From St. Petersburg to Schlüsselburg, up the Neva, is a trip of some six or seven hours by the deliberate steamer in which the journey is made; it is, after all, the whole length of the Neva, from source to sea. And a beautiful river it is, as far as the stream itself is concerned. But the banks are the reverse of interesting. Flat and dull, with here a belt of pine forest, and there a tumble-down village--all Russian villages present a tumble-down appearance--and stubble and potatoes and waste land: there is not much to look at, and no towns of any size and importance are passed. But the water is beautiful--clear and white, and, at this season--early October--well stocked with salmon on the wander between lake and sea. These may be caught, rarely, with a minnow, _one_ has been taken with a fly, I have heard, but only one in the memory of man. For the rest, the fishermen who ply for them with big nets worked by a windlass from wooden jetties, appear to make good hauls, and the quality of the fish is excellent. I should dearly love to stop and have a cast or two for one of them; but this is impossible. Prohoroff tells me that one of the favourite pastimes of St. Petersburgers, with a taste for gentle gambling, is to be conveyed out to one of these fishing stations, and to speculate in "hauls" before the event. The cost of a "haul" about to be made and of course absolutely fortuitous as to its results, is from three to five roubles--six to ten shillings. The speculator may find himself possessor of salmon enough, as the result of but one cast, to feed a regiment for a week, or--if not one of the favoured of Fortune--may purchase a dozen "hauls" of the net and go away empty-handed. If so, he is sure to see, as he floats dejectedly away, a vast quantity of fish landed at the very next haul after his departure; he will see their silver sides gleaming in the sun from a distance, and he will give his opinion as to the reliability of the goddess who holds the scales.