A CHINESE DRAMA.

TErz Chinese began to represent upon the stage, at a very early period, the sorrows and the eccentricities of humanity. From facts related by their historians it may be inferred that dramatic re- presentations existed in China in very ancient times. The Chinese are a lively people, and are fond of the excitement productd by showy simulations of ancient historic events and characters, and the burlesque of strange acts and incongruities. Music, though very ancient among them, has not reached any high degree of cultivation. The simple sounds heard in nature, the sounds emitted by ringing stones and metals, formed the commencement. Their chant was something between singing and saying—a kind of recitation. The art of dancing formed the chief of the dramatic arts. It was very different, however, from the performances of modern times. It con- sisted rather of elegant posture-making and gesticulations, like the ancient classical pantomime. Stories are told of the origin of the drama. They say that tribute-bearers, from certain barbarous tribes, created so much ridicule on coming to court in their strange dresses, bandaged heads and legs, especially by their movements when they did obeisance before the Emperor, that his Majesty ordered repre- sentations to be made of these individuals. The terrible griefs and rejoicings of frantic women also are said to have given rise to imi- tative. dramatic representations. The lesser arts connected with theatrical amusements were not wanting. Dancers on silken ropes performed with agility in China thousands of years ago, as Ma Twanlin says. Flying, stilt-walking, sleight-of-hand tricks, and jug- glery of all kinds were practised. Eating fire, and emitting volumes of smoke sufficient "to obscure the sun," were among the arts of the popular stage. Puppets had been in vogue fifteen hundred years before our era, and it is not unlikely that the drama was cultivated then. The strong tendency for imitation which marks the Chinese people—induced by their early education, and strict rules in the re- lations of life—would lead us to expect to find the drama among their original institutions, which were fixed and settled at a time when Europe was but just emerging from barbarism. The object of the drama is, by the actual representation of the deeds of heroism, the virtues of antiquity, and the rewards of merit—by holding up to ridicule the vices and irregularities of human practices—to excite in the human heart feelings of magnanimity, of reverence for virtuous character, and abhorrence of vice. And this has been the aim of Chinese writers in all ages. The whole literature of China, with the exception of a few coarse novels and the lowest class of ballads, aims at the moral development of the race from infancy to manhood upon the principles inculcated in their ancient classic writings. The stage is comparatively pure, and the tendency of their plays is to elevate the popular mind. Comedy is more frequently performed than tragedy, but the general character of Chinese theatricals -is tragi-comic. Buddhism and its peculiar dogmas has been a well-wrought subject, and, indeed, the superstitions of the nation, with the manners and customs of the Chinese and their tributary kingdoms, have been all represented by the histrionic art. The periods in which the drama was especially flourishing were the dynasties of Tang, Sang, Kin, and Yaen, all renowned penods in Chinese history. The play usually consists of a prologue and four acts ; the performers seldom • more than five in all. These took various parts : one played the merchant, another the aristocrat ; one the devotee or the priest, another the part of a gay or a ludicrous character. The female parts were performed by young men. The plot is not always well worked out; one or two principal persons, however, are kept prominently in view, and the scope of the play is generally well preserved. The unities of time and place are not strictly observed. Deities and ghosts enter into the performances sometimes, and the supernatural is often brought in to heighten the effect. The following plot of a comedy designed to illustrate the rewards of virtue according to Buddhist notions may serve as a specimen, and ab tau) dime onuses. This play is the eighteenth in the collection called "The Hundred Plays of Yuen." Its title is, "Mr. Lung's error in investing Money for Payment in the next Life; or, the Debt of the Future.' The play is in four acts, with a prologue. In the prologue the two principal persons are introduced. In this case, the second personage of the comedy, Mr. Lee, comes in and recites a verse alluding to his misfortunes of sickness and poverty. He de- scribes himself, his parentage and circumstances, how being left an orphan at an early age, and having .no turn for literary pursuits, he devotes himself to business ; but being unsuccessful he is obliged to borrow two dollars from his fellow-townsman and friend, Mr. Lung. With this he sets up again, but in a year he loses everything. While in these circumstances he happens one day to be passing the magis- trate's court, when the officers are punishing by torture an individual who could not pay his debts. The cries of the poor man, and the recollection of his own position as Mr. Lung's debtor, bring on a fit of despair; he goes home and takes to his bed. In this state of in- disposition he is brought upon s the stage. The principal personage, Mr. Lung, a wealthy Buddhist, t, is then introduced. He describes himself, tells how rich he is, how that he had lent money to Mr. Lee, who, instead of paying him with fourfold interest, has lost every- thing, and is lying at home sick. He determines to call and see him, and orders his steward to take two dollars and the original bonds with him. They proceed to Mr. Lee's house, and find him in terror at the approach of his creditor. But Mr. Lung consoles him, and- makes End inquiries after his health and the cause of his sickness. By a series of cross-questionings he finds out the real state of the case; he then (aside) reasons with himself on the improbability of his getting his debts from half his debtors, and reflects that the bonds which he holds cannot increase his wealth, while they enhance the debtors miseries, so he resolves to burn them. He forthwith forgives Mr. Lee the debt, presents him with the money which he has brought with him, and orders the bonds to be burnt, and then asks him how he feels. Lee professes to be well again, and regrets that he shall never be able to repay in this life, but proposes to be the horse or the ass of his benefactor in the next world. Lung is well-nigh offended at this, as he makes a free gift. But Lee persists that the reward must come some day. Lung insists that it is a gift, and goes off leaving Lee to soliloquize.

