From the historical, as well as the geographical and commercial points of view, the city of Pyeng-yang (spelled also Pyong-yang and in various other ways) is the most important place in all Northern Korea. It has frequently been besieged and assaulted, both by Japanese invaders from the south and by various forces—Mongolian, Chinese, Manchu—coming down from the north to pour their devastating hordes over the country. It was hither that the Korean king fled before the armies of “men in fierce-looking helmets and bright armor with little pennons at their backs bearing their names and family badges,” which were sent against him by Hideyoshi more than three hundred years ago. The city is beautifully situated; it is by nature constituted for all time as a principal centre for distributing over the Yellow Sea the industrial products of fertile North Korea and for receiving in return whatever the adjoining parts of China and Manchuria may furnish for coastwise trade.

Previous to the China-Japan war there were probably not more than a half-score of Japanese within the walled city of Pyeng-yang. But some two years after the end of this war the Japanese colony had grown to several hundred souls. During and after the war with Russia, however, the increase of this colony was so rapid that it could find no room within the walls of the city. It therefore burst through, as it were, the barrier of these walls and built a new city for itself outside the South Gate, which, like all similar enterprises in Korea, by its neat dwellings and shops, its clean and broad streets, and its general air of prosperity, contrasts with, and forms an object lesson to, the Korean city within the walls.

The original inhabitants of the Japanese city were by no means altogether of the class most creditable to Japan, or comfortable as neighbors for the Korean population. There were many adventurers, hangers-on and panderers to the army, who did not stop at either fraud or violence in their treatment of the native population of Pyeng-yang. And while the Japanese army during the war behaved with most admirable moderation and discipline here, as elsewhere in Korea and Manchuria, at its close even the military authorities were not as scrupulous as they should have been by way of appropriating land and other necessaries for their permanent occupation. The wrongs which were then committed are, however, as far as possible in such cases, now being measurably remedied or compensated for; and in spite of the fact that the withdrawal of the divisional headquarters of the Japanese army has affected somewhat seriously the retail trade, and there still continues to be more or less of disturbing friction between dealers of the two nationalities, and a crop of disputes over land-claims that need settlement, there is now a prosperous Japanese city, with some 5,000 inhabitants. The Korean city is also growing in numbers and prosperity. As the two nationalities come to know and understand each other better, that will inevitably, but happily, take place here which has already taken place at Chemulpo. They will learn the better to respect each other, and each other’s rights; and to live together in freedom from outbreaking strife and sullen bitterness, if not in perfect harmony. It was a good indication of this possibility to learn that the Japanese Resident in Pyeng-yang already has coming to his court for adjustment more cases of Koreans against Koreans than of Koreans against his own countrymen.

The invitation to visit this interesting and important city was most prompt and cordial. It came within a few days of our arrival in Seoul. In spite, therefore, of the fact that I was suffering from a somewhat severe attack of influenza, brought on in the quite ordinary way of breathing in the dust of the streets of the capital city, we started for Pyeng-yang, accompanied by Mr. Zumoto, by the early morning train of April 5th. To make the journey more surely comfortable, and to emphasize the relation of the travellers to the Resident-General, the party was escorted about half-way by one railroad official, who, having committed us to another that had come on from Pyeng-yang for the purpose, himself returned to his duties at Seoul.

The night before had been rainy—a somewhat unusual thing in such abundance at this time of year; but by noon the sky and air had cleared, and the strong sunlight brought out the colors of the landscape in a way characteristic of the usual climate of Korea in the early Spring. The railway from Seoul to Wiju is being very largely built over again; so that part of the time our train was running over the permanent way and part of the time over the military road which was quite too hastily constructed to be left after the war in a satisfactory state. This process of reconstruction consists in straightening curves, adjusting grades, erecting stone sustaining-walls and heavy, steel bridges; as well as in making the old bed, where it is followed, more solid and better ballasted. The part of Korea through which we were now passing was obviously more fertile and better cultivated than the part lying between Fusan and Seoul. There were even some portions of the main highway which resembled a passable jinrikisha road in Japan, instead of the wretched and well-nigh impassable footpaths which are often the only thoroughfares further south. In places, also, the peasants seemed to have overcome their fears, both of the laws punishing sacrilege and also of the avenging spirits of the dead; for the burial mounds had been replaced by terraces which enabled the fields to be cultivated nearly or quite to the tops of the hills.

On our arrival at the station in Pyeng-yang two of the missionaries met us with a friendly greeting. Before taking our jinrikishas for the house of Dr. Noble, who was to be our host, I walked for a short distance over the gravelled plain surrounding the station to where some 100 or 120 school-boys were drawn up in military line to give the foreign teacher a welcome. This promptly took his mind and heart back to Japan as well as carried it forward to the future generation of Korean men. On one side, dressed in kakhi and looking very important, stood the larger number, who were members of the Christian school, connected with the Methodist mission. But right opposite in Korean costume of plum-colored cloth were arrayed some thirty or forty pupils of a neighboring Confucian school. It was a matter of interest and significance to learn that just recently the latter, on receiving overtures of friendly alliance, had agreed to a meeting for the discussion of terms; and when the proposal had been made that the “heathen school” should become Christian, it had been promptly accepted! This was, of course, a way of achieving unity entirely satisfactory to the missionaries. At the time of our visit the wife of the head-master of the Confucian school and the wife of one of the teachers had become earnest and active Bible-women.

While we were being conveyed in jinrikishas to the foot of the hill on which stands the house of our host, and as well the church and other buildings belonging to the mission, the Doctor himself was getting home in a different way. This was by means of a tram, the rude car of which seated six persons, three on each side, facing outward and back to back, but with Korean coolies for their motive power—thus reviving, of course, in new form the time-worn joke about the Far East’s “Pullman car.” As to the position and significance of the group of buildings, in one of which we were to be entertained for nearly a week, I avail myself of the description in the Seoul Press, published subsequently by its editor who was the Japanese friend and companion of this trip. “As his railway train approaches the city, the first objects that catch his eyes are a cluster of buildings, some in foreign style, others in half foreign and half Korean style, which crown the hill-tops and constitute the most conspicuous feature of the magnificent landscape that developes itself before his eyes. His wonder increases still more, as the visitor inquires into the result of the great missionary activity of which these buildings are outward manifestations. How great the success has been may be imagined, when it is computed by a very competent authority that fully one-third of the entire Korean population of the city (roughly estimated at between 40,000 and 50,000) are professing Christians. There are Koreans and Japanese, apparently in a position to know, who put the proportion of the Christian section of the population at much higher figures; they confidently say that quite one-half of the whole population belongs to the new faith.... The success which the work of Christian propagandism has attained in Pyeng-yang is all the more marvellous when it is remembered that the work was commenced scarcely more than fifteen years ago. The success of the work has not been confined to the city alone; it is noticeable, though not quite in like degree, in the adjacent districts and all over North Korea which looks up to Pyeng-yang as the fountain and centre of the new religious life.”

On the following day, which was Saturday, I had my first experience with one of the larger Korean audiences. The numbers in Seoul had been, at most, some 500 or 600. But here, although the address was in the afternoon, no fewer than 1,700, all, with the exception of a few foreign ladies, of the male sex, assembled in the Methodist meeting-house which was just across a narrow lane from the gate of Dr. Noble’s residence. The peculiarities of such an audience are worthy of a brief description. All were seated on the floor. Close around the platform, on which were a few of the missionaries and of the Japanese officials, were grouped several hundred school-boys, packed as thickly as herrings in a box. These were dressed in garments of many and bright colors. Back of them and reaching to the doors, massed solidly with no aisles or empty spaces left between, were Korean men, in their picturesque monotone of white clothing and black crinoline hats. The audiences at Pyeng-yang, as at Seoul, were much more restless and seemingly volatile than those of the same size which I had addressed in Japan; although it should be remembered that the latter were chiefly composed of teachers, officials, and men prominent in business and in the professions, whereas this audience, although largely Christian, was of the lowly and comparatively ignorant. A distinctly religious character was given to all the meetings in Pyeng-yang by prayer and by the singing of Christian hymns. The tunes were familiar; and although the language was far removed in structure and vocabulary, the attempt had evidently been made, with only a partial success, to reproduce in a rhythmic way the English words which had been set to them. The singing was led by a Korean chorister who used his baton in a vigorous and fairly effective, if not wholly intelligent, fashion. The cabinet organ was also played by a young Korean man. The missionaries say that the people show great interest and even enthusiasm in learning foreign music; and that they are apt pupils so far as the singing of hymns is concerned. The favorite native music is a dismal wailing upon pipes and rude flute-like instruments, accompanied by the tom-tom of drums. The address on this occasion was upon the relation of education to the social welfare; it was interpreted by Dr. Noble with obvious clearness and vigor.

