to stop their exports, the stock on hand will rapidly diminish, and tea will become an article of luxury too expensive for the poor to purchase. It is absolutely chimerical to suppose that, by any connivance or aid from neutral powers, you can drive a prosperous trade with a country which you are assailing by force of arms. The consumption of tea by the humbler classes has become so universal, that they will suffer from the deprivation as much as if a famine were in the land; and where, then, will be the popularity of the confident Premier? In India this war will produce a monetary crisis, with all its terrible concomitants-nay, the crisis has already begun. In less than one month, between the 7th of January and the 5th of February, the rate of discount at the Bank of Bengal was raised from six to fourteen per cent

a rise which will be followed by numerous failures, involving, it is to be feared, the fortunes of many persons who live in England on the interest of money left in the hands of commercial houses in India. I am not much addicted to the prophetic vein of Cassandra, and I feel anything but pleasure in the contemplation of coming disaster; but I cannot shut my eyes to what I think must be the inevitable consequences of the present infatuation. War is, in every instance, a calamity, because it necessitates an enormous expenditure, without prospect of a return; but war with a State with which we have a large trade and important commercial relations, is almost suicidal; because the very first result is, that our merchants are menaced with ruin; the second is, that our imports must greatly diminish; and the third is, that our revenue must suffer by a loss of customs' duties. In a commercial point of view, a war with Russia could not affect us nearly as much as a war with China. Russia sent us nothing which we could not otherwise procure at a slightly augmented rate, but China stands in the peculiar position of having the virtual monopoly of its own supply. In all respects, therefore, this war is to be deprecated; and yet Lord Palmerston has appealed to the country solely as an advocate for a new war, using

thus strangely the popularity he has acquired by being instrumental in terminating the old one!

For my own part, I hope that the constituencies will not be so far led astray as to give Lord Palmerston the command of even a considerable majority. He is precisely that kind of person to whom it is not safe to intrust unlimited power, for he has already shown himself to be totally regardless of constitutional checks, and anxious to rule with an authority which closely approaches to despotism. His reason for getting rid of the old House of Commons is quite intelligible and apparent. He saw that neither the Tories nor the Radicals would permit him any longer to concentrate in his own person, in imitation of Louis Napoleon, the whole power of the State, without explanation, justification, or announcement of an intelligible policy. He saw that the House would not longer submit to be made a mere engine for taxing the people; that it was resolute to discharge its constitutional functions; and would insist, sooner or later, upon its right to discuss and probe the negotiations and conduct of the Ministry. Therefore, although a way was opened to him to escape from immediate difficulty, he deliberately courted a defeat upon the Chinese question, although he knew and had been warned that many members who ranked as his general supporters, would on this occasion divide against him. And now he asks for a national vote of

confidence, in the very broadest sense of the term; for he expects in the new Parliament to command such a majority that he may pursue his own course, in regard to foreign affairs, without being molested with demands for explanation, and without being obliged to indicate his policy before the country is irretrievably committed.

However, it is no use speculating upon the result of an event so near; for, as I look from my watchtower, I see a steamer plunging northwards through a heavy and baffling sea; and I have little doubt that she bears the tidings of the dissolution of Parliament to the distant islands. Well, philosopher as I am, and thoroughly reconciled to my own isolated posi

ing upon whose shoulders the real responsibility should rest.

moon

tion, I should like to have one other glimpse of a contested election. Vivid in my memory are recollections of large turnip-faced men, of fozy intellect, who upon such occasions are invariably placed upon the committees of agents, some sharp as needles, others helpless as calves, rushing to and fro in quest of fugitive or recalcitrating electors of the yells of the crowd before the hustings, who enjoy their day's hooting with intense gusto-of the stammering, stuttering, and vehement gesticulation of the candidates, who have rarely the sense to go through their part of the ceremony in dumb show-of the forest of unwashed hands-of the pointless placards which are meant to be extremely witty-of the triumph of the winning party, and the rage, agony, and despair of those who lose. Such scenes and ebullitions, being genuine exponents of feeling, are useful and comforting in their way; and I hope that in our time they will never be abolished to make room for the sneaking ballot, which is a system suitable only to a community of hypocritical slaves. I no not object to the ballot from party considerations. I am firmly convinced that, if it were introduced to-morrow, the Tories would be the gainers, for coercion in election matters is practised only by the ignoble and tyrannical, and I am proud to say that men of that stamp are not numerous on our side. But I like to see public opinion, even though I differ from its course, expressing itself freely and openly; and I hold that it would be a gross act of injustice to the non-electors to allow those who have the franchise to exercise their privilege in secret. It would be, on a smaller and yet wider scale, to adopt the Palmerstonian policy, which is one of secresy and silence, without the chance, in the event of misfortune or calamity, of ascertain

So, then, I bid you, in the mean time, farewell. I am somewhat in the condition of Cassius; for "thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations," have been simmering in my brain; but what would be the use of enunciating them now, when the whole British public are thronging tumultuously to the poll? I have told you, in accordance with your kind permission, what I think of the present crisis; but, however the elections may go, I feel no manner of alarm. We may have to pass through a period of suffering, occasioned by the policy of our rulers (or rather ruler), in embarking in an unrighteous and wicked war-we may have again to submit to taxation from which we trusted that we were freed -we may have to endure some calamity, deprivation, and restriction of the comforts of the poor-but, for all that, the nation will right itself at last, like a ship when its lumber is thrown overboard; or rather like that vessel from Joppa to Tarshish, which contained the inconsistent prophet Jonah, who paid the fare thereof. Palmerston no doubt will try to throw out tubs to the whale; but, in the long run, he will himself be thrown overboard; and in that case, after his deliverance from physical, though not political death, he may possibly understand how the following text is applicable to the recent deplorable and iniquitous treatment of Canton :

Should I not spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand, and also much cattle?"

