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,
unexpectedly, participants in the ceremonies. From the south side the
procession moved around to the east, where a litany was again chanted.
The fine voices of the monks lost but little of their volume in the open
air; there was no wind, and the tapers burned and the incense diffused
itself, as in the church. A sacred picture, which two monks carried on a
sort of litter, was regarded with particular reverence by the pilgrims,
numbers of whom crept under the line of guards to snatch a moment's
devotion before it. At every pause in the proceedings there was a rush
from all sides, and the poor fellows who formed the lines held each
other's hands with all their strength. Yet, flushed, sweating, and
exhausted as they were, the responsibility of their position made them
perfectly proud and happy. They were the guardians of cross and shrine,
of the holy books, the monks, and the abbot himself.

From the east side we proceeded to the north, where the dead monks sleep
in their cemetery, high over the watery gorge. In one corner of this
inclosure, under a group of giant maples, is the grave of King Magnus of
Sweden, who is said to have perished by shipwreck on the island. Here,
in the deep shade, a solemn mass for the dead was chanted. Nothing could
have added to the impressiveness of the scene. The tapers burning under
the thick-leaved boughs, the light smoke curling up in the shade, the
grave