and the story of Kynops is as much a part of her creed as the existence of St John is of ours. She is

a garrulous, energetic old dame; and, in the absence of her brother, volunteered to show us the cave and the church of St Anna, which was built up to it by St Christodoulos. She was almost theatrical in her gestures, as she showed us the points of interest therein. Here was the hole in the rock in which St John placed his pillow when he slept; by the side of it was the hole, by the aid of which St John raised himself from the ground when he got up. Over these holes a rude cross was shown us, which, Sophia said, the saint had wrought with his own hands. Then she showed us two holes in the roof, to which St John was in the habit of tying himself by a cord, so that he might not fall asleep when he said his prayers. But the greatest object of Sophia's veneration, before which she crossed herself and knelt, was a tripple rent in the rock, from which she affirmed that the voice of the Holy Trinity had issued with the divine message to the theologian. Every crack and fissure in the cave is associated with something sacred, and, as a remembrance of the place, Sophia presented us with some chips of the rock; and it occurred to us that if she did the same to every pilgrim, she must have considerably altered the dimensions of the cave. We bought a pretty little carved wooden bowl, in which the priest kept his incense for burning in the church cave, and then were conducted by Sophia to her apart. ment, where she regaled us with sweetmeats and rakki, as she related to us wonderful stories concerning the religious ectasies into which worshippers at the shrine

were wont to go. Afterwards she gave us a great description of the festival held here on the day of the theologian-how they hold real vigil in the church during the whole of the night before, and how the monks come down from the monastery with their relics and their banners in grand procession, to worship in the cave.

When we got home, we went to see what Prochoros had to say about the cave, and were surprised to find that he only relates how, before his departure from Patmos, after an exile of ten years, St John was asked by the inhabitants to write down the events of the history of Christ for their benefit and guidance. To do this, the saint retired to a cave; and after two days' meditation sent Prochoros for ink and parchment, and then dictated the Gospel to his disciple without a pause from beginning to end.

Prochoros never so much as mentions the Revelations; but Nicitas does, and from his account it is that the locale of the cave has been decided upon. Nicitas, in the MS. which we saw in the library, gives a curious account of the writing of the Revelations, which runs as follows:

Having at length reached a grotto which was three miles (?) (onusia) from the town, with water in it, we tarried there ten days. John remained without food in great quiet, and in prayer: as for me, I went to the town towards evening, and ate with my brethren. On the tenth day, John himself wished to return to the town, and bending on his knees prayed; when, all at once, a voice was heard which said, 'John! John!' And he replied, What is it, Lord,' And the Lord replied, Tarry in the cave yet another ten days, and great and numerous mysteries shall be revealed unto you.' In accordance with this direction he tarried yet another ten days, remaining without

food, and became in a great ecstasy, and he perceived great powers, and an angel of the Lord, who related to

him what he had seen and heard.

And again calling me, he said, 'Go to the town, bring paper and ink, and return here. This I did. Then he ordered me to write on the paper all the words which came out of his mouth; and we passed thus two more days, he speaking, and I writing. Then we returned again to the town, and we were lodged in the house of Sosipater."

This cave which Nicitas describes, in no way corresponds to the one shown now as the Cave of the Apocalypse. What he means by anusia, it is of course impossible to say; but the cave where the church is built is not more than three-quarters of a mile from the old town, and has no stream of water in it now.

Very shortly after our arrival on Patmos, Lent began in all its grim earnest, and the first day, which goes by the name of "Clean Monday," the monks spent most of their time in church. Not so the inhabitants, who make merry on this day; and though they eat no meat, they drink a great deal of wine, and I am uncertain whether the epithet of "clean" is applied to this Monday because they do not dirty their saucepans, or because they clean themselves out with wine on this occasion. On Clean Monday every one who is equal to the scramble goes down to a spot on the western shore, called the wood or garden of the saint," and here make merry. Tradition says that St Christodoulos, when he had built his monastery, tried to make a garden here, and his workmen laughed at him for attempting to cultivate so barren a spot. The saint was so hurt at this insult that he prayed fervently, and out from a rock came a spring

of water which fertilised the place, and made of it the only productive spot on the island. It undoubtedly now is the only spring of water on Patmos, for the people of the monastery and of the town have only the water which they preserve in cisterns to live on.

On and around this fertile spot, with its carob-trees, olives, and solitary palm, are gathered many little churches, called "little monasteries," each belonging to a separate family, and containing the tomb where the departed of each family are allowed to decay, until another member of the same family dies, when they are removed to a charnel-house to make room for the incoming tenant. This system of removing bones in Greece at a given period after burial is truly revolting, and productive of many horrid sights and smells; and if the charnel-house, as happens frequently, is in ruins, the family have an opportunity of viewing their long line of ancestors huddled together in ghastly confusion.

We are told, with much glee, of a great practical joke which had just taken place in one of these charnel-houses. During Carnival time a band of young men, presumably the fast ones of the island, who had visited foreign countries and grown sceptical concerning ghosts and goblins, collected together in a bone-house, and whenever any one was heard to pass they rattled the bones around them, and sang out in chorus, "We were all once gay Pallicari," the result being that the women of Patmos were nearly all of them terrified out of their lives.