I add nothing more; but remain always, your affectionate Contributor, PHOSPHORUS.

Pictarnie Lighthouse, North Britain.

CATERINA tore herself from Anthony with the desperate effort of one who has just self-recollection enough left to be conscious that the fumes of charcoal will master his senses unless he bursts a way for himself to the fresh air; but when she reached her own room, she was still too intoxicated with that momentary revival of old emotions, too much agitated by the sudden return of tenderness in her lover, to know whether pain or pleasure predominated. It was as if a miracle had happened in her little world of feeling, and made the future all vaguea dim morning haze of possibilities, instead of the sombre wintry daylight and clear rigid outline of painful certainty.

She felt the need of rapid movement. She must walk out in spite of the rain. Happily, there was a thin place in the curtain of clouds which seemed to promise that now, about noon, the day had a mind to clear up. Caterina thought to herself, "I will walk to the Mosslands, and carry Mr Bates the comforter I have made for him, and then Lady Cheverel will not wonder so much at my going out." At the hall door she found

VOL. LXXXI.-NO. CCCCXCIX.

Rupert, the old bloodhound, stationed on the mat, with the determination that the first person who was sensible enough to take a walk that morning should have the honour of his approbation and society. As he thrust his great black and tawny head under her hand, and wagged his tail with vigorous eloquence, and reached the climax of his welcome by jumping up to lick her face, which was at a convenient licking height for him, Caterina felt quite grateful to the old dog for his friendliness. Animals are such agreeable friends-they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.

"The Mosslands" was a remota part of the grounds, encircled by the little stream issuing from the poole and certainly, for a wet day, Caterin; could hardly have chosen a less suitable walk, for though the rain was abating, and presently ceased altogether, there was still a smart shower falling from the trees which arched over the greater part of her way. But she found just the desired relief from her feverish excitement in labouring along the wet paths with an umbrella that made her arm ache. This amount of exertion was to her tiny body

what a day's hunting often was to Mr Gilfil, who at times had his fits of jealousy and sadness to get rid of, and wisely had recourse to nature's innocent opium-fatigue.

When Caterina reached the pretty arched wooden bridge which formed the only entrance to the Mosslands for any but webbed feet, the sun had mastered the clouds, and was shining through the boughs of the tall elms that made a deep nest for the gardener's cottage-turning the raindrops into diamonds, and inviting the nasturtium flowers creeping over the porch and low-thatched roof to lift up their flame-coloured heads once more. The rooks were cawing with many-voiced monotony, apparently by a remarkable approximation to human intelligence finding great conversational resources in the change of weather. The mossy turf, studded with the broad blades of bulbous plants, told that Mr Bates's nest was rather damp in the best of weather; but he was of opinion that a little external moisture would hurt no man who was not perversely neglectful of that obvious and providential antidote, rum-and-water.

Caterina loved this nest. Every object in it, every sound that haunted it, had been familiar to her from the days when she had been carried thither on Mr Bates's arm, making little cawing noises to imitate the rooks, clapping her hands at the green frogs leaping in the moist grass, and fixing grave eyes on the gardener's fowls cluck-clucking under their pens. And now the spot looked prettier to her than ever; it was so out of the way of Miss Assher, with her brilliant beauty, and personal claims, and small civil remarks. She thought Mr Bates would not be come in to his dinner yet, so she would sit down and wait for him.

But she was mistaken. Mr Bates was seated in his arm-chair, with his pocket-handkerchief thrown over his face, as the most eligible mode of passing away those superfluous hours between meals when the weather drives a man indoors. Roused by the furious barking of his chained bulldog, he descried his little favourite approaching, and forthwith presented himself at the doorway, look

ing disproportionately tall compared with the height of his cottage. The bulldog, meanwhile, unbent from the severity of his official demeanour, and commenced a friendly interchange of ideas with Rupert. but

Mr Bates's hair was now grey, his frame was none the less stalwart, and his face looked all the redder, making an artistic contrast with the deep blue of his cotton neckerchief, and of his linen apron twisted into a girdle round his waist.

"Why, dang my boottons, Miss Tiny," he exclaimed, "hoo coom ye to coom oot dabblin' your faet laike a little Muscovy duck, sich a day as this? Not but what ai'm delighted to sae ye. Here, Hesther," he called out to his old humpbacked housekeeper, "tek the yoong ledy's oombrella an' spread it oot to dray. Coom, coom in, Miss Tiny, an' set ye doon by the faire an' dray yer faet, an' hev summat warm to kape ye from ketchin' coold."

Mr Bates led the way, stooping under the door-places, into his small sitting-room, and, shaking the patchwork cushion in his arm-chair, moved it to within a good roasting distance of the blazing fire.

"Thank you, uncle Bates" (Caterina kept up her childish epithets for her friends, and this was one of them); "not quite so close to the fire, for I am warm with walking."

"Eh, but yer shoes are faine an wet, an' ye must put up yer faet on the finder. Rare big faet, baint 'em?

aboot the saize of a good big spoon, I woonder ye can mek a shift to stan' on 'em. Now, what 'll ye hev to warm yer insaide? a drop o' hot elder-wain, now?"

"No, not anything to drink, thank you; it isn't very long since breakfast," said Caterina, drawing out the comforter from her deep pocket. Pockets were capacious in those days. "Look here, uncle Bates; here is what I came to bring you. I made it on purpose for you. You must wear it this winter, and give your red one to old Brooks."