From Household Words.

THE HERO OF A HUNDRED PLAYS.

THE tragedy we are about to represent in little, is the work of a Chinese Shakspeare; being one of the Hundred Plays of Yuin. Its name may stand on the bill as Hán Koong Tsew; or, Autumn in the Palace of Hán. Autumn is the word always used to express sorrow or misfortune. Yuen, the hero of a hundred plays, came to the throne about forty-two years B.C.

The chief characters in the tragedy are: Yuen, Emperor of China, of the dynasty of Hán; Maou-en-show, his minister; Hanchan-yu, the Tartar Khan; and Chaou-keun, the heroine. There appear also the President of the imperial council, a Tartar Envoy, and officers in waiting. The scene varies between the Tartar camp on the northern frontier of China, and the Imperial palace of Hán. The first act opens in the Tartar encampment. The Khan thus soliloquizes :—

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Wildly, wildly in its fury,

Blows the bleak autumnal gale,
'Gainst our woollen tents hard beating,
Bending low the rushes frail;
And the moon, the queen of midnight,
Shining on the rude-built huts,
Hears all night the pipe lamenting,
Listens to its mournful notes.
All these countless hosts are warriors,
Powerful with the bended bow;
Me, they honor as their leader:

Where I bid, they proudly go."

The Khan then states that he is Han-chan-yu, and narrates some of the most notable deeds of his ancestors, the distinguished friends of the family of Hán, the old inhabitants of the sandy waste, the sole rulers of the northern region:

"I command a hundred thousand warriors. 'The wild chase is our trade; battle and conquest are our chief occupation. We have moved to the south, and claimed alliance with the imperial race; for it has ever been the custom with our houses to seek such unions.

Yesterday I dispatched an envoy with tributary presents, to demand a princess in alliance; but I don't know whether the emperor will ratify the engagement with the customary oaths."

him have the heart of a kite: let him have the talons of an eagle. Let him deceive all his superiors, and oppress all who are beneath insinuation and flattery on his side; and, if he him. Let him enlist profligacy and avarice, uses these well, he will find them invaluable through life. That is my doctrine, and I am no other than the great Maou-en-show. By a hundred arts of specious flattery and address, I have deceived the emperor until he trusts to me alone; he listens to all my words: he follows all my counsel. Who is bows not before me, who does not tremble there, within the precincts of the palace, who at my approach? And how have I managed it all? By persuading him to keep aloof from his wise counsellors, to follow only my advice, and to seek all his pleasure among

women.

Thus have I reached this pitch of power and greatness. But there he comes." The Emperor enters, and discourses at tedious length about the grandeur of his empire; of the four hundred districts of the world which are possessed by his invincible race; the peace and prosperity prevailing everywhere; the happiness which all but himself enjoy. Alas, the apartments, which should be occupied by a beloved princess are solitary and untenanted. How can this be endured? After discussing the subject, he settles with the minister that the empire shall be explored, and portraits brought to him of all the loveliest damsels in the land who are between the ages of fifteen and twenty; that he may choose one for his wife. The minister is himself appointed to perform this duty.

In the second act, Maou-en-show gives us some more of his reflections:

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Grasp all you can, and keep it.. That is my motto. Why should I heed the seas of blood which flow from violating the laws? During life, I am resolved to have as much wealth as I can get. What need I care if men send curses after me in death?"

He has returned from his errand; "having scoured all the country round, and collected ninety-nine portraits. The originals of these are all assembled at one end of the palace; there to abide the emperor's selection. But where is the hundredth charmer; "the brightness of whose charms is piercing as an arrow?" She is of very poor family-so poor that her parents were unable to give the minister the required bribe of a hundred ounces of gold; and even had relied so much "If a man would get on in the world, let upon their daughter's beauty, that they re

The scene then changes to the Chinese Emperor's palace. The chief minister of the brother of the moon, the stock villain of the tragedy unfolds his plans and views in a soliloquy :

"PRES. Let your majesty return to the palace. The princess is already far distant!"

