Besides Seoul and Pyeng-yang the two most important seaports of Korea, which are Chemulpo and Fusan, were the only places in the peninsula where it seemed possible to arrange for even a single address. An honest attempt was made by a personal visit of the foreign secretary of the Young Men’s Christian Association to “negotiate” an invitation from the Koreans of Song-do, the ancient capital under the dynasty preceding that at present on the throne. But Song-do is an exceedingly conservative city, and the family of Yun Chi-ho is influential there. Thus, even its Korean Christians did not care to hear addresses on matters of morals and religion from a guest of the Japanese Resident-General. It is well to recall again in this connection the fact that, although Pyeng-yang has actually suffered more at the hands of Japanese invaders than any other city of Korea, the influence of the Christian missionaries and their converts was so powerful there that the most sympathetic and crowded native audiences greeted the “friend of Japan” in that city. There, too, in connection with Dr. Noble, presiding elder of the Methodist missions in all that part of the country, I was able to be of most service to both countries in a time of rather unusual threatening and exigency. This fact confirms the impression that, in Seoul, fear of the Court and of the Yang-bans is cramping the work even of the foreign religious teachers. But Chemulpo and Fusan are the places in Korea where the two peoples have been longest in the compelling contact of common business interests. Observation of results in these places had, therefore, some special value. The visit to Fusan came later, and properly belongs to the story of our departure from Korea. But the visit to Chemulpo and its experiences may fitly be spoken of in this place.

The invitation to speak at Chemulpo came from the Japanese Resident and from the Mayor, as official representatives of the educational interests of the city. The affair was, therefore, conducted much more in the familiar Japanese style than were the invitations to speak in Seoul or Pyeng-yang. At the same time, it had been decided that I was to address a Korean audience in Chemulpo, and Dr. Jones had consented to make this possible by the help of his valuable skill in interpretation. It had been arranged that we should meet him and Mr. Zumoto, who was to interpret the address to the Japanese, at the South Gate station for the 11.40 A.M. express. But as the time of leaving approached, it appeared that something was detaining the Doctor; finally we were obliged to go on without him. In person he appeared at Chemulpo in the early afternoon and explained that he had been detained in order to prepare for the funeral of one of the native members of his church; several hours still later, while we were taking tea at the Resident’s house, we were handed (as an example of the despatch with which this service is at present rendered in Korea) the explanatory telegram which had been sent in the early morning.

The fields between Seoul and Chemulpo, on the morning of May 6, 1907, were beautifully green, for the spring rains had been unusually abundant and the crops were correspondingly promising. Combined with the darker green of the pines, and contrasted with the red and yellow of the sand and rocks, they gave back to the eye that more vivid but less soothing pleasure of the Korean landscape to which reference has already been so frequently made. Along this line of railway, as everywhere, there is the same impression of undeveloped agricultural resources; there is also the same temptation to imagine how it will all look in the years to come, when Korea has been lifted out of its low industrial condition.

At the station we were met by the official deputation and escorted to the Japanese Club. The impression made by the streets through which we passed was not pleasing; for there had been rain, the air was laden with cold moisture, and the ground was either rough or torn up for repairs and heavy for the jinrikisha pullers with its coating of mud. But it should be remembered that this part of Chemulpo is in the making, whereas the older part had a few weeks before been swept by a destructive fire. The Chinese town, through which we now passed, bore a decayed air; but when the Japanese quarter was reached, in spite of the recent loss of some 400 houses, there was a thrifty and prosperous look, an appearance of determination, of not-to-mind-what-cannot-be-helped, so characteristic of the people themselves. The work of rebuilding this quarter was going briskly forward.

The population of Chemulpo consisted at that time of some 12,000 Japanese, from 15,000 to 20,000 Koreans, and about 2,000 Chinese (before the Japan-China war the number of the Chinese was about 5,000). There are less than 100 European and American residents. It is hoped by those interested in the business prospects of the city that, after the through all-rail route from Tairen to St. Petersburg is made in all respects first-class—and the consummation of this project will quickly follow under the management of Baron Goto and the Russian authorities, as soon as the commercial treaty between Japan and Russia takes effect—Chemulpo will be an important port of entry for the increasing trade of Korea. But the harborage is now so poor that ships of any considerable size have to lie far out in the offing, and the sand-bars between this anchorage and the wharfs are constantly forming and shifting their location. This coast of Korea is also made very dangerous by numerous rocky islands and sunken reefs, by variable and strong currents, and by one of the highest average tides to be found anywhere in the world. Plans for improving the harbor are, therefore, very important. Right in front of the Chinese hotel where we spent the night, the flats are being filled in, apparently with the double purpose of securing an extension of building lots, and also of shortening somewhat the distance between the city and the shipping at low tide. But the permanent improvement of the harbor of Chemulpo—and this is equivalent to securing one good port of entry for the entire western coast of Korea—offers a difficult problem. Either of the two ways of solving the problem which have hitherto been considered would be exceedingly expensive. To enclose a basin with a sea-wall and shut in the tide-water by gates, or to extend the wharf out some two miles to deep water, would cost many millions of yen.

After an excellent tiffin at the club, where we met some twenty Japanese ladies and gentlemen, I spoke to an audience of not more than one hundred and fifty—of this nationality almost exclusively—but of both sexes. The audience represented the educational and official interests of the city which, as is customary in Japan and elsewhere, are not paramount in places devoted to trade and commerce. Mr. Zumoto interpreted; the ethical and hortatory turn given to the remarks made them, apparently, no less but even more heartily received. I have already called attention to the striking fact that the thoughtful Japanese are becoming more impressed with the truth of the old-fashioned, but not as yet quite defunct, thought that it is, after all, “righteousness which exalteth a nation.” But the Koreans, as a people, have still to awake to the impression that either science or morality has any important bearing on the material and social welfare of the nation’s life. Following the lecture, there was tea at the Residency House; after which we were taken to one of those curious but by no means uncomfortable hostleries which one comes upon in the Far East. It was under the sign of “E. D. Steward & Co., Store. Keeper. & Hotel and Ship. Compradore.” The name “Steward” was assumed by its Chinese owner because he had filled this office on a small steamship for some years before. The advertisement did not at all exaggerate the variety of enterprises carried on under the same extensive roof by this example of a thrifty race. In the rooms over the store the representative of Mr. “Steward” (for we did not learn his true designation, either for this life of business or his “heavenly name”) cared for his guests as well as could reasonably be expected.

Most of the following morning was spent in conversation with Mr. W. D. Townsend, who has been in Korea since May, 1884, when he arrived at Chemulpo to open a branch of the “American Trading Co.” He thus antedates the founding of missionary work in Korea, although Dr. R. S. McClay had visited Seoul in June, 1883, to make arrangements for a mission; and Dr. Horace N. Allen, who afterward served as the representative of the United States Government, reached Korea in the September following. This conversation, continued on during luncheon at Mr. Townsend’s house, gave me incidents and opinions illustrating the problem I was studying as it appears to a shrewd and experienced man of business. Facts and opinions from this point of view were, I believed, no less important and informing than those to be learned from the missionary or the native or foreign official.

In the afternoon I spoke on the “Five Elements of National Prosperity” to an audience of about 600 Koreans, fully half of whom were children, and part of whom kept coming and going. The Japanese Resident, Mr. Kenochi, was present. The quality of the attention and interest did not seem to me to reach the level of the audiences in Seoul; but this was only what was to be expected from the nature of the population and the occupations of the Koreans in Chemulpo. From the church we had a not unpleasant walk to the suburban station, accompanied by a number of the Japanese gentlemen and ladies who felt it their official but friendly duty to see us off for Seoul. On reaching Miss Sontag’s house we dined with the German Consul, Dr. Ney, Mr. Eckert, the skilful trainer of the Korean band, and other German friends, on invitation of our hostess.

With reference to the improvements already accomplished in Korea, and to a considerable extent through Japanese official influence and unofficial example, Mr. Townsend called my attention to the following particulars. Previous to the opening of the country to foreign trade there was no possibility of accumulating wealth in Korea. For, as one of the few thoughtful Koreans had remarked: “If there was a large crop of rice and beans, there was no one to buy it, and it would not keep over for two years. Therefore we ate more and worked less; for what could we do with the surplus but eat it? But when the crops failed, we starved or died of the pest that followed.” It so happened, in fact, that the year after the opening of the country there was a large crop; and now for the first time in the history of Korea, there was not only something to sell but a market for it. There had, indeed, been trade for centuries between the southern part of the country and the adjoining regions of Japan, especially the island of Tsushima. But in this trade Korea parted with its gold, out of which the Japanese themselves were subsequently cheated by the Dutch, who took it off to Holland. Thus neither of the nations in the Far East was enriched in any permanent way; both were the rather impoverished as respects their store of resources for the future.

Under the Japanese, Mr. Townsend was confident—as is every one acquainted with the past and present conditions—that there would soon be a very considerable development of the country’s resources. This would take place especially in the lines of silk-culture, raising rice and beans, and grazing and dairy products. For all these forms of material prosperity the country was by soil and climate admirably adapted. Up to this time the rinderpest had been allowed to ravage the herds unchecked. In a single year it had carried off thousands of bullocks, so that the following spring the entire family of the peasants would have to join forces—men, women, and children—to pull their rude ploughs through the stiff mud. As to the culture of fruit, the outlook did not seem so hopeful. The market was limited; the various pests were unlimited in number of species and individuals, and in voracity. A certain kind of caterpillars eat pine-needles only; and some gentlemen, in order to protect the pine-trees in their yards, were obliged to hire Koreans to pick these pests off the trees, one by one, by the pailful at a time. It seems to me, however, that in time these difficulties may be overcome by the very favorable character of soil and climate for many kinds of fruits, by the possibility of ridding the country of the pests and of improving the already excellent varieties of fruits, and by the development of the canning industry.

As to the effect of the Japanese Protectorate upon the business of foreign firms, Mr. Townsend assured me that the honorable firms were pleased with it and considered it favorable to the extension of legitimate business. Unscrupulous promoters do not, of course, enjoy being checked by the Resident-General in their efforts to plunder the Korean resources. In this conversation with Mr. Townsend I learned the details of one of those dishonorable promoting schemes which have been, and still are, the disgrace of some of the foreign residents in Korea. But this is not the worst of them. They become the disgrace of the countries from which the promoters come, so often as the latter can successfully appeal to the consuls or other diplomatic representatives of their nationals for official support in their nefarious schemes.

The relations, both business and social, between the Japanese and the Koreans in Chemulpo are now much improved. Indeed, there is at present an almost complete absence of race-hatred between the two. Formerly, on some trifling occasion of a quarrel started between a Japanese and a Korean, an angry mob of several hundred on each side would quickly gather; and unless the other foreigners interfered in time, there was sure to be serious fighting and even bloodshed. But the growing number of those belonging to both nations who understand each other’s language and each other’s customs has almost entirely done away with the tendency to similar riots. Indeed, a positive feeling of friendliness is springing up between certain individuals and families of the two nationalities. All of which tends to confirm the statement of another business man—this time of Seoul, where the hatred of the Koreans for the Japanese is studiously kept aglow by Korean officialdom and by selfishly interested foreigners—that in fifty years, or less, no difference would be known between the two. There will then, perhaps, be Koreans boasting of their Japanese descent and Japanese boasting of their Korean descent; and a multitude of the people who will not even raise the question for themselves as to which kind of blood is thickest in their veins. Everywhere on the face of the earth ethnology is teaching the lesson that “purity” of blood is as much a fiction as is the so-called “primitive man.”

According to Mr. Townsend, one cause of the deforestation of so large regions of Korea in former times was the fear of tigers; this fear was, of course, greatly increased by the fact that the Government did not dare to entrust the people with firearms. The tiger-hunters were, it will be remembered, a species of officials who composed the bravest, and oftentimes the only brave, troops in the king’s army. As late as about sixty years ago the principal road to Pyeng-yang from Seoul passed through a stretch of dense forest infested with tigers. As long as the slaughter by these beasts did not average more than one man a week, the people thought it could be borne; but when the number killed in this way rose to one or two a day, they applied to the Tai Won Kun, and permission was given to cut down the forest.

The prevalence of the tiger and also the method of governmental control over their capture and over the sale of their skins is well illustrated by the following amusing story. Recently, a foreigner who was fond of hunting big game, brought a letter of introduction to Mr. Townsend and asked him to negotiate for him with two tiger-hunters for a trip to the region of Mokpo. Knowing well the Korean character as respects veracity, it was necessary for the inquirer to discover in indirect ways whether the men were really courageous and skilful hunters, as well as whether tigers were really to be met in the region over which it was proposed to hunt. Something like the following conversation then took place:—“You claim to be brave tiger-hunters, but have you ever actually killed a tiger?” “Yes, of course, many of them.” “But what are you hunting at the present time?” “Just now we are hunting ducks.” “How much is a tiger worth to you when you succeed in getting one?” “Well, if we can have all there is of him—the skin, the bones” (which, when powdered, make a medicine much prized by the Chinese on account of its supposed efficacy in imparting vigor or restoring strength), “and all the rest, we should make at least 110 yen.” “Why, then, do you hunt ducks which bring you so little, when you might kill tigers, which are worth so much?” “Yes, but if I kill a tiger, the magistrate hears of it and sends for me; and he says: ‘You are a brave man, for you have killed a tiger. You deserve a reward for your courage. Here are five yen; but the tiger, you know, belongs to the Crown, and I will take that in the name of His Majesty.’ Now do you think I am going to risk my life to earn 120 yen for the magistrate, who squeezes me enough anyway, and get only 5 yen for myself?”

“But, tell me truly, are there really tigers to be found in that neighborhood?” “Yes, indeed, there are.” “How do you know that?” “Why, just recently two men of the neighborhood were eaten by tigers.” “Indeed, that is certainly encouraging.” “It may be encouraging for the foreign gentleman who wishes to hunt the tiger, but it was not very encouraging for the Korean gentlemen who were eaten by tigers.” The grim humor of all this will be the better appreciated when it is remembered how omniscient and omnivorous are the Korean magistrates as “squeezers”; and how large the chances of the tiger are against the hunter, when the latter is equipped only with an old-fashioned musket and a slow-burning powder which must be lighted by a fuse.

A story of a quite different order will always attach itself in my memory to the name of Chemulpo. During the Chino-Japan War one of the missionary families, now in Seoul, was living in the part near the barracks where the Japanese soldiers were quartered until they could be sent by sea to the front. One day a petty officer came up on the porch of the house, uninvited; but after accepting gratefully the cup of tea offered to him, being unable to speak any English, he went away, leaving the object of his apparent intrusion quite unexplained. Soon after, however, he returned with some twenty of his comrades, mostly petty officers, accompanying him; and when the hostess was becoming somewhat alarmed at the number for whom she might be expected to furnish tea and cakes, one of the company, who could best express their wishes in the foreign language, revealed the motive of the soldiers’ visit. He explained in broken English that they had come to see the baby—a girl about two years old. The little one was then brought out by the mother and placed in the arms of the speaker, who carried the child along the line formed of his comrades and gave each one a chance to see her, to smile at her, and to say a few words to her in an unknown tongue. On going away, after this somewhat formal paying of respects to “the baby,” the Japanese officer still further explained: “Madam,” said he, “to-morrow morning we are going to the front and we do not expect ever to return. But before we go to die, we wanted to bid good-by to the baby.” In the Russo-Japanese war nothing else so cheered the soldiers of Japan on their way to the transports for Manchuria as the crowds of school-children at all the railway stations, with their flags and their banzais. The number of the regiment to which these soldiers, who bade good-by to the American baby before they went forth to die, was taken note of by the mother. Their expectation came true; they did not return.

The only other excursion by rail from Seoul which we made during our visit to Korea was to attend the formal opening ceremony of the Agricultural and Industrial Model Station at Suwon. The history of its founding is copied from the account of the Seoul Press:

This lengthy account of the founding and progress of the school and station, whose opening ceremonial was to be celebrated on Wednesday, May 15, 1907, is given because of the great importance of the relation which every such enterprise sustains to the lasting success of the Japanese Protectorate and to the welfare of Korea under this Protectorate. Hitherto, the considerable sums of money which have been from time to time obtained from the Korean Government to found and to foster schemes for improved education or industrial development have almost without exception been unfruitful expenditures. The appropriation has either been absorbed by the promoters of the schemes, or if really spent upon the objects for which it was appropriated, both interest and care have ceased with the spending of the money. Even the missionary schools, which have up to very recent times afforded the only means for obtaining the elements of a good modern education—valuable as they have been, especially as means of propagandism—have too often resulted in sending out graduates who, if they could not get the coveted official positions, were fit for nothing else. In Korea, as in India—to take a conspicuous example—the students from these schools have sometimes become rather more practically worthless for the service of their nation, or even positively mischievous, than they could have been if left uneducated. But what Korea now most imperatively needs is educated men, who are not afraid of honest work; men, also, who will not accept official position at the expense of their manly independence and moral character, or gain it by means of intrigue and corruption. But “honest work” must, for a considerable time to come, be chiefly connected with the agricultural and industrial development of the country. Moreover, the institution at Suwon is demonstrating that the Koreans can make good students and skilful practitioners in the, to them, new sciences which give control over nature’s resources for the benefit of man. The Confucian education hitherto dominant in this country has chiefly resulted in cultivating scholars who either sacrificed usefulness in service to the false sentiment of honor, or else subordinated the most fundamental principles of morality to that skill in official positions which secured the maximum of squeezes with the minimum of resistance. And, finally, nothing so undermines and destroys race-hatred as the prolonged association of the two races in the peaceable relations of teacher and pupil; or of teachers and pupils with their respective colleagues.

Six car-loads of invited guests, belonging to all classes of the most influential people of Seoul and Chemulpo, left the South-Gate Station on a special train at one and a half o’clock, on that Wednesday afternoon, for Suwon. Marquis Ito and his staff, and other Japanese officials, Korean Ministers and their guards, all the foreign Consuls, the principal men of business, representatives of the press, and Christian missionaries were of the party. The day was warm, but fine; the landscape was even more beautiful in its coloring than usual. On arrival at the station of Suwon, the guests were met by the Minister and Vice-Minister of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry, by Dr. Honda, the director of the Model Station, and others, who escorted them on foot over a newly made road through the paddy fields belonging to the station. It did not need an expert eye to see the immense difference, as regards economy of arrangement and efficiency of culture, between these fields and the relatively uneconomically arranged and unproductive fields along the railway by which we had passed as we came to Suwon.

The Agricultural School and Station are beautifully located; the lake, which has been made by damming a stream, with the plain under improved cultivation, and the surrounding mountains, all combine to produce a charming scene. On reaching the Model Station itself a brief time for rest was allowed; this could be improved by those who wished to inspect the rooms where the specimens were displayed, and the laboratories of various kinds. The ceremonial proceedings were opened by the director, Dr. Honda, who reported the progress already made and defined the work which was to be attempted for the future. The work was to consist in the improvement of the quality of the seeds, the introduction and acclimatization of new varieties of farm products, the instruction of the farmers, the supply of manures, the effecting of improved irrigation, drainage, and protection against inundation, the improvement of poultry and dairy farming, the introduction and encouragement of sericulture, and the securing of more by-products on the farms.

After a few words from Mr. Song, the Korean Minister of Agriculture, Marquis Ito made a somewhat lengthy address. He spoke frankly in criticism of the failures which the Korean Government had hitherto made in its various attempts to accomplish anything for improving the miserable lot of the toiling millions of the Korean people. “Not only had nothing been done to ameliorate their condition, but much had been done to injure their interests and aggravate their miseries. Let those who boasted of their knowledge of Chinese philosophy remember the well-known teaching that the secret of statesmanship consists in securing the contentment of the people.” His Excellency then referred to the example of the great Okubo in Japan, who founded an agricultural college there in 1875, spoke of the brilliant results which had followed this improved instruction and practice, and hoped that the Korean officials, in whose charge this well-equipped institution was now placed, would make it equally useful to the Korean people.

The ceremonial part of the day was closed by an address by Mr. Kwon, the Minister of War, who had formerly been, although, as he confessed, without any knowledge of such matters, head of the Department of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry. It was indeed fourteen years since a department had been founded for the improvement of agriculture; but “nothing worth speaking of had been initiated by that department.” After spending 170,000 yen on the station, Japan had kindly consented to turn it over to the Korean Government. He was hopeful that the change already beginning to be felt in the interests of the farming population of his country would in the near future result in a large improvement in their condition. [It does not need to be said to those acquainted with the way in which such projects for developing the resources of Korea have hitherto been conducted, that both the grave rebuke of Marquis Ito and the confessions of the Korean Ministers are amply warranted.]

The ceremony concluded, refreshments were served in and about an old and historically interesting Korean building, which is situated a few rods below the farm station and just above the nearer end of the dam. After this, the whole company walked back to the railway by a road laid out on the back of the dam, which is shaded with young trees and made attractive by views of lake, fertile plains, and hillsides and mountains in the distance on every side. On the plain below the dam some Koreans were holding a pantomimic celebration, or merry-making, of the sort which it is their custom to commit to hired bands of men skilful in affording this species of amusement. On the hillsides at the end of the dam, and above the track of the railway, hundreds of other Koreans—adults in glistening white and children in colors of varied and deepest dyes—were quietly enjoying the scene. When the train stopped at the point nearest the end of the pleasant walk, it was, I am sure, a well satisfied crowd of guests which returned by it to Seoul.

With this ceremony at Suwon another which I had previously attended in Seoul naturally connects itself. This was the opening of the Industrial Training School, the initial outlay for which, including the cost of buildings and apparatus, amounted to a little more than 110,000 yen. The significance of this enterprise will be the better understood when it is remarked that the native workmen of to-day make nothing whatever, with the exception of a few cheap brasses and the attractive Korean chests, that any foreigner would be inclined to buy. Moreover, their own tools and machinery of every description are exceedingly crude and old-fashioned. At the ceremony in Seoul addresses were made similar to those listened to at the Suwon affair. Mr. Yamada, the principal of the Institute, reported that out of the eleven hundred applicants who had presented themselves for examination, fifty students had been admitted. Marquis Ito and the Korean speakers dwelt upon the same facts—namely, the deplorable backwardness of the nation in industrial matters, the unsatisfactory results of past endeavors at improvement, and the needs and hopes of the future. After the addresses, the guests visited the different workshops, where the Korean students were to be given manual training; and then resorted to the sides of the mountain above, where refreshments were served. The decorative features of the festivities—consisting of the Korean crowds on the upper mountain sides, the uniformed officials in and around the refreshment booths, and the brilliant bloom of the cherry bushes and plum trees—were even more striking than at Suwon. On this occasion it was my pleasure to receive a cordial greeting from some of the Korean officials, among whom was the Minister of the Interior, the cousin of the Governor at Pyeng-yang. It was evident that he had heard from his cousin of the assistance rendered directly by the missionaries and indirectly by me, in the way of quieting the excited condition of the Korean population at the time of our visit.

