matter how good it is for foreigners, I will die rather than consent
to." In this grand old statesman's confession of his political faith
it is good to find a convincing answer to the arguments of those who
pretend that there are no patriots in China.

Robert Hart's next mission was to Peking itself, the grey, wall-ringed
mediæval city where he was afterwards to spend so many years,
and where he stayed with Sir Frederick Bruce at the British
Legation--then, as now, housed in a fine old Chinese building.

[Illustration: A VIEW OF PEKING SHOWING CONDITION OF ROADS.]

Sir Frederick Bruce was a most striking type of man, like a straight,
healthy tree, most cordial in manner, with a beautiful voice that made
even oaths sound like splendid oratory, a keen intelligence flavoured
with a pinch of humour, and a great gift of diplomatic suavity.

Between himself and young Robert Hart a bond of friendship rapidly
grew--strong enough to bear the lapse of time and even the occasional
bursts of frank criticism to which the host treated his guest. At
least on one occasion it was very sharp indeed. Hart and another young
man (afterwards Sir Robert Douglas) had gone riding in the outer city
of Peking on the fifth of the fifth moon--a feast day--when, on their
way home, a yelling mob collected around them, shouting disrespectful
names and even throwing things at them. True, they did it all in a
spirit of playfulness, but a moment or a trifle might easily have
turned mischief into malice, and, realizing this, Hart pulled up
at one of the shops in the big street and asked the shopkeeper, a
respectable greybeard, to tell the crowd not to pass his shop door.