The cool manner in which this little trans-tapers with their silver light shall illuminate action is managed is perfectly consistent with her chamber. the Chinese character, which never varies. As it was a couple of thousand years ago, it remains to-day. Compromise is the traditionary policy, whether dealing with Hanchan-yu or with Lord Elgin.

The fourth act opens with the parting. The princess, who alone displays a particle of heroism, is speaking when the weeping Em

peror enters :—

"CHAOU. There is no remedy! I must yield myself to propitiate the invaders. Yet how shall I be able to bear the rigorous winds and biting frosts of that northern clime! It has been truly said of old, that perfect joy is coupled with an unhappy fate, and surpassing beauty often meets a cruel end. But, while I grieve at the sad effects of my own attractions, let it be without entertaining fruitless resentment towards others. "EMP. Let the attendants delay awhile, till we have partaken of the parting cup."

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ENVOY [Enters.] Lady, I must urge you to proceed on your way. Already the sky darkens, and night is coming on.

"CHAOU. Alas! when shall I again behold Your Majesty! I will take off these robes of honor, and leave them behind. To-day in the palace of Hán-to-morrow I shall be espoused to a stranger. Yes, I will cease to wear these splendid garments; no longer shall my beauty be adorned in the eyes of

men.

"ENVOY. Again, let me urge you, princess, to depart. We have delayed too long already!

The scene then changes to the frontier. The Envoy, accompanied by the Princess, has returned to the Khan; who, well satisfied, has broken up the camp, and is marching home. They have reached the river Amoor, when Cheou-keun asks, what place is this?

"ENVOY. The river of the Black Dragon, the frontier of the Tartar and Chinese territories All the south is the Emperor's. To the north are the Khan's dominions.

"CHEOU. Great king! suffer me to take the south, as my last farewell to the Empeone cup of wine, and pour a libation towards ror. Emperor of the line of Hán, this life is finished! I await thee in the next!"

Thus saying, she throws herself into the river. No effort to save her appears to be made; but great consternation ensues. The Khan laments her loss, and orders a memorial to be erected on the river's bank, to be called The Verdant Tomb,-a monument which exists, it is said, to this day, and is green all the year round, even in the most parching weather.

The lovely casus belli having been thus removed, the Tartar resolves to join again in alliance with the Emperor of China, and to give up Maou-en-show; who, he considers, can only prove a root of misfortune.”

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In the last act we find the Emperor in great grief-not at the death of Chaoun"Emp. Tis done! Princess, when you keun; for he has not yet heard of it,—but at are gone, let your thoughts forbear to dwell her departure. He is watching her portrait, on us with sorrow and resentment. [They and paying all possible honors to it. It is part.] And I am indeed the great monarch evening. He drops off to sleep; and, in a dream, sees the princess approaching him. As she begins to speak, a Tartar soldier rushes in, and carries her off to the ghostregion allotted to the Tartars. The Emperor starts up, and resumes his cogitations.

of the line of Hán?

"PRES. Let your majesty cease to grieve on this subject.

"EMP. She is gone! In vain have we maintained that mighty host on the frontier. Mention but swords and spears, and their hands quiver, their cheeks blanch; they tremble like a young deer. The princess has, this day, done the work which belonged to them, and yet they dare to call themselves men!

"PRES. Your majesty is entreated to return to the palace. Dwell not so bitterly, sir, on her memory. Forget her!

"EMP. If I were not to think of her I should have a heart of Iron,-a heart harder than iron. My tears of grief for her stream down in a thousand channels. This evening shall her likeness be suspended in the palace; there I will burn incense before it, and

Presently he hears the voice of the wild goose. This bird is regarded by the Chinese as the emblem of love and fidelity: it is worshipped by newly married couples. It is said that it never pairs again after losing its mate, but ever afterwards wanders about alone. The Emperor laments again.

"ATTENDANT. Let your majesty desist from this sorrow, and have some regard to your sacred person."

But the Emperor grows only the more eloquent in grief.

