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, with his usual skill, came within a quarter of a mile of the channel leading to the landing-place.  The fog seemed to consolidate into the outline of trees; hard land was gradually formed, as we approached; and as the two river-shores finally inclosed us, the air cleared, and long, wooded hills arose in the distance.  Before us lay a single wharf, with three wooden buildings leaning against a hill of sand.

“But where is Kexholm?”

“A verst inland,” says the captain; “and I will give you just half an hour to see it.”

There were a score of peasants, with clumsy two-wheeled carts and shaggy ponies at the landing.  Into one of these we clambered, gave the word of command, and were whirled off at a gallop.  There may have been some elasticity in the horse, but there certainly was none in the cart.  It was a perfect conductor, and the shock with which it passed over stones and leaped ruts was instantly communicated to the os sacrum, passing thence along the vertebrae, to discharge itself in the teeth.  Our driver was a sunburnt Finn, who was bent upon performing his share of the contract, in order that he might afterwards with a better face demand a ruble.  On receiving just the half, however, he put it into his pocket, without a word of remonstrance.

“Suomi?” I asked, calling up a Finnish word with an effort.

“Suomi-lainen” he answered, proudly enough, though the exact meaning is, “I am a Swamplander.”