I saluted, and received the salute of the figure on the floor; it was the Katholikos of Akhtamar. He spoke of his advanced age and growing infirmities; he was seventy-four years old, and had been possessed of his dignity for no less than thirty years. His tomb was already built; nothing remained but to spend the interval and descend into the grave. This touching sentiment is often used as a becoming pretext for idleness by better people than Khachatur. But, as he spoke, the tongue lolled heavily from side to side, and the voice seemed to struggle with an advanced asthmatic affection. In reply to my enquiry why he did not reside in the island, I received the answer that at Akhavank he was in a better position to receive his guests and satisfy their wants. It is, no doubt, a paying business to keep such a monastery, provided always that you manage it well. You must personally superintend the arrangements for the picnic, or others of lesser station will abstract your clients. You must be careful to keep well with the Government officials, or pilgrims will be afraid to come. So the Katholikos of Akhtamar discards his pomp, is seen and eats with his guests in the same room round the same tray. On this occasion he was the centre of what was certainly a curious party, assembled against the evening meal. Servants entered with a circular platter on which were arrayed the various viands, and placed it before His Holiness. Requested to seat myself on the right of our host, I endeavoured, as best I might, to fold my legs beneath my body on a carpet by his side. Opposite me sat a Kurd, an old man who was still a giant, with bony hands more than proportionate to his size. From his sunken cheeks projected the beak of a vulture between small and deeply-caverned eyes. One of the pupils had almost entirely disappeared, leaving a patch of red within the hollow of the contracted eyelid, from which a mucous fluid was discharged over the parchment skin. Of such a face smiling could scarcely be expected; my neighbour remained grave, taking his fill of each dish, and fixing me with his single eye. On my right was the Kaimakam, a little man of no particular characteristics, wearing a fez and European dress. Although a Georgian and a relation of the Pasha of Van, you would take him for a Turk. Towards myself he was profuse of compliments and attentions, expressing his regret that he had not been present in Vostan to receive us, and blaming the British Consul for not having written to announce our stay. An officer of zaptiehs whom I had brought from Vostan with me--a mad fellow who had lathered his pony by the wildest manoeuvres as we rode along the sands--and some of the principal attendants of the Turkish official, completed the company who were privileged to share the meal of the Katholikos and sit at his pewter tray.