rock. Whether their deity was the Perun of the ancient Russians or the
Jumala of the Finns is not stated; the inhabitants at the present day
say, of course, the Devil. The name of the rock may also be translated
"Petrified Horse," and some have endeavored to make out a resemblance to
that animal, in its form. Our acolyte, for instance, insisted thereupon,
and argued very logically--"Why, if you omit the head and legs, you
must see that it is exactly like a horse." The peasants say that the
Devil had his residence in the stone, and point to a hole which he made,
on being forced by the exorcisms of Saint Arsenius to take his
departure. A reference to the legend is also indicated in the name of
the island, Konewitz,--which our friend, the officer, gave to me in
French as _Chevalisé_, or, in literal English, _The Horsefied_.

The stones and bushes were dripping from the visitation of the mist, and
the mosquitoes were busy with my face and hands while I made a rapid
drawing of the place. The quick chimes of the monastery, through which
we fancied we could hear the warning boat-bell, suddenly pierced through
the forest, recalling us. The Valamo had her steam up, when we arrived,
and was only waiting for her rival, the Letuchie (Flyer), to get out of
our way. As we moved from the shore, a puff of wind blew away the fog,
and the stately white monastery, crowned with its bunch of green domes,
stood for a moment clear and bright in the morning sun. Our pilgrims
bent, bareheaded, in devotional farewell; the golden crosses sparkled an
answer, and, the fog rushed down again like a falling curtain.

We steered nearly due north, making for Kexholm, formerly a frontier
Swedish town, at the mouth of the River Wuoxen. For four hours it was a
tantalizing struggle between mist and sunshine,--a fair blue sky
overhead, and a dense cloud sticking to the surface of the lake. The
western shore, though near at hand, was not visible; but our captain,