The audience next morning (Sunday, April 7th) was not so large, but was scarcely less interesting. It comprised both sexes, separated, however, by a tight screen which ran from the platform through the middle of the church to the opposite wall. The numbers present were some 1,400, about equally divided between the two sexes. The girls on the one side, and the boys on the other, in their gaily colored clothing, were massed about the platform; and back of them the women and the men—both in white, but the former topped out with white turbans and the latter with their black hats. The entire audience marked out upon the floor an impressive color-scheme. It was said that there were enough of the population of the city attending Christian services at that same hour to make three congregations of the same size. The afternoon gathering for Bible study and the evening services were even more crowded; so that the aggregate number of church-goers that Sunday in this Korean city of somewhat more than 40,000 could not have been less than 13,000 or 14,000 souls. Considering also the fact that each service was stretched out to the minimum length of two hours, there was probably no place in the United States that could compete with Pyeng-yang for its percentage of church-goers on that day. Yet ten years ago there was in all the region scarcely the beginning of a Christian congregation.

In the afternoon I spoke to about thirty of the missionaries, telling them, in informal address, of certain economic, social, and religious changes in the United States, which seemed to me destined profoundly to affect the nature of Christian missions in so-called “heathen lands.” Nor did it seem incongruous when prayer was offered that the “home land” might receive in its present great need some of the blessings which were being experienced in heathen Korea. For I had long been of the opinion that if the word “heathen” is to be used with that tinge of moral and intellectual opprobrium which usually attaches to it, all so-called Christian countries are in some important respects very considerably entitled to the term. And, indeed, who that understands the true spirit of the religion of Christ shall hesitate to confess that America and American churches as sorely need deliverance from the demons of cowardice, avarice, and pride, as do the Koreans from the superstitious fear of devils or of the spirits of their own ancestors?

The audience of Monday morning numbered 800; it seemed, however, from the point of view which regards social and political standing, to be of decidedly superior quality. This was probably due, in part at least, to the nature of the theme, which was—“Education and the Stability and Progress of the Nation.” The attention, too, appeared to be more thoughtful and unwavering at this meeting.

The public speaking at Pyeng-yang was concluded by an address, especially designed for the Japanese official classes and prominent business men, and given in the hall of the Japanese Club on the afternoon of the day before leaving the city. There were present about one hundred and fifty of this class of hearers. To them I spoke very plainly, praising their preparation for, and conduct of, the war with Russia; then warning them of the difficulties and dangers in business and politics which the rivalries of peace would compel the nation to face; and, finally, exhorting them to maintain the honor of Japan in Korea, before the civilized world, by treating the Koreans in an honorable way. Although, according to the testimony of the Japanese friend who interpreted this address, there were uneasy consciences in the audience, the warning and the rebuke, as well as the praise, were received with equal appreciation and gratitude. I take this opportunity to testify that, instead of deserving the reputation often given to the Japanese, of being abnormally and even ridiculously sensitive to criticism, I have found them, on the contrary, remarkably willing to be told of their failures and faults, and ready to receive, at least with the appearance of respect and kindness, suggestions for their correction and amendment.

My engagements in Pyeng-yang came so near to the limit of exhausting my time and strength that I was unable to see as much as would have been otherwise desirable of the externals, and of the antiquities, of the neighborhood. From the piazza in front of our host’s house nearly the whole of the Korean city lies literally spread out, as all the cities of the country are, beneath the eye of the observer from a surrounding hill. The streets within the walls are, with one or two exceptions, narrow, winding, and made disgusting by foul sights and smells. Here there has been little or none of that widening of thoroughfares and superficial cleaning which has given a partial relief, both to the aspect and to the reality of Seoul. But, as has already been said, the natural situation is beautiful. Under the advice of Japan, a part of the now useless city wall went to make a fine bund; while the space left by the clearing was converted into a street. On passing through an indescribably foul, narrow lane, which makes a disgraceful break between the broad, clean thoroughfare of the Japanese settlement and the fairly broad but dirty street of the Korean city, we were told the following story of the recent attempt of the Resident to get this passage widened. The story is so characteristic of relations between the two peoples that I turn aside to tell it.