If official corruption can be kept aloof from these enterprises, and an honest and intelligent endeavor made to carry out the plans of the Japanese Government under Marquis Ito for the agricultural and industrial development of Korea, there is little reason to doubt that a speedy and great improvement will result. That the Korean common people, in spite of their characteristic air of indifference and their appearance of indolence, can be stirred with ambition, and that when aroused they will make fairly industrious and apt learners, there is, in my judgment, no good reason to deny. The experience of the “Seoul Electric Railway,” and of other similar enterprises, favors this judgment. Not to speak of the financial methods of this company, and after admitting that the physical condition of its property and the character of its service leave much to be desired, it has been, on the whole, successful in demonstrating the possibility of conducting such business enterprises by means of Korean labor. Mr. Morris, its manager, who came to Seoul in July, 1899, told me the interesting story of his earlier experiences. The working of the road during the first years of its running was accompanied by enormous difficulties. Neither the passengers, nor the motormen and the conductors had any respect for the value of time; most of the employees had even to learn how to tell time by their watches. The populace thought it proper for the cars to stop anywhere, and for any length of period which seemed convenient to them. If the car did not stop, the passengers made a mad rush for it and attempted to jump on; they also jumped off wherever they wished, whether the car stopped or not. This practice resulted in serious bruises and fractured skulls as an almost daily occurrence. Native pedestrians in the streets of Seoul were not content to walk stolidly and with a dignified strut (which is still the habit of the Korean before an approaching Japanese jinrikisha) along the track in the daylight, with the expectation that the car would go around them; but at evening they utilized the road-bed by lying down to sleep on the track with their heads on boards placed across its rails. One dark night in the first summer three men were killed by the last trip between the river and the city. In those days the broad thoroughfare, which is now kept open for its entire length, was greatly narrowed by rows of booths and “chow” shops on either side. Here the men from the country would tie their ponies (the Korean pony is notable for his vicious temper when excited) to the tables, and, reclining upon the same tables, would proceed to enjoy their portion of food. When the electric car came through the centre of the street, the beasts went wild with fright; sometimes they dashed into the shops; sometimes they fled down the street dragging the tables and scattering “chow” and men in every direction. At one place the line to the river runs over a low hill which is, in the popular superstition, a part of the body of the rain-bringing Dragon. In a dry season the people became greatly excited and threatened violence to those who had brought upon them the calamity of drought by such sacrilege done to the body of this deity. Mr. Morris had himself fled for his life before a Korean mob who were ready to tear him in pieces to avenge the killing of a child by the car. At the present time, however, there were fewer accidents in Seoul than on the electric car-lines of Japan; and many fewer than those from the same cause in the larger cities of the United States. In one of the more recent years they had carried 6,000,000 passengers and had only killed one. This is certainly not a bad record; for while, on the one hand, the service of the road is relatively slow and infrequent, on the other hand, in Seoul there are no sidewalks and the streets are thronged with foot-passengers and with children at play.

One other excursion from Seoul is, perhaps, worthy of record as throwing some sidelights upon Korea—this time, however, chiefly an affair of recreation. This was the ascent of Puk Han, the ancient place of royal refuge in cases of revolt or foreign invasion. The party consisted of Mr. Cockburn, the British Consul-General; Mr. Davidson, the successor of J. McLeavy Brown in the Department of Customs; Dr. and Mrs. Wm. B. Scranton, and Madam Scranton, the mother of the Doctor. Mr. Cockburn and Mr. Davidson made the ascent as far as was possible in jinrikishas, and the rest of the party in chairs carried by four or six coolies each. By the longer way out which the party took, there was, however, much walking (but no hard climbing) to do; and by the shorter way home, with its much steeper descent, there was little besides walking which could safely be done by any one.

The actual start was preceded by the customary bargaining with the coolies. This resulted in reducing by one-half the original charge—only to find the head man applying late in the evening after our return for an additional “present” direct from me, in reliance on my ignorance of the fact that a handsome present had already been given through the friend who made the arrangement. But, then, such squeezes are not confined to Korea in the Far East, nor are they peculiar to the Far East and infrequent in London, Paris, and New York.

