turies. If that commerce is hereafter to be carried on, and that intercourse maintained, it must be, it can only be, upon covenants fresh drawn, consented, signed, sealed, and lastly ratified with salvoes of British thunder.

Let no one fall into the mistake that war is referable only to opium or sycee silver. The Chinese have long viewed the progress of British arms

harbour, to which the Chinese must resort, our cruisers taking care, if necessary, that the Chinese war-junks do not interfere with, or attempt to stop such trade."

We shall see. The Yellow Sea is full of shoals and shallow of water. Where are the steam-vessels of war to come from to transport troops and materiel of war over the shallows? or where the pilots to be procured to steer ships of war drawing deeply through the practicable channels? It is with difficulty that steamers are found to carry the ordinary mails from Bombay to Suez at present.

Here we close the circumstantial narrative of Chinese aggression and British supineness. We have exposed the spurious pretence of Chinese humanity, alleged as the moving cause of the suppression of the opium trade. We have shown its real origin in the baser motive of the prevention of the export of sycee silver. We have upheld, and we hope demonstrated, the righteousness of the claim of our oppressed merchants, British and Chinese, to indemnity in full for loss, damage, confiscation of property, and deprivation of personal liberty. We have not pretended to dispute the abstract right of the Chinese to suppress the opium trade, or the positive justice of enforcing the laws against illicit traffic and contrabandists. Nay, more, we shall not deny their clear right to close all dealings, whether in tea, or cottons, or silks, or woollens, upon due notice given and time allowed for the liquidation of accounts and affairs -a period of years and not days; provided always that ample indemnification indemnification beyond perhaps even the means of China-be proffered and paid for the countless millions of capital embarked in property afloat, or on shore, fixed or moveable, little of it elsewhere available, embarked on the faith of ancient stipulations, and the rights established of commercial intercourse for cen

in Burmah, in Nepaul, and in the Eastern Archipelago, with secret alarm and wakeful apprehension, which all the external affectation of contempt at Pekin for the light-haired "barbarians" could ill disguise. Long have the Celestial Emperors been preparing silently for defence and for the catastrophe, which, according to an ancient prophecy of one of the race, is to visit the Celestial Empire in the shape of the barbarians so outwardly despised. As British conquest extended to the frontier of Nepaul, the astute Chinese overran Thibet, and secured in its mountains, among the most lofty and inaccessible in the globe, a commanding rampart against British aggression and the hostile interference of Sepoys and Europeans. As the pride of the Burmese was humbled before the victorious arms of British India, the observant and stealthy Chinese covered and subdued Cochin-China with their numberless hosts, and by this extension secured their natural frontier on the south more strongly against contact or invasion. So that China has not remained stationary so far, whilst the world was in motion around her; but has long been arming for the inevitable fight, and preparing for the hour of fate. Could war by any honourable effort be yet shunned and shunned it can only be by indemnity for the past and security for the future-far from us be the repetition of that policy which dictated the march to Affghanistan-a policy we deprecate not less strongly than the Great Duke himself _ by which Russia has been attracted already to the shores of the Oxus, equidistant from Cahul on one side and the frontier of British India on the other; and by which she has been taught that the roads of Cabul and the passes of Candahar, before reckoned impracticable and impassable, are open to a Russian as they were to a British army.

2

WHILE the lofty door of a house in Grosvenor Street was yet quiver ing under the shock of a previously. announced dinner-arrival, one of the servants who were standing behind a carriage which approached from the direction of Piccadilly, slipped off, and in a twinkling, with a thun-thunthunder-under-under, thunder-runderrunder, thun-thun-thun! and a shrill thrilling whir-r-r of the bell, an. nounced the arrival of the Duke of -, the last guest. It was a large and plain carriage, but perfectly well known; and before the door of the house at which it had drawn up, had been opened, displaying some four or five servants standing in the hall, in simple but elegant liveries, half-adozen passengers had stopped to see get out of the carriage an elderly, middle-sized man, with a somewhat spare figure, dressed in plain black clothes, with iron-grey hair, and a countenance which, once seen, was not to be forgotten. That was a great man; one, the like of whom many previous centuries had not seen; whose name shot terror into the hearts of all the enemies of old England all over the world, and fond pride and admiration into the hearts of his fellow.countrymen.

