h still hung
heavy on the lake, we plunged into the fir-wood, and hurried on over its
uneven carpet of moss and dwarf whortleberries. Small gray boulders then
began to crop out, and gradually became so thick that the trees thrust
them aside as they grew. All at once the wood opened on a rye-field
belonging to the monks, and a short turn to the right brought us to a
huge rock, of irregular shape, about forty feet in diameter by twenty in
height. The crest overhung the base on all sides except one, up which a
wooden staircase led to a small square chapel perched upon the summit.

The legends attached to this rock are various, but the most authentic
seems to be, that in the ages when the Carelians were still heathen,
they were accustomed to place their cattle upon this island in summer,
as a protection against the wolves, first sacrificing a horse upon the
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 _Chevalise_, 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 fa