the pictured
faces of the saints, in their silver setting. Their features were hard
and regular, flatly painted, as if by some forerunner of Cimabue, but
sufficiently modern to make the likeness doubtful. I have not been able
to obtain the exact date of their settlement on the island, but I
believe it is referred to the early part of the fifteenth century. The
common people believe that the island was first visited by Andrew, the
Apostle of Christ, who, according to the Russian patriarch Nestor, made
his way to Kiev and Novgorod. The latter place is known to have been an
important commercial city as early as the fourth century, and had a
regular intercourse with Asia. The name of Valaam does not come from
Balaam, as one might suppose, but seems to be derived from the Finnish
_varamo_, which signifies "herring-ground." The more I attempted to
unravel the history of the island, the more it became involved in
obscurity, and this fact, I must confess, only heightened my interest in
it. I found myself ready to accept the tradition of Andrew's visit, and
I accepted without a doubt the grave of King Magnus of Sweden.

On issuing from the crypt, we encountered a young monk who had evidently
been sent in search of us. The mass was over, and the court-yard was
nearly emptied of its crowd. In the farther court, however, we found the
people more dense than ever, pressing forward towards a small door. The
monk made way for us with some difficulty,--for, though the poor fellows
did their best to fall back, the pressure from the outside was
tremendous. Having at last run the gantlet, we found ourselves in the
refectory of the monastery, inhaling a thick steam of fish and cabbage.
Three long tables were filled with monks and pilgrims, while the
attendants brought in the fish on large wooden trenchers. The plates
were of common white ware, but the spoons were of wood. Officers in gay
uniforms were scattered among the dark anchorites, who occupied one end
of the table, while the _bourgeoisie_, with here and there a
blue-caftaned peasant wedged among them, filled the other end. They were
eating with great zeal, while an old priest, standing, read from a
Sclavonic Bible. All eyes were turned upon us as we entered, and there
was not a vacant chair in which we could hide our intrusion. It was
rather embarrassing, especially as the young monk insisted that we
should remain, and the curious eyes of the eaters as constantly asked,
"Who are the