At the distance of about fifty-five or sixty versts from Archangel we came to a monastery at a place called Seea; it was surrounded by woods and lakes, which, in the summer-time, must have a very pretty effect. For a Russian building, it was quite an ancient one, and was erected before Peter the Great’s reign: it was the sanctuary to which that monarch often retired to perform his devotions. Like most monasteries in the empire, it was surrounded by a wall, having a curiously dovetailed top with towers at each corner pierced with loopholes. One of the gentlemen, who was acquainted with the abbot, proposed to us to pay him a visit; we all of course willingly assented, and turned out of the post-road for the purpose. Half a verst brought us to the gates: on ringing a bell, one of the holy brothers appeared, who to our disappointment informed us that the Father (for such they designate their superior) was ill and asleep, but offered to awake him if we wished; we thanked him, but begged that the abbot’s slumbers should not be disturbed on our account, and requested the monk to express our great regret at his superior’s indisposition, with good wishes for his recovery. The monk, seeing us about to depart, entreated us to take some little refreshment in the refectory: on our declining, he asked us if we would not like to see the shrine of their patron, Saint Anthony, whose body was interred in their church. We accepted his offer, and followed him into the cathedral, which, like all Greek places of worship, was filled with pictures of the innumerable saints of their calendar, and wretchedly-painted scripture-pieces. Having walked round the interior of the building and examined the very curious lamps hung before several of the images, we were led to a shrine quite brilliant with lighted tapers and oil, and here our guide pointed with evident pride to a full-length likeness of the saint placed on the top of a long box that covered his mortal remains. Above it was a wretched daub of a Virgin and Child, which he triumphantly informed us was the holy man’s own work. Although there was nothing to admire in it, we saw that it would give him pleasure to express our satisfaction, and therefore did not fail to do so: we also made the offering of a piece of silver to the church, which seemed to raise us immensely in the good monk’s estimation. After thanking him for the trouble, we left the monastery of St. Anthony just as a party of the peasantry from a village close by, dressed in their best clothes, with smooth hair and well-combed beards, were reverently ascending the steps, bent on asking the prayers of the respected superior for the success of the ensuing harvest.