The theatre, proper, does not seem to exist in Corea. The substitute and nearest approach to it is recitation in monologue of certain events or extracts from the standard or popular histories, a single individual representing the successive rôles. The histrionic artist pitches his tabernacle of four posts in some popular street or corner. He spreads mats for a roof or shade from the sun in front, and for a background in the rear. A platform, and a box to squat on, with a small reading-desk, and a cup of gingery water to refresh his palate, complete his outfit. A few rough benches or mats constitute all the accommodation for the audience. A gaping crowd soon collects around him, his auditors pull out their pipes, and refreshment venders improve the occasion for the chance sale of their viands. With his voice trained to various tones and to polite and vulgar forms of speech, he will hold dialogues and conversations, and mimic the attitude and gestures of various characters. The trial of a criminal before a magistrate, the bastinado, a quarrel between husband and wife, scenes from high life and low life will be in turn rendered. He will imitate the grave tones and visage of the magistrate, the piteous appeals, the cries and groans and contortions of the victim under torture, the angry or grumbling voice of the husband, the shrill falsetto of the scolding shrew or the shower of tears and the piteous appeals of the wife. Smiles, frowns, surprise, sorrow, and all the emotions are simulated, and the accompaniment of voice is kept up with jokes, puns, bon-mots, irony, or well-expressed pathos. In short, the reciter is a theatrical stock company, and a band of minstrels, rolled into one person. For the use of beginners, and the mediocrity of the profession, there are a number of “jest-books,” collections of jokes and anecdotes, more or less threadbare, and of varying moral quality, from which speakers may prime for the occasion. With the advanced of the profession, however, most of the smart sayings are original and off-hand. The habitués of the booths have their “star” favorite, as theatre-goers with us go into raptures over their actors. Able men make a good living at the business, as they “pass round the hat” to take up a collection in the audience. This usually comes at the most telling point of the narrative, when the interest of the hearers is roused to the highest pitch (or when it is to be “continued in our next,” as the flash newspapers say). Sometimes the speaker will not go on till the collection is deemed by the tyrant a sufficient appreciation of his talents. In addition to their public street income, the best of them are often invited to perform in private houses, at family reunions, social parties, and as a rule, in visits to dignitaries by candidates who have won degrees.