Feeling the great and obvious importance of having this public improvement made, the Resident called a meeting of the adjoining property-owners to discuss the terms which would be satisfactory to them. The Japanese owners agreed to contribute the land necessary for the purpose and to move back the buildings at their own expense; the Korean owners agreed to cede the land if the expense of moving the buildings was borne by the Government. The Resident went for a few weeks to Japan, expecting that the agreement would stand, and that by his return the improvement would be well begun. Immediately after his departure, however, two Korean Christians, who had remained away from the meeting for discussing terms, induced the other Koreans to break their compact and refuse to surrender the land for less than 200 yen per tsubo (6 × 6 ft.)—an absurdly extravagant price. The attempt at doing this much-needed work came, therefore, to a complete standstill. The whole transaction was reported by the Korean Daily News of Seoul with its customary felicitous (?) misrepresentation, as follows: “People in Pyeng-yang are greatly stirred up over the demand of the Japanese that the Korean houses on each side of the road outside the South Gate be torn down to widen the road. The people gathered at the office of the prefect and protested against such seizure without proper compensation, and they said they would die sooner than give in to such an imposition.” I can assure the reader that much of the fraud and oppression charged against the Japanese by the Koreans and by their so-called “foreign friends” (even including some of the missionaries) is of the same order. [A letter from Pyeng-yang to the Seoul Press, published not long after our return, announced that the “widening of the approach between the Japanese city and the old town of Pyeng-yang is now under way, and soon a fine wide road will lead from the railway station to the Gate”—all of which means that when the Korean property-owners found their attempts at lying and swindling were not going to succeed, they saw the advantage of renewing the original contract.]

A row up the river in his boat, kindly furnished by Mr. Kikuchi, the Japanese Resident, afforded several pleasant hours of recreation as well as an opportunity to see for ourselves something more of the present condition and future prospects of the chief city of Northern Korea. The city gate through which we reached the river is the finest thing about its ancient fortifications. The views of the bank, which rises in most places bluff and high above the water, are very picturesque and crowded with scenes of both immediate and historical interest. Scores of junks and sampans, loaded with many kinds of goods—for the most part, however, of no great value—are either moored to the narrow beach below the bank or are slowly finding their way up and down the river. At different heights of the banks, standing on projecting ledges or on platforms, men were cutting inscriptions upon the rocky sides in Chinese characters. These were designed to celebrate for future generations the virtues and successes of living merchants and magistrates; but these workmen of to-day were only adding a few more to the much more numerous inscriptions commemorating the otherwise forgotten and, for the most part undoubtedly, really ignoble dead. By the brink of the river were the Korean women at their never-ceasing task of washing and pounding dry the white clothing of their male lords. At one bend in the river, where the projecting cliff acts as an effective breakwater against the winter ice and the summer freshets, the top is crowned by a pavilion which occupies the place where negotiations went on between the Chinese and the Japanese at the time of the Hideyoshi invasion.

The boat landed us at the foot of the celebrated “Peony Hill,” part way up which is situated the decayed pavilion in which royalty used to be fed and given to drink on the occasion of excursions from the city to this sightly place. From this point the views bring the past history and the present prospects of Pyeng-yang together in an interesting way. For, looking to the right, one sees an ancient pagoda and the remains of a Buddhist temple. Looking forward and downward, the eye is well pleased by taking in at once the pleasant prospect of water and rock and fields which the ascent has given only bit by bit, as it were. Looking upward one sees the difficult heights which the Japanese troops stormed so unexpectedly but successfully in the invasion of more than three centuries ago; and also in the war with China, when they turned the guns of the Chinese forces from their own fortifications upon themselves and slaughtered the unfortunate until the streets of the city were choked with corpses. But to the left, and lying just below, is the green island on which the pumping-works to supply the foul city with cleansing streams are soon to be erected. Beyond the island across the river are the pastures, where the breeding of improved horses is to be carried on by a partnership of both governments; and still further beyond are the coal fields which the Residency-General is trying to preserve for the Crown against the efforts of both native and foreign promoters, to exploit them to their own rather than to the nation’s advantage. But the story of these and similar efforts will be told in other places of our narrative; and for the moment we will forget the interests of history and of present adventures, and will just thoughtlessly submit ourselves to the pleasure of being rowed down the beautiful river to the dirty and seditious city.

For it is a story of a nearly successful attempt at a seditious outbreak which would have had a most unfortunate and surely unsuccessful ending, that must now engage the attention. This story also, illustrates the Korean character, the Korean situation, and the relations of the two peoples, in no doubtful way.

