eight lines, in which the spirits are thanked for answering the prayer and entreated to accept the offerings.  The Emperor then prostrates himself nine times, after which he resumes his position before the altar, while the last verse of eight lines, eulogistic of the ancestors, is being chanted; during this the spirits are supposed to ascend again to Heaven.  The hymn ends with the scraping of the tiger’s back and striking it on the head.

We can imagine the partial gloom of this species of chapel, lighted by many burning, smoky joss-sticks, with its glint of many-coloured silks, and gold embroidery; the whining, nasal, half-spoken, monotonous drone of the singers with their writhing figures bespangled with gold and vivid colour; the incessant stream of shrill tones from the wind instruments; the wavering, light clatter of the musical stones broken by the steady crash of gongs and the deep booming of large drums; while from outside, the most monstrous bell-like noises vaguely penetrate the smoke-laden atmosphere.  The ceremony must be barbarously impressive; the strange magnificence of it all, together with the belief in the actual presence of the spirits, which the vague white wreaths of joss-stick smoke help to suggest, seem to lend it dignity.  From the point of view of what we call music, the hymn is childish enough; but we must keep in mind the definition of Confucius.  According to the Chinese, music includes that phase of sound which we call mere noise, and the harmonizing of this noise is Chinese art.  We must admit, therefore, that from this point of view their orchestra is well balanced, for what will rhyme better with noise than more noise?  The gong is best answered by the drum, and the tomtom by the great bell.

China also has its folk song, which seems to be an irrepressible flower of the field in all countries.  This also follows the precepts of the sages in using only the five-note or pentatonic scale found among so many other nationalities.  It differs, however, from the official or religious music, inasmuch as that unrhythmic perfection of monotony, so loved by Confucius, Mencius, and their followers, is discarded in favour of a style more naturally in touch with human emotion.  These folk songs have a strong similarity to Scotch and Irish songs, owing to the absence of the fourth and seventh degrees of the scale.  If they were really sung to the accompaniment of chords, the resemblance would be very striking.  The Chinese singing voice, however, is not sonorous, the quality commonly used being a kind of high, nasal whine, very far removed from what we call music.  The accompaniment of the songs is of a character most discordant to European ears, consisting as it does mainly of constant drum or gong beats interspersed with the shrill notes of the kin, the principal Chinese stringed instrument.  Ambros, the historian, quotes a number of these melodies, but falls into a strange mistake, for his version of a folk song called “Tsin-fa” is as follows: