170 By Stream and Sea. 



Across the Neva again we speed at over twelve miles an 

 hour, the middle horse trotting magnificently, and his com- 

 panions swinging forward at a proud, stately gallop. It is 

 three o'clock on New Year's morning before we once more 

 enter the Nevski, but the whole city seems as much awake 

 as ever. Masquers are returning from their revels, family 

 parties are hurrying home, and so, glowing with health, and 

 our cheeks tingling again after the prolonged salute of the 

 frosty night wind, we bid each other the compliments of the 

 season, and congratulate ourselves that at last we are about 

 to experience what an honest Russian winter really means. 



There was a good deal that was interesting for an English- 

 man to see in St. Petersburg yesterday, and much to 

 remember with pleasure but for the vile slush which every- 

 where prevailed. It is meet that this latter fact should be 

 placed in a prominent position, because thereby hangs an 

 observation. ' Yesterday, the 6th of January, according to 

 the Old Style, was the day when, with solemn pomp, the 

 waters of the Neva are blessed by the Church in presence 

 of the Imperial Family and the Ministers. It is an annual 

 occurrence, and one which the poorer orders of the city 

 regard with veneration and awe. Attached to the ceremony 

 is the tradition that if winter have not set in before it must 

 make itself felt on this particular day. An elderly Russian 

 gentleman assured me that he had never known hard frost 

 and snow to fail on the 6th, although the morning might 

 have been one of unnatural mildness. 



Three days ago it thawed incessantly, and a fine rain 

 made the atmosphere as moist and miserable as the ground 

 under foot. The sledges bespattered you, and crossing the 

 street invariably plunged you ankle-deep in melted snow 