Under “Independence Arch,” where, as we have already seen, the promise of a new and really independent Korea is built into the form of a monument of stone, the whole party were photographed. At a small village some three miles from Seoul, the coolies made another stop; here they received their first advance of money for “chow.” In the street of the village was standing one of those gorgeous palanquins which serve as biers, and which give the lifeless body of the poorest Korean his one ride in state to the hillsides where the tombs of the dead hold the ground against the fields needed for cultivation by the living. But these hillsides at least serve the living to some good purpose as preferred places for recreation and for intercourse with nature, as well as, in some sort, with their deceased ancestors. In Korea, as in India, birth, marriage, and death are expensive luxuries for the poor; to get into the world, to beget an heir, and to get out of the world again, absorb all the accumulated resources of a lifetime of toil for the average Korean. Surely, under such circumstances, “the will to live” lays itself open to the charge of Schopenhauer—that it is blind and working ever to the production of increased misery. Industrial development, firmly coupled with improved morality, and with the cheer and hopes of an elevating religion, as a true “psychical uplift,” are the only sufficient cure for such pessimistic tendencies.

Among the several attempts at photographing made on the way to Puk Han, were some intended to catch one of the numerous Korean children who appeared puris in naturalibus. These were uniformly unsuccessful. Pictures of this characteristic sort were not to be had by us foreigners, although the attempts were supported by the offer of sizable coins. At the first motion to point the camera toward these features of the landscape, they took to their heels and fled afar with urgent precipitancy.

Within perhaps two miles of the Outer Gate of the mountain Fortress we were obliged to dismount, the way having become too rough and difficult even for chairs with four coolies each. Puk Han’s wall was built in 1711; although there is a not altogether improbable tradition that the mountain, which is somewhat more than 2,000 feet high, was fortified long before, under the Pakje kingdom. The gate through which one enters the walled enclosure is picturesque and interesting. Not far inside the wall, across a little valley, are to be seen the solid stone foundations of the new Buddhist temple which is to take the place of one that was destroyed by fire. This is one of several indications that the introduction of modern civilization and of Christian missions is to be followed in Korea, as it certainly has been followed in Japan and elsewhere, by a revival of the spirit, and an improvement in the form and efficacy, of the older religion of the country. Buddhism has, indeed, been for centuries largely lacking in all moral force and spiritual satisfactions in Korea. But I cannot agree with those who are so sure that it is not capable of revival there, of improvement, and even of offering a vigorous competition to Christian evangelizing.

As we climbed up toward the pavilion in which we were to take our luncheon, we saw few ruins of the structures which were once scattered over the area within the mountain’s wall; but everywhere was an abundance of beautiful wild flowers and flowering shrubs. Among the many varieties were wigelia, cypripedium, several kinds of iris, Solomon’s-seal, syringa, hydrangea, giant saxifrage, large white clematis, hawthorne, jassamine, lilies of the valley, many kinds of violets and azaleas, wild white roses, viburnum, Allegheny vine, and wild cherry.

About twenty minutes before we reached the pavilion where it was proposed to spread out our luncheon, great drops of rain caused us to quicken our pace; and the following smart shower which crept by the brow of the overhanging mountain, in spite of the protection of our umbrellas, gave the party somewhat of a wetting before shelter was reached. But soon the rain was over; the sun came gloriously out; the mountain stream which was just below the outer wall of the pavilion ran fuller and more merrily; and the food was more comforting in contrast with the slight preceding discomfort.

Lying in the sun on a shelving rock, I had an interesting conversation with the English Consul-General. In the course of this Mr. Cockburn expressed the amazement of his country at what he graciously called the “patience” of Americans in putting up so quietly with political and social wrongs which the English had refused any longer to suffer, now nearly a century ago. He seemed sincerely gratified at my assurance that the feeling of the United States toward England is more cordial and appreciative of our common good and common mission in the world than was the case twenty-five and thirty years ago. I found myself also in hearty agreement with his view that the treaty between Great Britain and Japan, whether it should prove of commercial advantage to the former, or not, was fruitful of good to the latter nation, to the Far East, and to mankind as interested in the world’s peace.

At about four o’clock the party started on its return to Seoul. The distance was some ten miles, most of which must be walked, by a rather steep descent in places over barren surfaces of granite rock. But the path at first led us still higher up the mountain until, having passed through an inner gate, we reached the outer wall upon the other side of the whole enclosure. For as much of the slope of Puk Han, as somewhat more than two miles of rambling wall can embrace, constitutes this fortified retreat of the Korean monarchy. Thus, with its stores of provisions and implements of war, the cultivated fields, palaces, and other official and unofficial residences inside, it was intended that Puk Han, like its somewhat earlier colleague, the fortresses of Kang Wha, should resist siege by any numbers and for any length of time. But from prehistoric times to Port Arthur, and all over the earth from Sevastopol to Daulatabad, the experiences of history have shown how vain is the hope of the rulers of men to ward off the results of moral and political degeneracy by walls of stone and implements of iron.

