all was richly dim, owing to the dark tints of
the stained glass. The ornamentation was never paltry or tawdry. The
soft light from the wax candles drew dull gleams from the singular
metal-incrusted pictures. These pictures, or icons, are placed in large
numbers along the walls and upon the screen which divides the nave from
the apse.