_November 25th.--Ten A.M._--We have just passed a bit of scenery on our left, which reminds me of Ardgowan,--a range of lofty hills in the background, broken up by deep valleys and hillocks covered with trees; dark-green fir, and hard wood tinted with Canadian autumn colours, running up towards it from the river. With two or three thousand acres--what a magnificent situation for a park! There are so many islets in this river that it is not easy to speak of its breadth, but its channel still continues deep, and, with occasional exceptions, navigable without difficulty. _Six P.M._--A very pretty spectacle closed this day. The sun was dropping into the western waters before us as we approached a place called Tsong-yang, on the left bank. We knew it was the station of an Imperial fleet, and as we neared it we found about thirty or forty warjunks, crowded with men and dressed in their gaudiest colours. Flags of every variety and shape. On one junk we counted twenty-one. You cannot imagine a prettier sight. We anchored, supposing that the authorities might come off to us. As yet, however, they have shown no disposition to do so. I presume, however, that the display is a compliment. Figure to yourself the gala I have described at the mouth of a broad stream running at right angles to the river Yangtze, and up which the town lies, about two miles off-- the river, plains, town and all, surrounded by an amphitheatre of lofty hills--and you will have an idea of the scene in the midst of which we are anchored, and from which, the golden tints of sunset are now gradually fading away. [Sidenote: Under fire again.]