pon a blossoming jungle of shrubs and plants which seemed to
have been called into life by a more potent sun. The lily of the valley,
in thick beds, poured out the delicious sweetness of its little cups;
spikes of a pale-green orchis emitted a rich cinnamon odor; anemones,
geraniums, sigillarias, and a feathery flower, white, freckled with
purple, grew in profusion. The top of the island, five or six acres in
extent, was a slanting plane, looking to the south, whence it received
the direct rays of the sun. It was an enchanting picture of woodland
bloom, lighted with sprinkled sunshine, in the cold blue setting of the
lake, which was visible on all sides, between the boles of the trees. I
hailed it as an idyl of the North,--a poetic secret, which the Earth,
even where she is most cruelly material and cold, still tenderly hides
and cherishes.

A peasant, whose scarlet shirt flashed through the bushes like a sudden
fire, seeing me looking at the flowers, gathered a handful of lilies,
which he offered to me, saying, "_Prekrasnie_" (Beautiful). Without
waiting for thanks, he climbed a second flight of steps and suddenly
disappeared from view. I followed, and found myself in front of a narrow
aperture in a rude wall, which had been built up under an overhanging
mass of rocks. A lamp was twinkling within, and presently several
persons crawled out, crossing themselves and muttering prayers.

"What is this?" asked a person who had just arrived.

"The cave of Alexander Svirski," was the answer.

Alexander of the Svir--a river flowing from the Onega Lake into
Ladoga--was a hermit who lived for twenty years on the Holy Island,
inhabiting the hole before us through the long, dark, terrible winters,
in a solitude broken only when the monks of Valaam came over the ice to
replenish his stock of provisions. Verily, the hermits of the Thebaid
were Sybarites, compared to this man! There are still two or three
hermits who have charge of outlying chapels on the islands, and live
wholly secluded from their brethren. They wear dresses covered with
crosses and other symbols, and are considered as dead to the world. The
ceremony which consecrates them for this service is that for the burial
of the dead.

I managed, with some difficulty, to creep into Alexander Svirski's den.
I saw nothing, however, but the old, smoky, and sacred picture before
which the lamp burned. The rocky roof was so low that I could not stand
upright, and all the wall