This patriarchal repast being finished, we again went forth, and visited the convent of Plija, distant from the wigwams about ten minutes’ walk.  Many of our new friends accompanied us, the judge with great solidity of manner leading the way.  We passed a beautiful fountain at the head of the glen, and entered the monastic edifice, which is built of stone.  The abbot, a fine old man, met us at the door with a pleasant countenance.  He invited us into his cell; we had to stoop very low to save our heads, and the door-case was rubbed bright on all sides by the friction of this solitary inmate passing in and out.  The hermitage consists of one room with a bed in the corner, screened by a slight partition; a lattice-window admitted a peep into the rich and lovely vale below, and the pure air of the mountain was not obstructed by glass.  I had often heard of the Eastern custom of sitting cross-legged, but never till now experienced it in reality.  We were desired to sit on cushions spread on the floor for our reception, and were served with the finest walnuts and honey I ever tasted; and while we partook of this hermit-like repast, there was a precious feeling of good, and I believe we had the secret prayers of the good abbot, as he had ours.  When we presented him with the New Testament, Genesis, and the Psalms, he kissed the books and pressed them to his bosom, expressing his gratitude for the treasure.

Our next visit was to the habitation of the judge, which is of the same description as the rest, where we were served again with coffee.  What pleased us was the sweet feeling of quiet which prevailed, of which I think some of them were sensible; one woman, our first hostess, put her hand to her heart and said very sweetly, “I love you.”

They would not let us depart without showing us their ancient custom of taking hold of hands and dancing round, singing meanwhile a sort of chant.  Many of them came with us to the water’s edge, and prayers were raised in our hearts for their good, and thanksgiving to our Divine Master for the comfort and satisfaction of the day.

3 mo 8.—­Under the hospitable roof of Captain McPhail we have felt much at home.  His wife said our coming had been a blessing to her; she is near to us in gospel love.  The captain accompanied us in his boat to the steamer.

From Santa Maura they proceeded to Argostoli, the chief town of Cephalonia.

We arrived about five o’clock in the morning.  The entrance to the town for a considerable distance is like a perfect lake:  the white houses along the side of the harbor, and the craggy hill with the olives growing out of the rocks, had a pretty appearance at the break of day.  Our young Greek interpreter, Giovanni Basilik, was with us.  We had to call up the inhabitants of the only inn in the place before we could get shelter.  At first the host refused to receive our little company, but after some explanation he consented to arrange the desolate-looking rooms into habitable order.