"A quarter to eleven!" he said, in a quiet tone, to the servant who was hoiding open the carriage doorwhile the bystanders took off their hats; a courtesy which he acknowledged, as he slowly stepped across the pavement, by touching his hat in a mechanical sort of way with his forefinger. The house-door then closed upon him; the handful of onlookers passed away; off rolled the empty carriage; and all without was quiet as before. The house was that of Mr Aubrey, one of the members for the burgh of Yatton, in Yorkshire,

Hor. Carm. Lib. iii. 49.

-a man of rapidly-rising importance in Parliament. Surely his was a pleasant position-that of an independent country gentleman, with a clear, unincumbered rent-roll of ten thousand a-year, and already become the spokesman of his class! Parliament having been assembled, in consequence of a particular emergency, at a much earlier period than usual, the House of Commons, in which Mr Aubrey had the evening before delivered a well-timed and powerful speech, had adjourned for the Christmas recess, the House of Lords, being about to follow its example that evening: an important division, however, being first expected to take place at a late hour. Mr Aubrey was warmly complimented on his success by several of the select and brilliant circle then assembled, and who were in high spirits-ladies and all-on account of a considerable triumph just obtained by their party, and to which Mr Aubrey was assured, by even the Duke of --, his exertions had certainly not a little contributed. While his Grace was energetically intimating to Mr Aubrey his opinion to this effect, there were two lovely women listening to him with intense eagerness they were the wife and sister of Mr Aubrey. The former was an elegant and interesting woman, of nearly eight-and-twenty; the latter was a really beautiful girl, somewhere between twenty and twenty-one. She was dressed with the utmost degree of simplicity that was consistent with elegance. Mrs Aubrey, a blooming young mother of two as charming children as were to be met with in a day's walk all over both the parks, was, in character and manners, all pliancy and gentleness; about Miss Aubrey there was a dash of spirit that gave an infinite zest to her beauty. Her blue eyes beamed with the richest expression of feeling-in short, Catharine Aubrey was, both in face and figure, a downright English beauty; and she knew-truth must be told that such she appeared to the Great Duke, whose cold aquiline eye she often felt to be settled upon her with satisfaction. The fact was, that he had penetrated at a first glance beneath the mere surface of an arch, sweet, and winning manner, and detected a certain strength of character in Miss Aubrey which gave him more than usual interest in her, and spread over his iron-cast features a pleasant expression, relaxing their sternness. It might indeed be said, that before her, in his person,

Grim-visaged war had smooth'd his wrinkled front."

'Twas a subject for a painter, that delicate and blooming girl, her auburn hair hanging in careless grace on each side of her white forehead, while her eyes were fixed with absorbed interest on the stern and rigid countenance which she reflected had been, as it were, a thousand times darkened with the smoke of the grisly battle-field. But I must not forget that there are others in the room; and amongst them, standing at a little distance, is Lord De la Zouch, one of Mr Aubrey's neighbours in Yorkshire. Ap. parently he is listening to a brother peer talking to him very earnestly about the expected division; but Lord De la Zouch's eye is fixed on you, lovely Kate and how little can you imagine what is passing through his mind? It has just occurred to him that his sudden arrangement for young Delamere -his only son and heir, come up the day before from Oxford to call for him about half-past ten, and take his place in Mrs Aubrey's drawing-room, while he, Lord De la Zouch, goes down to the House may be attended with certain consequences. He is speculating on the effect of your beauty burst ing suddenly on his son-who has not seen you for nearly two years; all this gives him anxiety-but not painful anxiety-for, dear Kate, he knows that your forehead would wear the ancient coronet of the De la Zouches with grace and dignity. But Delamere is as yet too young and if he gets the image of Catharine Aubrey into his head, it will, fears his father, instantly

cast into the shade and displace all the stern visages of those old poets, orators, historians, philosophers and statesmen, who ought, in Lord De la Zouch and his son's tutor's judgment, to occupy exclusively the head of the aforesaid Delamere for some five years to come. That youngsterhappy fellow!-frank, high-spirited, and enthusiastic and handsome to boot-was heir to an ancient title and great estates; all he had considered in looking out for an alliance was-youth, health, beauty, blood-here they all were;fortune-bah! what did it signify to his son-but it's not to be thought of for some years.