Finally, an envoy comes from the Khan, to offer terms of peace; to tell of the death of Chaoun-keun, and to render up the traitor Maou-en-show, whose head the Emperor not only orders to be forthwith cut off, but, this time, sees that it is done, that the shades of the lady may be in some measure appeased. These are his closing words:

"Mid autumn-grief, when through the palace

halls

Was heard the wild fowl's piteous cry,

Sad, troublous dreams our lonely pillow
throng'd,

And brought her to our fancy nigh.
Now she is dead! Her Verdant Tomb re-
mains :

But whither has the spirit flown?"

The extent of the Chinese dramatic repertoire may be judged of by this unhappy Emperor alone being the hero of a hundred plays. The Chinese drama abounds with genuine pathos and humor.

future ages deem worthy of an affectionate or
admiring glance: the rest will perish. We
have not wished to speak of the demagogue's
vocation as a very lofty one; we have simply
striven to show that, low or lofty, it is the natu-
ral vocation of Henry Brougham.-Critic.

DISILLUSION.

By the Author of " Arnold, a Dramatic History."
THEY are clearing the anchor-cable,

The mariners crowd to the fore,

And over the bar of the harbor

BROUGHAM.-What Brougham writes has | Brougham's utterances has democratic pith and often Ciceronian flow, but seldom Ciceronian democratic meaning, that, and that alone, will finish. His mind has immense energy and expansiveness, without any elevation or originality. He is one of the least suggestive of speakers and writers. Thought with him is a force, never a fruitfulness. He is a steam-engine kind of man. It has been disastrous to him that he has been associated with the Whigs, without being thoroughly a Whig. He should have been the leader of England's democracy. I am unable to estimate his scientific pretensions. It is difficult, however, to suppose that he brings that genius to science which he does not carry into literature. As in every thing else, he is perhaps in science only an agitator. He can spread himself over a larger surface than any living man; but probably no living man can go so little below the surface or rise so little above it. Though he has worked hard for the education of the people, he has had a most imperfect idea thereof. The illuminism of which he is the champion would place the people no nearer the dwellings of the gods. While Brougham has nothing in him of the true reformer, it would not be either fair or generous to denounce him as a charlatan. Wanting the earnestness and depth of the true reformer, he is no farther a charlatan than arises from his morbid uneasiness. And this uneasiness he would never have felt, never have manifested, if he had not strangled down the dema-Ah, fair! yet the first days are fairest,

gogue in his heart. As an author, he cannot descend to ease without descending to slipslop. His carelessness is always clumsiness-never a happy bound of unconscious beauty. If he had played his natural part as a demagogue, he might have been the greatest of orators; but no effort, no culture, could have made him a good writer. Cicero spoke well because he wrote well; but the more magnificently Brougham declaimed, the worse would he always have written. No demagogue can be a master of the pen. The rude potencies which rouse, which vanquish the multitude, cannot be turned into artistic shape. And, whereas the demagogue should be as much dominated by unity of purpose as the prophet, Brougham has aimed as much at versatility as Voltaire. What of

We glide to the olden shore;
And the sunlight falls on the castle-
The slow-moving sails of the mill-
The white and ancient lighthouse-
The kirk on the wind-swept hill;
And gilds with a tenderer glory
Content that their burial silence
The graves where the scamen sleep,

Be stirred by the voice of the deep.
The swell of the soothed summer ocean
Dissolves into silvery spray,

And lifts with a languid motion
The pilot-boat out in the bay.

Were led by the Angel of Slumber
That, yielding their beauty and breath,

To the arms of the Angel of Death.
But could we their far-off Hades
Fling open, and bid them arise
With the light and the ancient passion
Relit in their strange dead eyes,
Their light would reveal such darkness—
Their pleasure recall such pain-
That 'twere better, silently, softly,
To lay them to rest again.
Yet fall, O thou earlier splendor,

On shore and on basking bay
One moment! "Wake up, man, we're landing,
Beware of the cheats on the quay!"
-Critic.