Just below this saintly garden on the sea-shore all the folks were gathered and enjoying themselves. They sang songs, they danced dances, and time passed so agree

ably as we watched them that we had eventually to hurry back to the monastery with all speed, for half an hour after sunset the great iron gate is closed, and ingress and egress is forbidden. Outside this great iron gate is a little church, with a flat space in front of it. Here the monks delight to sit and chat of an evening with the townsfolk as they pass by, and it is quite the fashionable rendezvous for Patmos for the half-hour before the great wooden semandron—a quaint species of gong which hangs outside the church, and which is sounded with a wooden hammerannounces the hour for vespers. At this iron gate, in the good old days, the superior used to sit on his throne, and distribute to the poor once a-week portions of peas, loaves, and fishes; but this custom has been abandoned of late years, and has been commuted for a distribution of alms at Eastertide.

We had ample time on our hands for examining the interior of the monastery, and for wandering among its labyrinthine passages. After a hot climb up the hill, nothing can be more delightful than to sit in the courtyard, which is exceedingly small and vault-like. It is surrounded by an arched arcade, above which rise two storeys of cells: in its centre is the monastic well, and never on the hottest day in summer is this courtyard too warm. Along one side of it is the church, rich in every species of Byzantine decoration. Twisted pillars with grotesque capitals support the arches before the vestibule, across which stretches the great wooden semandron, which Father John sounds for everyday sevice. At Easter, and on high festivals only, do they sound the shrill iron one, which hangs inside the vestibule. On the

outer wall of the church we see rich old frescoes. The Emperor Alexis Comnenus presenting the island to St Christodoulos, the saint himself and the theologian, and the Creator, are all depicted on this wall in the stiff conventional style of the Eastern Church. Within the church is a labyrinth of colour and richness. The rococo screen, which shuts off the most sacred precincts, is covered with lovely eikons set in silver; the floor is set with opus Alexandrinum; the stalls are richly carved; and the dome is covered with frescoes, but it is dark and small, as are all the gems of Byzantine art.

One day the superior called upon us in our cell. His bow on entering is a perfect study of dignified grace; but his manner is stiff, and we think he can never have quite forgiven the raw leg of lamb and the fishes. We took this occasion of asking for his gracious permission to see the sacred relics of the monastery, which the monks are not fond of showing to the Western heterodox. Our request was granted; and that evening, after vespers, the treasurer came for us with his key, and took us to gratify our curiosity. As the relics are never exposed to view except on festivals, a number of women, who had been attending the evening service, on hearing what was to happen, took occasion to tarry behind that they might obtain an extraordinary kiss at the treasures.

We were first of all shown St Thomas's head bound in silver, and deposited in a huge silver cup; then the chains in which St John was brought from Rome to Patmos were handed to us for inspection; and after these the head of Antipas, "my witness, my faithful one," was produced; but I think

we were most interested in the embalmed body of St Christodoulos, about whom we had heard so much since we came to Patmos. Apparently, owing to Saracenic marauders, the saint was obliged to abandon Patmos after building the monastery, and died in Euboea, leaving the strictest injunctions to his faithful followers to convey his remains back when a favourable opportunity occurred. This after a few years they succeeded in doing; and the miracles wrought by these embalmed remains have provided material for many volumes, which those who desire may read in the library above. The body is now reposing in a richly embossed silver coffin in a wall-cupboard to the right as you enter the church. Amid much incensing and profound veneration this was unlocked by the treasurer, and a rush was made by the faithful for a kiss and a smell, for, say they, by divine mercy and in recognition of his many virtues, the body of St Christodoulos has the power to emit a sweet-smelling odour to those who approach it in faith; we, however, perceived nothing of this, for the air was heavy with the fumes of frankincense. Finally, we were shown St Christodoulos's sandals, and his staff with which he had wrought in his day so many miracles, and which if placed on sick-bed, think the Patmiotes, is a more effectual remedy than any medicine their physician may administer; and such is the power of faith amongst them, that I believe there are many genuine recoveries actually on record.

Before leaving Patmos, we felt it our duty to visit Father Gerasimos, the owner of our cell, in his distant hermitage, so that we might deliver to him our thanks in person, and satisfy our curiosity concerning

his mode of life at the same time. The pious old man inhabits a small stone hut, which he has built for himself on the slopes of Mt Prophet Elias, the loftiest of the Patmiote mountains. He gave us a hearty welcome, and seemed to revel in his poverty and his tiny church, which adjoins his dwelling. He is getting very blind, he told us; but with the aid of clearers he can still read his prayer-book in church, and the four thumbed and torn works on asceticism which form his library, and which by this time he probably knows by heart; for what else can he have to do without companionship, without employment, except to till a small plot of ground, which produces a sufficiency of herbs for his requirements?

Twice during the day, and twice during the night, he makes the desert around re-echo with his chanting in his church. On great feast-days only does he return to the monastery. He had not been there since Christmas he told us (hence the delightful immunity we had enjoyed from vermin of all kinds), and he should not go again till Easter, during which time he hoped we would continue to occupy his rooms. When we praised them, he told us that he had long since realised that they were too good for erring mortals; and when we asked him if the other monks were not erring mortals too, he replied that he had been so troubled of late years by the frivolity of his brethren, that he had found a religious life amongst them impossible.

We had no means of remunerating our poor old host for the loan of his cell: he wanted nothing, he said, in this world, and we found it out of our power to offer him anything towards his requirements