Far away on the very top of the mountain, to the left of our path, stood a watch-tower which commanded a view of all this part of Korea. From both of the gates in this portion of the wall, which, although they are only a short distance apart, look toward different points of the compass, the views are extensive and charming. To the southward one could look down the steep mountain side, over a valley from which rose rocky but brilliantly colored hills, bare for the most part of foliage, and through which the silvery thread of the River Han wound its way, upon a series of mountain ranges bounded only by the horizon. From the Western gate were to be seen Chemulpo and its island-dotted harbor, and beyond the open sea.

The downward path of Puk Han winds around the mountain, from the Southern gate in the wall toward the northwest; and although it is quite too steep and rough for safe descent in chairs, it is not particularly difficult for those who walk it with sound knee-joints and ordinarily careful and judicious feet. For the first five or six miles it affords an uninterrupted series of interesting and beautiful views. Here the colors of the rock, when seen in full sunlight, were trying for all but the most insensitive eyes. But as the light was modified by the occasional passing of clouds, or by the changes in the relation of the path to the points of the compass, the effect was kaleidoscopic in character on a magnificent scale. On this side of the mountain the shapes of the rocks are peculiar. In general, each mountain-ridge—supreme, subordinate, or still inferior—is composed of a series of pyramidally-shaped granite structures, rising higher and higher as to their visible summits; but with their sides welded, as it were, together, and their surfaces of disintegrated yellowish or reddish rock. Between the sides of the pyramids in each series, and between the different series, and between the higher ranges composed of the series, are dry ravines, down which the summer rains descend in torrents, keeping the slopes of all these rocky elevations almost bare of verdure. Thus there is produced an aspect of severe grandeur quite out of proportion to the real height of the mountains. But this aspect is relieved by an abundant growth of wild flowers and flowering shrubs—such as have been already named and still others—with more gorgeous blossoms than I have anywhere else seen produced by the same species. With these the ladies filled all hands, and all the luncheon baskets—and then even the chairs, which, however, we took again as soon as it became practicable, to the relief of feet and knees; and thus we entered the city by the North-West Gate, where we stopped awhile to rest the men and to enjoy the magnificent view of Seoul from the inside of the gate.

The excursion up Puk Han will certainly be remembered by some of the party as one of the most enjoyable to be obtained anywhere. It far surpasses most of those much-lauded by the guide-books in other more frequented but really less rewarding portions of the world.

If time had permitted, by turning aside an hour or two, the ascent of Puk Han might have been varied by a visit to the “Great White Buddha.” This rather interesting relic of a long-time decaying, but possibly now to be revived, Buddhism, I visited one morning in company with Mr. Gillett. The path to it leaves the main road some miles out of the city; where it begins to wind through the paddy fields it becomes somewhat difficult for jinrikishas. On the way one passes shrines such as are used not infrequently for the now forbidden exorcising ceremonies of the sorceresses, and heaps of stones that are continually being piled upon by the passers along the way, who wish thus to propitiate the spirits and to obtain good luck. The Buddha itself is a large and rudely-shaped figure, whitewashed on to the face of a rock, which has been escarped and covered with a pavilion, having a highly decorative frieze and a roof set on granite pillars. A few women were there worshipping in the manner common to the ignorant populace in Korea and Japan—i. e., clapping the hands, offering a small coin or two, and mumbling a prayer. A dirty, disreputable-looking priest was assiduously gathering up the coins, for they had merely been placed upon a table before the Buddha, instead of being thrown into an enclosed box. He volunteered the explanation that this was the most celebrated place in all Korea at which to offer effective prayer for a son; childless women, and also men, came from all over the land to worship at this shrine. In Korea, as well as in India and China, this vulgar and degrading superstition is connected with ancestor worship—namely, that the welfare of the living and the dead, in this world and in the next, is somehow inseparably bound up with begetting and bearing, or somehow possessing, a male descendant. No heavier curse is put on woman; no subtler form of temptation to lust for man; no more burdensome restriction on society; and no more efficient check to a spiritual faith and a spiritual development exists among the civilized peoples of the world than this ancient but unworthy superstition. Even devil-worship is scarcely less cruel and socially degrading.

It was with sincere regret that I left Korea without the opportunity to see the country even more widely, to feel more profoundly the spirit of its national life, and to become more acquainted in a relatively “first-hand” way with its history and its antiquities. I was confident that I had gained sufficient trustworthy information to judge fairly of the character of the native government—Emperor and Court and Yang-bans—to estimate in a measure the difficulties which encompassed the position of the Resident-General, and to appreciate the sincerity and self-sacrificing nature of his plans and the value of his achievements. But there are few countries in the world to-day where richer rewards await the expert and patient investigator of history and of antiquities. The history of Korea remains to be written; its antiquities are there to be explored.