witnesses? She bribed them. She bribed the
soldiers to get rid of Hai-tang. Yes! she did
it. She did it!

MRS. MA. Scoundrel that you are! What
shall I say? Well! I did it all; 'tis no great
misfortune to die. We may live in a future
world, and be faithful to one another!

CHING. Listen, all who are present, and hear
my supreme decree! The Governor of Ching-
chow has transgressed the law. He is deprived
of his button and his belt; he is degraded; he
must return to the people (the lower orders),
and never again have public employment. (He
was the judge who, bribed by Mrs. Ma, had
condemned Hai-tang.) The false witnesses are to
receive eighty blows, and to be banished one
hundred Ies from home. Chao and his comrade,
being officials, must be more severely punished.
One hundred blows, and to be transported
beyond the frontiers to an arid uninhabited
land. The adulterous woman and her infamous
accomplice shall be taken to the public square,
and suffer a slow and ignominious death. They
shall be cut up into one hundred and twenty
pieces. All they possess shall be transferred to
Hai-tang and her son, who is committed to her
tender care. Her brother, Chang-lin, may quit
his employment and dwell with his sister; but
he is to be the executioner to decapitate the
guilty pair.

The drama concludes by Hai-tang singing a
triumphant hymn to the honour and glory of the
just judge, telling him that the history of the
chalk circle shall extend to the four seas, the
limits of earth, and be repeated throughout the
empire.

The "Heir in Old Age," and the "Sorrows of
Han," both admirably translated by Sir John
Davis, have long held a high place among the
contributions of China to the dramatic literature
of Europe. The last of these pieces has an
historical interest, dating from a period anterior
to the Christian era, and tradition reports the
tomb of the heroine to be still preserved in
everlasting verdure as the memorial of her
virtues. The persons of the drama are, Han, a
conquering Tartar sovereign, and his envoy;
Yuen, a Chinese emperor; Maou, his profligate
minister; two officials; and the Princess Chao.
Maou encourages all the licentious habits of his
master, and recommends him to collect the
portraits of all the beautiful women of his
empire, and to select for the palace the most
beautiful among them. The minister patronises
ninety-nine, but failing to extort a large bribe
from the father of the loveliest of all, he
disfigures the portrait, and keeps the fair creature
out of the emperor's sight. The emperor,
dissatisfied with all the candidates for his favour,
is wandering through the remoter apartments
of the palace, when he hears the sweet music of
a lady's lute. He goes to the place, and is
entranced by the lovely, but till now unknown,
damsel, who tells her tale, and the perfidy which
has led to the disfigurement of her portrait.
The wicked minister is condemned to death, but
he escapes to the Tartar camp, and takes with
him the veritable portraiture of the divine
Chao. On his suggestion the Khan insists on
her being delivered to him, threatening to invade
China, unless she is surrendered by the emperor.
The emperor knows he is too weak to resist the
Tartar, and that his resistance must lead to the
overthrow of his dynasty, and the desolation of
his country; so, consulting with his councillors
and his beloved, it is determined, after vehement
resistance on the part of the emperor, that she
shall be sacrificed, and, for the common good,
handed over to Han. She is proclaimed the
Tartar queen. She reaches the Amoor, the
Black Dragon River, and, in the presence of
Han, offers a libation, tells Han she will wait
for him in another world, and flings herself into
the stream. The Khan sends the Tartar back
to the emperor to be executed according to his
decree. Peace is restored; Chao appears in a
vision, but the "wild fowl" awakes him to
report that it is only a dream. The head of the
minister is made an offering to the shade of
the princess, and her verdant tomb is kept in
memory of her departure.

Though dancing was a diversion of ancient
times in China, and is spoken of as an
accomplishment, crushed feet will not allow a modern
Chinese lady to dance, and the very idea of
dancing is now associated with vulgarity, and
public exhibition. On one occasion,
accompanied by an excellent band of musicians,
furnished by one of H.M. ships of war, I
accompanied forty or fifty English and American
ladies who were to be introduced—in the
beautiful gardens and summer-houses of an opulent
merchant—to the ladies of his family. There
was some difficulty in persuading our Chinese
hostesses that persons with such monstrous
feet as Nature had given our countrywomen
could be really respectable or presentable to
well-bred people, and surprise and delight were
expressed that the foreign barbarian women
knew "how to behave themselves." One of
the ladies explained the matter to another by
saying, "But you know they have been in
China, and have learnt good manners from
us!" Our party asked leave to entertain
themselves, and, as they supposed, to gratify
the fair Celestials, with a dance. Permission
was obtained with some difficulty. "How could
they dare to allow the stranger guests so to exert
and weary themselves for their gratification?"
But reason and courtesy taught them to give
way, and they looked on wonderingly at the
figuring, and promenading, and bowing. The
dance done, the Chinese ladies returned emphatic
thanks to those who had taken so much trouble,
and so exhausted themselves to please them.
They were assured that we danced to please
ourselves—an assurance that was received with
the most marked incredulity. When permission
was solicited to continue the amusements of the
day by an additional quadrille or reel, the
answer was, "No! no! that must not be; it is
too, too, much to expect from you!" A second
dance, however, was arranged; but it is to be
feared that the Chinese ladies thought our party