The scene then changes. Mr. Lung teaches his family some of Buddha's doctrines on the vanity of covetousness. "All men," he says, "have the nature of Buddha." If any court riches and take bribes, this nature cannot be perfected in them. They are like children eating sweet things with a sharp knife; they are sure to cut their tongues. He reminds his servant that the bonds are not yet burnt. To the inquiry of his wife why he burns them he gives no reply, but tells her not to ask again. A Buddhist priest, Mr. T on passing that way sees the smoke of the burning bonds, and

inquire. nquire. Mr. Lung receives him graciously, tells his story, and receives the praises of the priest, who after a good deal of flattery and dogmatic statements about riches and the rewards in the next life which attend upon charity and self-denial in this, is pressed by Mr. Lung to take a bar of gold and a well-caparisoned horse as pre- sents. Tsang refuses to take the presents, but assures Lung that such goodness would meet with large recompense in the next world. On his departure, Lung proceeds to burn incense to Buddha in his different apartments. On coming to the grinding-house he hears the miller singing, and tells his servant to call the old man out. This scene is, perhaps, the most amusing of the whole play. The miller, whose lobriquet is Lo-ho, comes to speak to his master, and asks what he wants. We will give an extract from the conversation: "Master. You were singing just now. You must be very happy—tell me how it is ?

"Miller. My sire, you say that I was singing, and that I must be very happy; but your poor servant is always miserable. I earn every day two- pence. I rise very early in the morning ; first, I select the corn, and when I have selected it, then I sift it; and when I've sifted it, then I wash it ; when I've washed it, then I dry it; and when it is dry, then I grind it; and after it is ground, I sift it again, and so you see lest I should go to sleep and lose my wages, I sing all day to keep myself awake. Where does my happiness come from ? I am most miserable !

"Master. But what are those two sticks over your eyes. "Miller. Ah ! you want to know what these sticks are for. Why.

sire, as I am at work all day long, from morning till night, I am so afraid of going to sleep and making some mistake in the work, that I invented this contrivance to keep myself awake. Ah ! I am a very wretched man.

"Master. My child, I will release you. The flow...house, and the oil- house, and the mill, shall be shut up.

"Miller. But if you don't open the mill, I shall have nothing to do ; and if I leave your house, I shall perish of cold and hunger. "Master. Oh! A thought strikes me. Steward, take a dollar and give it to the miller.

"Miller. What is this called ?

"Master. That is money.

"Miller. Called money is it? I never saw the like. What do you do with it, sir?

"Master. It is good for feeding and clothing you. "Miller. Good for clothing and feeding, ah ! One must have good teeth !

"Master. My child, you may break it up and buy food and clothing with it.

"Miller. Au! I will change it to buy things! But what, sire, shall you want me to do for this money ? "Master. Nothing, my child. I only wish you to-day to go out and do a little business with it, and then at night get a good sleep.

"Miller. Ah ! now I understand, sire ; I understand.

"[The master sings an air.]

"Miller. Sire, I Lo-ho confess my fault. Yesterday, I stole two measures of corn of yours, and I went to the Lonretreet bazaar and had my nativity cast. The astrologer told me that on this day, in this month, and at this time, I should get rich. And here you, sire, have given me this money. That astrologer knows his business !

"Master. Now go and buy the things you want.

"Miller. Thank you, sire ; thank you. [Exit Master Lung.] "[Miller, alone.] They call it silver—silver. Who ever saw the like ? This is real silver ! I must go home ; the old gentleman told me to go home and get a good sleep. Who ever saw the like? Ah, well, it is silver money ! But here I am at home ; this is my little room. Let me bar the door. And now I will look at my silver. Yes, it is silver money, surely! Ah ! under the grate among the ashes will be a good place to hide it. But now I will put it in my breast. Nobody will think it is there. I hear the public watchman calling. [He gapes.] I will go to bed early; my master told me to get a good sleep. [He lies down to sleep and presently snores, and calls out in his sleep.] Why are you pushing me ? This is the public street, the king's highway. There is a place for you and a place for me. Hands off! Why are you squeezing me? Take your hands from my breast. This silver? whose it is ? Why, Mr. Lung gave it to me. It is my money. Give it to me again directly. [He awakes.] Ali! I must have been dreaming. I will look whether my silver is safe. Yes, here it is. I dreamt I was robbed on the highway. Where shall I put it now?"

He puts the silver under the ashes, and lies down to sleep, when he dreams that the house is on fire. Ile deposits it in a well, and dreams that the whole land is flooded. He places it under the door- step, when he dreams that a burglar attempts his life, and tries to steal his money. So, wearied out, having passed a sleepless night, he resolves to restore the money to his master who gave it, whose lot it was to sleep soundly though he possessed hundreds, concluding that his own fate was to grind corn still. The wealthy Buddhist goes on in his good work, as he calls it, of burning the bonds and bank.notes, notwithstanding the earnest re- monstrances of his wife, who shows him that he will reduce herself and her children to beggary. Moreover, he determines to sacrifice his wealth, and proceeds to sea with chests full of money and precious things, for the purpose of destroying them in the ocean. But he fails to sink the boat, and is obliged at last to throw everything over- board. Various divinities appear to him at different times and give him counsel. He is reduced to poverty, and compelled to earn a livelihood by basket-making. His daughter takes the baskets to sell, but meets with little success. On one occasion a priest endeavours to seduce her; her upright conduct, however, prevents the realiza- tion of his plans, and her admonitions move the priest to repentance. In the fourth act the ghosts of several persons appear to the principal personage, the once rich Buddhist, and upon his making inquiries from them they are found to be old debtors of his, who are now raised to divine honours, and wish to do him some good service. Amongst them Mr. Lee appears, and the priest who had urged Mr. Lung to burn the bonds and make other sacrifices. The latter then praises Mr. Lung and all his family for their virtues, and so the play concludes. This comedy is intended to ridicule Buddhism, in re- quiring of its votaries the sacrifice of this world's goods to secure rewards, by way of payment, in the next life.