heights; but many centuries elapsed before the monasteries now perched aloft were built. The first hermits of the Meteora doubtless dwelt in the rock-caves which still honeycomb its rocks. It was only in the fourteenth century, at the time when the Servian so-called Paleologos Simeon Orosch reigned in Thessaly and Southern Albania (1367), that the monk Nilos obtained permission from Bessarion, Bishop of Staqus, to found four churches on the rocks of the Meteora, and thus laid the foundation of the monkish republic, which emperors afterwards endowed and visited. Since then the Meteora rocks never ceased to be a favourite retreat of Eastern monks, until the confiscation of their property in Wallachia of late precipitated their decay. To-day many of these holy dwellings are tenantless, while others are only occupied by two or three inmates. Altogether, there are only seven monasteries now inhabited out of twenty-four; and the pious colony, which used to number from 500 to 600, has dwindled down to 21. No new recruit has arrived at Meteora within the last twenty years; and when the present generation has died out, the traveller

will be condemned to stand at the foot of the rocks and look up from afar with vainly curious eyes at these strange monuments of a timeexpired piety for the secret or the courage which enabled the pioneers of Christian asceticism to scale those walls has long been lost. Nowadays the monks, true fishers of men, let down a net from their lofty perch, and by means of a rope and windlass haul the visitor up to their quaint mid-air abodes. The Monastery of St Stephen, and one or two smaller ones, are alone approached by a drawbridge thrown over a deep cleft in the rocks. As my time was limited, I was only able to visit one of the monasteries, and my choice fell upon that which is called, par excellence, the Great Monastery of Meteora. Like all the more important monasteries of this group, it was withdrawn at an early date from the jurisdiction of the local bishops, and placed by special indulgence immediately under that of the Patriarchate at Constantinople. Although second in size to St Stephen's, it boasts the finest church, and a rich treasure of ancient books and manuscripts. The clatter of our horses' hoofs up the ravine over which it towers,

brought one of the monks to the overhanging balcony which forms the only entrance to the monastery. It is not every comer who is admitted to these eyries, especially in the present troublous times; for they have been for centuries the savings-banks of the peasantry of Thessaly, who intrust their hoards to the safe - keeping of these monkish strongholds. In reply to our shouts for admission a small net was lowered, into which I put the letters of recommendation which I had obtained from the Metropolitan of Larissa. Their contents having been found satisfactory, a servant was lowered in the larger net which is used for living freight; and having taken his place, I presently found myself hoisted in mid-air, cramped up in the meshes of the net, and feeling altogether uncomfortably helpless. Three mortal minutes does this aerial journey last; and it was with a sense of pleasurable relief that I felt the net being caught by a long hooked pole and dragged on to terra firma. I was speedily released from my cage, and right hearty was the welcome which the old monks gave me. The monastery is composed of several rickety, rambling wooden buildings

built, however, on solid foundations of stone. In the centre rises the church, a small but handsome Byzantine structure, the inner walls still rich with ancient frescoes. But the rows of carved wood stalls are nowadays scantily tenanted. There are only four occupants left in the monastery, which once counted over a hundred inmates. In olden days every monk was taught a trade, so that the monastery was able to supply all its own wants. But the workshops are now empty. The library, with its fine collection of parchments and vellum - bound volumes, is deserted, and the dust is allowed to accumulate undisturbed on its shelves. youngest of the four monks is over sixty; and when the last one dies, the solitary servant of the monastery will climb down the face of the cliff on the giddy ladder which forms the only other means of communication with the world below, and the Great Monastery of Meteora will be abandoned to the havoc of the elements, until there remain of it but a name, ut pueris declamatio fiat. Again I ensconced myself in my cage and was pushed into space. The descent was certainly more rapid and pleasant than the

The

ascent; and after waving a farewell to the good monks, who were watching me from their weird abode, 280 feet above the ravine, we returned for the night to Kalabaka, a large village which lies at the foot of the Meteora group of rocks.

The Archbishop of Larissa had furnished me with a letter of introduction to the Bishop of Stagos (Kalabaka), and his Holiness kindly insisted on my accepting his hospitality for the night. Nor was I inclined to resist the invitation; for, apart from the promise of good cheer and clean quarters which the episcopal residence held forth in marked contrast to the squalid hovels of the village, I was anxious to make the acquaintance of a man whom I had heard mentioned at Larissa as of original character and superior abilities, and whose appointment to the bishopric of Kalabaka was looked upon as a sentence of semi-exile which he had incurred by his heterodox views in matters both spiritual and temporal. He was a man of handsome and somewhat haughty presence, still comparatively young, with a striking countenance, eyes deep sunk and defiant under heavy eyebrows and a massive forehead, a long well