The evening before, on Tuesday, April 9th, a committee of students from the missionary theological school had requested an interview with me on the following day; and the morning hour of eight o’clock had been appointed. At the time set they arrived—three in number—and the interview was held in Dr. Noble’s study or “work-shop.” My visitors began, Korean fashion, far off from their final goal, and meandered around it rather than toward it, like poachers feeling their way in the dark. An awkward pause was finally broken by my exhorting them to speak plainly and freely; at which they replied that their country’s condition was much misunderstood and that it was hoped that I would understand and sympathize with them. Of my desire to do this I at once assured them; but when the request seemed to be taking a more political turn, I replied that my interests, influence, and work, were all directed along the lines of morals, education, and religion. As a teacher, it was only as my teaching could get a hearing and have an influence on life, that my stay in Korea could benefit the Koreans themselves. At the same time, I could assure them of my confidence in Marquis Ito’s intention to administer his office in the interests of their countrymen.

During all this conversation there was the appearance, in general characteristic of all similar interviews between natives and foreigners, of a mixture of suspicion and duplicity which is well calculated to betray the unwary into serious mistakes. Certainly, the real motive for their coming was being kept back; the suppressed undercurrent of feeling that could be detected was such as by no means to encourage the confidence that the feeling of race-hatred had been thoroughly purged away from these theological students by the meeting for prayer and confession of the night before. But just as I was obliged to excuse myself in order to keep another engagement the true cause of their request for an interview suddenly sprang into the light. All the night before, they said, the Korean city of Pyeng-yang had been in a state of the most intense excitement over the report from Seoul that their Emperor was going to be deposed by the Japanese! There was just then only time for me to learn from my Japanese companion that he had not the slightest suspicion of how the report, even, could have originated, and to send word to this committee of interviewers that neither he nor I gave the slightest credence to so absurd a rumor.

But this matter did not end with a single interview conducted by the deputation of Christian students. Word had previously been sent that the Korean governor of Pyeng-yang desired to call upon me, and the promise had been made that he should be received in appropriate manner at noon of the same day. Soon after our return from the trip up the river, His Excellency appeared, accompanied by his secretary and by one of the committee of the morning who acted also as spokesman of this second deputation. For such it really was, rather than a merely friendly call from the chief native magistrate of the city. The Governor seemed exceedingly ill at ease; there was in even greater degree than had been the case with my visitors of the early morning, an appearance of mingled suspicion and suppressed excitement, of fear and of hatred. In this case, however, the real matter of concernment did not come at all to the fore. The conversation ended when there had been repeated declarations of my visitor’s interest in the improvement of education among his own countrymen, to which I had replied that I believed this to be the important work which should occupy all Korean patriots and all the wise and true foreign friends of Korea.

It afterward came to my knowledge that the Governor, although not himself a Christian, on leaving the house, went with his secretary and the theological student into the adjoining church of the Methodist mission, and there fell upon his face and began to beat his forehead on the floor and bewail the threatening situation for himself as the responsible magistrate, and the sad fate awaiting his country at the hands of the Japanese. The thought of the enormous interval between this conduct and that of any Japanese official, similarly situated, remains with me to reveal in vivid colors the difference of the two peoples. But all this was only in the small, essentially the same thing which has been going on in the large, throughout the centuries of Korean history.

On my return from the address to the Japanese I was almost immediately visited by a third deputation which consisted of the same theological student who had called twice before on this same day, and of two others whom I did not recognize. This time also the conversation began in similar roundabout fashion; indeed, this time the point of starting was even more remote in character from the real end which it was intended to reach. There was a preliminary recital of their country’s weakness, poverty, and need of foreign assistance; this was accompanied by the suggestion that possibly I might have some rich friend willing to contribute liberally to their mission school, or to the much needed enlargement of the church edifice. Again, the visitors were assured of my deep interest in the welfare of Korea and of my sincere desire to do what lay within my power to promote this welfare. It must be remembered, however, that I myself belonged to the class of teachers who, even in rich America, have little wealth at their disposal. To the best of my knowledge, I had not a single friend among the American millionaires. Should it ever be possible, however, nothing would be more to my mind than to direct some of the overflow of my country’s wealth into the channels of educational and religious work in needy Korea. I was sincerely impressed with the need and with the opportunity.

