“Then,” said the deacon, “we will build the Chong Dong church ourselves.” Mr. Underwood was astonished. “How can you build such a church?” said he. The deacon replied, “Does the pastor ask such a question of what relates to God’s work? With God all things are possible.” Nothing, of course, remained to be said. The missionaries decided that it would be wiser for them to own the land, in case of possible political complications, but the building itself would cost the whole of one thousand yen. The people went to work with a will, the pastor and one or two other missionaries took off their coats and lent a hand at the work, boys hauled stones, Korean gentlemen, scholars, and teachers who had never lifted anything heavier than a pen, set themselves to work on the building, carpenters gave their skilled labor every alternate day, working for their own living only one out of every two, women saved a little rice from each bowl prepared for the family until enough was laid aside to be sold, and gave the money thus earned, and so in manifold ways the money came in and the work grew. At length, however, there were no more funds and the building came to a standstill. No one was willing to go into debt, even to borrow of the missionaries, and it was decided to wait until the way opened. Just when everything seemed hopelessly blocked, the epidemic of Asiatic cholera broke out. Why Koreans do not have this every summer raging through the whole country is one of the unsolved problems. All sewage runs into filthy, narrow ditches, which are frequently stopped up with refuse, so as to overflow into the streets, green slimy pools of water lie undisturbed in courtyards and along the side of the road, wells are polluted with drainage from soiled apparel washed close by, quantities of decaying vegetable matter are thrown out and left to rot on the thoroughfares and under the windows of the houses. Every imaginable practice which comes under the definition of unhygienic or unsanitary is common. Even young children in arms eat raw and green cucumbers, unpeeled, acrid berries and heavy soggy hot bread. They bolt quantities of hot or cold rice, with a tough, indigestible cabbage, washed in ditch water, prepared with turnips and flavored with salt and red pepper. Green fruit of every kind is eaten with perfect recklessness of all the laws of nature, and with impunity (and I must say, an average immunity from disastrous consequence) which makes a Westerner stand aghast. Any of us would surely die promptly and deservedly if we presumed to venture one-tenth of the impertinences and liberties with Dame Nature which a Korean smilingly and unconcernedly takes for granted as his common right.