For some of the best make-ups and the most natural action on the Chinese stage one ought to see men playing the part of _lao-tan_, or old woman. I have frequently found it difficult to believe that it was a man who appeared with the sorrowful, lined face, the black headdress, tottering along with the stiff walk engendered by bound feet, leaning on a tall staff with a carved handle, and all in all giving a perfect representation of a _lao-t’ai-t’ai_ (old lady). Very touching bits often appear in plays in which an old woman in her broken voice bewails the loss of a son, her only support in life. Among other minor types are found the _lao-sheng_ (old man), the _ta-ching_ (male part, either wicked or honest—his character is indicated by the style of face-painting he wears), and the _er-hua-mien_ (usually a robber). In addition to these there are an infinite number of other possible parts; for example one sees not infrequently various wild and domestic animals interpreted in very droll make-ups that recall Shakespeare’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” A very important type is the _ch’ou_, the clown, as much an institution on the Chinese stage as he was on that of our Middle Ages. It is very difficult, Chinese critics say, to become a famous clown. The part of the clown consists largely of improvisation, but it is quite risky for him to be as funny as he can. He is permitted topical allusions, but he must gauge carefully the mood of the audience. I remember one quite successful hit. In a certain play a husband returns after an absence of ten years and finds his wife and son in good health, but with an added blessing of Heaven in the shape of a one-year-old boy. He berates his wife for her infidelity and exclaims, “Who could have done me such a turn?” At that moment the clown leaped to the edge of the stage shouting, “It was he!” and allowed his pointing finger to sweep slowly across the sleek, blushing faces of the row of rich merchants in the front seats.