" Suppose," said he aloud, though in a musing manner, "one were to say-twenty-four"

"Twenty-four!" echoed the Earl of St Clair with amazement, "my dear Lord De la Zouch, what do you mean? Eighty-four at the very lowest.",

"Eh! what? oh-yes, of courseI should say ninety-I mean--hem!they will muster about twenty-four only."

"Yes, there you're right, I dare say." Here the announcement of dinner put an end to the colloquy of the two statesmen. Lord De la Zouch led down-Miss Aubrey with an air of the most delicate and cordial courtesy; and felt almost disposed, in the heat of the moment, to tell her that he had arranged all in his own mind-that she was to be the future Lady De la Zouch. He was himself the eleventh who had come to the title in direct descent from father to son; 'twas a point he was not a little nervous and anxious about-he detested collateral succession - and he made himself infinitely agreeable to Miss Aubrey as he sate beside her at dinner. The Duke of sat on the right hand side of Mrs Aubrey, seemingly in high spirits, and she appeared proud enough of her supporter. It was a delightful dinner-party, elegant without ostentation, and select without pretence of exclusiveness. All were cheerful and animated, not merely on account of the over-night's parliamentary victory, which I have already alluded to, but also in contemplation of the coming Christmas; how, and where, and with whom.each was to spend that " righte merrie season," being the chief topic of conversation. As there was nothing

peculiar in the dinner, and as I have no time for describing such matters in detail-the clatter of plate, the jingling of silver, the sparkling of wines, and so forth-I shall request the reader to imagine himself led by me quietly out of the dining-room into the library-thus escaping from all the bustle and hubbub attendant upon such an entertainment as is going on in the front of the house. We shall be alone in the libraryhere it is; we enter it, and shut the door. 'Tis a spacious room, all the sides covered with books, of which Mr Aubrey is a great collector-and the clear red fire (which we must presently replenish or it will go out) is shedding a subdued ruddy light on all the objects in the room, very favourable for our purpose. The ample table is covered with books and papers; and there is an antique-looking arm-chair drawn opposite to the fire, in which Mr Aubrey has been indulging in a long reverie till the moment of quitting it to go and dress for dinner. This chair I shall sit in myself; you may draw out from the recess for yourself, one of two little sloping easy-chairs, which have been placed there by Mrs and Miss Aubrey for their own sole use, considering that they are excellent judges of the period at which Mr Aubrey has been long enough alone, and at which they should come in and gossip with him. We may as well draw the dusky green curtains across the window, through which the moon shines at present rather too brightly. So, now, after coaxing up the fire-I will proceed to tell you a little bit of pleasant family history.

The Aubreys are a Yorkshire family. Their residence, Yatton, is in the north-eastern part of the county, not above fifteen or twenty miles from the sea. The hall is one of those old structures, the sight of which throws you back nearly a couple of centuries in our English history. It stands in a park, crowded with trees, many of them of great age and size, and under which some two hundred head of deer perform their capricious and graceful gambols. You strike off the great North road into a broad by-way; after going down which for about a mile, you come to a straggling little village called Yatton, at the further extremity of which stands an aged grey church, with a very tall thin

