perfection. Even in these dances the sexes do not mingle There are mehmma yehn and youkya yehn, the former usually eschewing complex movements, and sitting in rows on the ground, richly decked with bracelets, and dahleezan necklaces falling over their silken vests or tight-fitting lace bodices. The dancing consists of the usual pirouetting, or perhaps it ought to be called winding, on both feet, with much serpentine movements of the arms and the head. The loosening of the elbow-joint is greatly practised by Burmese girls with a view to these performances, and also under the impression that it is elegant in itself. From early years the arm is so manipulated that the forearm can be bent back so as to form a curve outwards, and this accomplishment is steadily exhibited on all occasions in public by a belle who has acquired it. Very often the mehmma yehn is performed by a body of girls, who succeed one another in successive groups. All are seated at first. The chorus begins in a low recitative gradually swelling until at last the first group rise and go through a stately performance. They are succeeded by the next row who are more lively in their movements, and so on to the last, who are usually young girls, and are much more rapid and varied in their figures than their elder predecessors. Finally all join in some complicated evolutions, and finish up seated in some pre-arranged figure. But as a rule the mehmma yehns, though pretty enough as a mere spectacle, have not sufficient action to redeem them from the accusation of tiresome sameness brought against individual dancing.

In the men's dances it is different. At the commencement all are seated, four or five in the front row, and forming a column of perhaps ten or more rows. The conductor gives the sign and all bow down with closed hands raised to the forehead in salutation to the great man

in whose honour the dance is given. Then they begin singing in chorus in the usual way. The song treats in a rambling way of the past history of the village, its ancient princes and heroes; its victories in boat-races, boxing matches, or mains of cocks. Interpolated are catch phrases for the guidance of the dancers. At a certain word all spring to their feet; they sway to the right, to the left; white handkerchiefs are drawn from the belt and waved to the measure of the refrain, peeled white wands replace them; they pirouette simultaneously, they troop round in procession in movements resembling figures in the Lancers, or the Haymakers, the time varying with the measure of the song, dying away in plaintive sounds almost to quiescence, and then suddenly rising to excited movement of every limb as the words tell of a let-pwè, in which some local hero of the "fancy" did glorious deeds, or a fight long years ago when the village spearmen carried the day. Then the measure changes again, the alterations in time being always heralded by some such refrain as toh yehn daw tha, lay moung yoh wa, a kind of warning hung out after the manner of the first word of a military command. Occasionally a yehn troupe which has acquired particular skill and renown travels about the country on special invitation. Rangoon is often supplied with its "country dances" in this way, the townspeople not having the time, or being too numerous to form a good company for themselves. But they very rarely become regular professionals in the same way as the play actors do; they never perform ostensibly to gain a living, and the dances always occur on some fête day, whether in their own place, or in the village to which they have been invited. Their instructor always receives a sum of money to recompense him for his trouble and to pay for the

expenses of his troupe. Yehn pwès are performed ordinarily in private houses, or on a public platform, when it is a religious or special festival. A yehn is a favourite way of greeting a great man, or an English official on his arrival in a village. It is not so expensive as a zaht pwè, is more quickly arranged, allows the sons and daughters of the chief people to distinguish themselves, and lasts just as long as the person it is intended to honour pleases.

CHAPTER II.

MUSIC AND SONGS.

THERE are no teachers of music or singing in Burma, and there are no written scores. A musician commences his career by diligently listening to the performance of a good band. By and by he enters the village orchestra as a clapper player, and so learns the time and the peculiarities of various tunes, just as actors rise from the posturing and choruses of children's and country yehn pwè to the full dignity of dramatic performers. As a natural consequence there are occasionally variations, and indeed every puloay, or flute-player, has his own particular mannerisms, but these are never so great as to materially alter the character of the air, and such tunes as the tay-dat, a-poo-deik, lohngyin and so forth, which occur in every zaht, are as familiar to everybody as "God save the Queen" and "Auld Lang Syne" are to an Englishman. Nevertheless it is very difficult for a foreigner to catch the air, and I have not been able to get an English score of any of the really old national tunes. The melody given later on was taken down from the playing of a well-known pwè leader in Maulmein, and has been harmonised for the town brass band by Mr. W. G. St. Clair of that place, to whom I am indebted for the score. So true is it to the air that many

wealthy Burmans have the band to play at domestic festivals, funerals, and the like, and are satisfied to have the one tune played over and over again a score of times. But the kayah-than is of modern origin and, as Burmans always say, in the English style, though Englishmen will persist in saying that there is nothing English about it. In the acknowledged national airs it is very difficult to get a definite rhythm, the music being almost invariably a mere succession of recitative, more or less Wagnerian in its style.

The instruments of a full Burmese band always include the following, whether the occasion is the orchestra for a play, the music for a dance, for a wedding, an ear-boring ceremony, or a funeral. A seing-weing, an elaborately carved, circular, wooden frame, painted in parts, standing between two and three feet high, and five feet or more in diameter. Round the inside of this are hung drums of graduated sizes, which are struck with the hands of the performer, who sits in the middle. The alternate dry and saturated state of the atmosphere renders constant tuning necessary, and this is effected by tightening the drum heads, and also by smearing on with the fingers a paste made of burnt rice husk. The music produced is rather thin in itself, but by no means unpleasing. Similar to it in construction, but not standing so high, is the kyee-weing, the only difference being that graduated gongs take the place of the drums. The gongs are of course beaten with a knobbed stick, and not with the hand. These ponderous instruments can only be carried about in a cart, and their owner keeps perpetual guard over them, sitting in the centre, cheroot in mouth, for they cost a very considerable sum of money. Fair specimens of both the drum and the gong-harmonicon may be seen in the South Kensington Museum. In addition to these, there are in every band.