Now, plainly, all this was not at all to the point of the interest weighing upon the minds of my auditors. Suddenly, and in a startling manner, the real cause of the three formal visits from as many different deputations, made itself known. With lips white and trembling, the same theological student who had been present at each visit, drew from his sleeve an envelope, and from the envelope a document printed in mixed Chinese and Korean, the purport of which he began to explain to my interpreter in a highly excited and rhetorical way. This document purported to be an elaborate statement of no fewer than forty-eight reasons why Japan should annex Korea and reduce its Emperor to the grade of a peer of Japan. “Where did this remarkable pronunciamento come from?” was, of course, my first inquiry. Why, from Seoul, from the Court; but it was originally a production of the Japanese Government which, fortunately, had been discovered in time and which was now officially sent out in order to warn all Korean patriots against this outrageous plot concocted by the Japanese!

The situation was obviously serious, if not threatening. On inquiry it was soon disclosed that for two days and nights the entire native city of Pyeng-yang had been in such a state of excitement as is not easily made credible to citizens of a country accustomed to the exercise of sound political sense and self-control. No business had been done, no buying or selling, on the last market day. All night long the men and women of the city had been sleepless and engaged in wailing and beating the ground and the floor of their houses with their heads. Not a few of the worst classes—including, I fear, some professing Christians—had been working themselves and others up to threats of violence and of murder.

The silliness of mind, the almost hopeless and incurable credulity and absence of sound judgment which characterizes, with exceedingly few exceptions, the political views and actions of even the official and educated classes in Korea, was the impression made upon me by this, as by all my experiences during my stay in the land. I assured these visitors, however, that there could be no doubt about this document being a forgery—as, indeed, it turned out to be. Marquis Ito and the Japanese Government had no such immediate intention; and, indeed, if the Resident-General entertained the thought, he surely was not foolish enough to proceed in any such way. Such childish behavior on their own part, I added, was very discouraging to their friends. What could be done by others for a country where the men who should be leaders behaved habitually in a so unmanly way? Let them quiet themselves, tell their Governor what I had said, and bid him use all his authority to quiet their fellow-citizens. This advice was complied with, as the event showed; the Korean governor was reassured and promised to unite his influence with that of the Christian forces to secure a return of the populace to their normal quiet. It was gratifying afterwards to have this official’s expression of gratitude for what was then done to assist in the peace-promoting administration of his office.

Dr. Noble, at once upon the departure of this committee, gave orders that the church bell should be rung to assemble the Christian community; and in such manner as to indicate to them that they were called together to hear “good news.” An hour later, when we were going down the hill to dine with the Japanese Resident, the people had not yet assembled; but on our return in the evening they were departing to their homes, quieted by two hours of opportunity to express their excited feeling in the Korean fashion of wailing, sobbing, and beating their foreheads upon the mats—assisted by the comforting and reassuring words of those to whom they looked as having knowledge and authority. It afterward transpired[4] that a young Korean, one An Chung-ho, who had become by foreign residence infected, rather than instructed, with certain so-called “modern ideas,” had busied himself, as the agent of the seditious intriguers at Seoul, in distributing this forged document and in haranguing the people with a view to excite a popular uprising against the Japanese. It is needless to say that the document itself was not printed in Japan. But the next morning’s sunlight saw the mist and the threatening storm-cloud cleared away.

It was during this visit to Pyeng-yang that I saw something of the remarkable features of the religious movement which was most intense there, but which spread, during the winter of 1906-’07, widely over Korea. The “revival” began—and, indeed, as regards its principal immediate results, it consisted largely—in the irresistible tendency to confession, contrition, and prayer for forgiveness, among Christians themselves. The confessions, while in general they embraced such familiar topics as pride, envy, unfaithfulness, and coldness in the Christian life, very naturally soon revealed the characteristic vices and weaknesses of the Korean character. Taken at their own estimate, and making all reasonable allowances for the exaggerations of temporary excitement, they made obvious the fact that lying, stealing, cheating, and impurity, had been nearly universal in the hitherto existing Christian communities of Korea. In many cases these “spiritual exercises” were accompanied by the most violent physical demonstrations, such as sobbing, wailing, beating the forehead on the floor, and even falling down unconscious and frothing at the mouth.