spire; an immense yew-tree, with a kind of friendly gloom, overshadowing, in the little churchyard, nearly half the graves. A little behind the church is the vicarage-house, snug and sheltered by a line of fir-trees. After walking on about eighty yards, you come to the high park-gates, and see a lodge just within, on the left hand side, sheltered by an elm-tree. You then wind your way for about a third of a mile along a gravel walk, amongst the thickening trees, till you come to a ponderous old crumbling. looking red brick gateway of the time of Henry VII., with one or two deeplyset stone windows in the turrets, and mouldering stone-capped battlements peeping through high-climbing ivy. There is an old escutcheon immediately over the point of the arch; and as you pass underneath, if you look up you can see the groove of the old portcullis still remaining. Having passed under this castellated remnant, you enter a kind of court, formed by a high wall completely covered with ivy, running along in a line from the right hand turret of the gateway till it joins the house. Along its course are a number of yew-trees. In the centre of the open space is a quaintly disposed grass-plot, dotted about with stunted box, and in the centre stands a weatherbeaten stone sundial. The house itself is a large irregular pile of dull red brickwork, with great stacks of chimneys in the rear; the body of the building had evidently been erected at different times. Some part is evidently in the style of Queen Elizabeth's reign, another in that of Queen Anne: and it is plain that on the site of the present structure has formerly stood a castle. There are traces of the old moat still visible round the rear of the house. One of the ancient towers, with small deep stone windows, still remains, giving its venerable support to the righthand extremity of the building. The long frontage of the house consists of two huge masses of dusky-red brickwork, (you can hardly call them wings,) connected together by a lower building in the centre, which contains the hall. There are three or four rows of long thin deep windows, with heavy-looking wooden sashes. The high-pitched roof is of slate, and has deep projecting eaves, forming, in fact, a bold wooden cornice running along the whole length of the building, which is some two or three stories high. At the left extremity stands a clump of ancient cedars of Lebanon, feathering in evergreen beauty down to the ground. The hall is large and lofty; the floor is of polished oak, almost the whole of which is covered with thick matting; it is wainscoted all round with black oak; some seven or eight full-length pictures, evidently of considerable antiquity, being let into the panels. Quaint figures these are to be sure; and if they resembled the ancestors of the Aubrey family, those ancestors must have been singular and startling persons! The faces are quite white and staring-all as if in wonder; and they have such long legs, ending in sharp-pointed shoesjust such as were worn in the reign of Edward III., or even Richard II. On each side of the ample fireplace stands a figure in full armour; and there are also ranged along the wall old swords and lances, the very idea of wielding and handling which makes your arms ache, while you exclaim, "they must have been giants in those days!" On one side of this hall, a door opens into the dining-room, beyond which is the library; on the other side a door leads you into a noble room, now called the drawingroom, where stands a very fine organ. Out of both the dining-room and drawing-room, you pass up a staircase contained in an old square tower, two sides of each of them opening on the old quadrangle, lead into a gallery running all round the quadrangle, and into which all the bed-rooms open. But I need not go into further detail. Altogether it is truly a fine old mansion. Its only constant occupant is Mrs Aubrey, the mother of Mr Aubrey, in whose library we are now seated. She is a widow, having survived her husband, who twice was one of the county members about fifteen years. Mr Aubrey is her firstborn child, Miss Aubrey her last: four intervening children she has followed to the grave, the grief and suffering consequent upon which have sadly shaken her constitution, and made her, both in actual health and in appearance, at least ten years older than she really is for she has, in point of fact, not long since entered her sixtieth year. What a blessed life she leads at Yatton! Her serene and

cheerful temper makes every one happy about her; and her charity is unbounded, but dispensed with a most just discrimination. One way or another, almost a fourth of the village are direct pensioners upon her bounty. You have only to mention the name of Madam Aubrey, the lady of Yatton, to witness involuntary homage paid to her virtues. Her word is law; and well indeed it may be. While Mr Aubrey, her husband, was to the last stern in his temper, and reserved in his habits, bearing withal a spotless and lofty character, she was always what she still is, meek, gentle, accessible, charitable, and pious. pious. On his death she withdrew from the world, and has ever since resided at Yatton -never having quitted it for a single day. There are in the vicinity one or two stately families, with ancient name, sounding title, and great possessions; but for ten miles round Yatton, old Madam Aubrey, the squire's mother, is the name that is enshrined in people's kindliest and most grateful feelings, and receives their readiest homage. 'Tis perhaps a very small matter to mention, but there is at the hall a great white old mare, Peggy, that for these twenty years, in all weathers, hath been the bearer of Madam's bounty. A thousand times hath she carried Jacob Jones (now a pensioned servant, whose hair is as white as Peggy's) all over the estate, and also oft beyond it, with comfortable matters for the sick and poor. Most commonly there are a couple of stone bottles, filled with cowslip, currant, ginger, or elderberry wine, slung before old Jones over the wellworn saddle-to the carrying of which Peggy has got so accustomed that she does not go comfortably without them. She has so fallen into the habits of old Jones, who is an inveterate gossip, (Madam having helped to make him such by the numerous enquiries she makes of him every morning as to every one in the village, and on the estate, and which enquiries he must have the means of answering,) that slow as she jogs along, if ever she meets or is overtaken by any one, she stops of her own accord, as if to hear what they and her rider have to say to one another. She is a great favourite with all, and gets a mouthful of hay or grass at every place she stops at, either from the children or