As the magistrates are literary men, their official residences often receive poetic or suggestive names, which, in most cases, reflect the natural scenery surrounding them. “Little Flowery House,” “Rising Cloud,” “Sun-greeting,” “Sheet of Resplendent Water,” “Water-that-slides-as-straight-as-a-sword Dwelling,” “Gate of Lapis-lazuli,” “Mansion near the Whirlpool,” are some of these names, while, into the composition of others, the Morning-star, the Heaven-touching, the Cave-spirit, and the Changing-cloud Mountain, or the Falling-snow Cataract may enter. Passionately fond of nature, the Corean gentleman will erect a tablet in praise of the scenery that charms his eye. One such reads, “The beauty of its rivers, and of its mountains, make this district the first in the country.” If, as the French say, “Paris is France,” then Seoul is Corea. An apparently disproportionate interest centres in the capital, if one may judge from the vast and varied vocabulary relating to Seoul, its people and things, which differentiate all else outside its wall. Three thousand official dignitaries are said to reside in the capital, and only eight hundred in all the other cities and provinces. Seoul is “the city,” and all the rest of the peninsula is “the country.” A provincial having cultivated manners is called “a man of the capital.” “Capital and province” means the realm. The rule of the local authorities is very minute in all its ramifications. The system of making every five houses a social unit is universal. When a crime is committed, it is easy to locate the group in which the offender dwells, and responsibility is fixed at once. Every subject of the sovereign except nobles of rank, must possess a passport or ticket testifying to his personality, and all must “show their tickets” on demand. For the people, this certificate of identity is a piece of branded or inscribed wood, for the soldiers of horn, for the literary class and government officials of bone. Often, the tablet is in halves, the individual having one-half, and the government keeping its tally. The people who cannot read or write have their labels carefully tied to their clothing. When called upon to sign important documents, or bear witness on trial, they make a blood-signature, by rudely tracing the signs set before them in their own blood. The name, residence of the holder, and the number of the group of houses in which he lives, are branded or inscribed on the ho-pai, or passport.