A more graphic picture of these religious meetings can perhaps be obtained by a brief description of one which I attended, where, however, the demonstrations were all of a relatively mild order. This was the evening gathering of the theological students on a day during the whole of which they had been holding a series of similar gatherings. As we arrived in front of the building in which the meeting was held, there pierced the silent night air a voice of wailing rather than of articulate speaking, in a high-pitched key and with extreme rapidity of utterance. On entering, some sixty Korean men appeared, seated on the floor with their heads bowed in their hands; three or four missionaries were occupying a bench which ran across one end of the room. At the other end stood one of the students swaying back and forth; it was his confession of sin that we had heard while still outside. Precisely what the confession was, there was no opportunity to learn; for after speaking a few sentences more, with ever increasing rapidity and shrillness of tone, the speaker fell to the floor sobbing and moaning convulsively and began beating the mats with fists and with forehead. One of the missionaries stepped carefully between the stooping bodies of his comrades, found his way to the prostrate sinner, and by words and gentle blows upon the back attempted to revive and comfort him.

Then followed a series of similar confessions, interspersed with prayers for forgiveness, none of which, however, attained the same degree of vehemence and physical excess. The substance of sins confessed by these Korean students of divinity was most illuminating. The next penitent wished it to be known that he had broken all the commandments; although it appeared that this far limit had been reached before his profession of Christianity, and that he had been guilty of murder rather in the spirit than in fact. Various following narratives of experience, made with varying degrees of emotional excitement, included forms of wrong-doing common to most church members in all countries, such as pride, envy, deceit, infidelity, and impurity of thought, if not of life. But the climax was fairly reached when one man of early middle-age arose, and in a markedly unemotional way asserted that, although he had formerly resisted all efforts to make him tell the truth as to his real manner of living, he now felt that the time had come when this painful duty could no longer be postponed. How to repent, however, he did not know. The story which was told in cold-blooded fashion was, briefly, as follows: Before professing Christian conversion he had been a wild fellow, and among other crimes had twice set fire to the houses of his neighbors. After profession of conversion he had been employed as a colporteur. In this connection he had thrown away or destroyed the books he was paid to distribute, had told his employer that robbers had attacked him and stolen them, and thus had collected his full salary. Still later he had renounced all pretence of Christianity and had himself become a robber. His life as a theological student up to the present time had been characterized by pride, envy, and constant secret hatred of those of his fellow-students who had surpassed him in their studies.

Among the most significant of the confessions were those of bitter hatred of the Japanese, and even of murderous thoughts and plans toward them. These wholesome self-accusations were in several instances followed by earnest and pathetic petitions—not only for forgiveness of themselves, but for the Divine blessing upon their enemies. [In this connection it is pertinent to remark that, while there has undoubtedly been much ill-treatment of Koreans by Japanese, I have never known of any of that bitter race-hatred toward the former by the latter, which undoubtedly at the present time permeates a large part of the Korean population toward the Japanese.] On being asked to say a few words to these students, I spoke of the unreasonable and un-Christian character of race-hatred and asked them to put from their minds all such foolish and wicked feelings. And then, as though to emphasize the beauty and brightness of nature as contrasted with the unseemly and dark condition of man, we came out under a sky as clear and alight with scintillating stars as I have ever seen in India or in Egypt.

On our arrival at the station of Pyeng-yang, to return to Seoul, on the morning of Wednesday, April 10th, the little fellows from the Presbyterian mission-school were there before us, already in line with Korean and American flags flying, and with drums and trumpets making a creditable noise. The appropriate parting address to this school had scarcely been finished, when another school appeared in the distance, on the double-quick for the station, to whom, when they had got themselves into proper shape, Dr. Noble repeated the substance of the words just spoken to their comrades earlier arrived. Scarcely was this finished, when, for the third time—and now it was the pupils from the Confucian school—a troop of boys came scurrying through the dust, lined up, and claimed their share of the foreign sahib’s parting salutation and advice. And then we were slowly drawn out of the station, and leaving behind on the fence the several hundred school-children and on the platform the several score of Korean Christians and of Japanese who had come to send us off, we returned without further incident to Seoul.

The few crowded days at Pyeng-yang appear in retrospect as an epitome of Korean history, Korean temperament, and the physical and social relations sustained in the past and at the present time between Korea and Japan. Improvement may confidently be expected in the near future, according as the economical and social forces are combined with the moral and the religious to bear upon the population now adult. But the larger and more permanent hopes for the future depend upon the school-children, who, even to-day, are becoming more intelligent, orderly, and self-controlled than their ancestors ever have been.