From Chambers's Journal. DR. JOHN BROWN'S" LOCKE AND SYDENHAM," &c.*

DR. JOHN BROWN is one of a numerous class of men in the professional and middle ranks of life, who use their spare time in an unobtrusive cultivation of literature, writing an anonymous paper now and then, which the public "does not willingly see die," but seldom coming out into the blaze of literary notoriety. He has here collected his few occasional writings into an elegant volume, and placed them with his name before the public judgment. Natures of a refined and delicate cast, gentle meditative spirit, lovers of elegant phraseology, especially if they belong to a medical world, will relish the book highly, and give it a good place in their libraries. With the great mass of the public -notwithstanding the presence of one popular element, a rich quaint humor-we should think there will be less appreciation. Let them judge for themselves, however, after reading a specimen.

curt and grotesque 'boo,' and said: 'Maister John, this is the mistress; she's got a trouble in her breest-some kind o' an income, we're thinkin'.'

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"By this time I saw the woman's face; she was sitting on a sack filled with straw, her husband's plaid around her, and his bigcoat, with its large white metal buttons, over her feet. I never saw a more unforgetable face-pale, serious, lonely, delicate, sweet, without being what we call fine. She looked sixty, and had on a mutch, white as snow, with its black ribbon; her silvery smooth hair setting off her dark-grey eyes-eyes such as one sees only twice or thrice in a lifetime, full of suffering, but fuil also of the overcoming of it; her eyebrows black and delicate; and her mouth firm, patient, and contented, which few mouths ever are.

"As I have said, I never saw a more beautiful countenance, or one more subdued to settled quiet. Ailie,' said James, this is Maister John, the young doctor; Rab's doctor. She smiled, and made a movement, freend, ye ken. We often speak aboot you, but said nothing; and prepared to come down, putting her plaid aside and rising. When a boy at the High School of Edin- Had Solomon, in all his glory, been handing burgh, the author made acquaintance with a down the Queen of Sheba at his palace-gate, dog called Rab, the guardian of the wain of he could not have done it more daintily, the Howgate carrier, in consequence of seemore tenderly, more like a gentleman, than ing him comport himself nobly in a fight lifted down Ailie, his wife. The contrast of did James the Howgate carrier, when he with one of his own species. The acquaint- his small, swarthy, weatherbeaten, keen, ance was kept up till Mr. Brown was a med-worldly face to hers-pale, subdued, and ical student and clerk in the Minto House beautiful-was something wonderful. Rab Hospital. "We had," says he, "much pleasant intimacy. I found the way to his heart by frequent scratchings of his huge head, and

an occasional bone. When I did not notice him, he would plant himself straight before me, and stand wagging that bud of a tail, and looking up, with his head a little to the one side. His master I occasionally saw; he used to call me 'Maister John,' but was laconic as any Spartan.

looked on concerned and puzzled, but ready for any thing that might turn up-were it to strangle the nurse, the porter, or even me. Ailie and he seemed great friends.

"As I was sayin', she's got a kind o' trouble in her breest, doctor; wull ye tak' a look at it?' We walked into the consultingroom, all four; Rab grim and comic, willing to be happy and confidential if cause could be shown, willing also to be quite the reverse, on the same terms. Ailie sat down, undid her open gown and her lawn handkerchief "One fine October afternoon, I was leav-round her neck, and, without a word, showed ing the hospital, when I saw the large gate me her right breast. I looked at and examopen, and in walked Rab, with that great and ined it carefully-she and James watching easy saunter of his. He looked as if taking me, and Rab eyeing all three. What could general possession of the place; like the say? there it was, that had once been so Duke of Wellington entering a subdued city, soft, so shapely, so white, so gracious and satiated with victory and peace. After him bountiful, so full of all blessed conditions' came Jess, now white from age, with her hard as a stone, a centre of horrid pain, cart; and in it a woman, carefully wrapped making that pale face, with its grey, lucid, up-the carrier leading the horse anxiously, reasonable eyes, and its sweet resolved and looking back. When he saw me, James mouth, express the full measure of suffering -for his name was James Noble-made a overcome. Why was that gentle, modest, Locke and Sydenham, with other Occasional sweet woman, clean and lovable, condemned Papers. By John Brown, M. D. Edinburgh: by God to bear such a burden? Constable. "I got her away to bed.

1858.

I

May Rab and