only known to his teachers. Painting may or may not have been an
Imperial hobby; but it is quite certain that the drama received more
perhaps than its full share of patronage. The ladies and eunuchs of
the palace are notoriously fond of whiling away much of their
monotonous existence in watching the grave antics of professional
tragedians and laughing at the broad jokes of the low-comedy man, with
his comic voice and funnily-painted face. Listening to the tunes
prescribed by the Book of Ceremonies, and dining in solemn solitary
grandeur off the eight[*] precious kinds of food set apart for the
sovereign, his late Majesty passed his boyhood, until in 1872 he
married the fair A-lu-te, and practically ascended the dragon throne
of his ancestors. Up to that time the Empresses-Dowager, hidden behind
a bamboo screen, had transacted business with the members of the Privy
Council, signing all documents of State with the vermilion pencil for
and on behalf of the young Emperor, but probably without even going
through the formality of asking his assent. The marriage of the
Emperor of China seemed to wake people up from their normal apathy, so
that for a few months European eyes were actually directed towards the
Flowery Land, and the _Illustrated London News_, with praiseworthy
zeal, sent out a special correspondent, whose valuable contributions
to that journal will be a record for ever. The ceremony, however, was
hardly over before a bitter drop rose in the Imperial cup. Barbarians
from beyond the sea came forward to claim the right of personal
interview with the sovereign of all under Heaven. The story of the
first audience is still fresh in our memories; the trivial
difficulties introduced by obstructive statesmen at every stage of the
proceedings, questions of etiquette and precedence raised at every
turn, until finally the _kotow_ was triumphantly rejected and five
bows substituted in its stead. Every one saw the curt paragraph in the
_Peking Gazette_, which notified that on such a day and at such an