With great good feeling, he then changed the day, and I was given _carte blanche_ to invite my friends, and of course asked the ladies of the Methodist mission, as well as our own. Several Korean gentlemen of high rank, including those in connection with the hospital, and others, had also been invited by my host. The table, for in deference to our foreign custom, one long table, instead of a number of small ones, had been arranged--was piled high with Korean dainties. Chicken, pheasant and other cold meats, fish, eggs, nuts and fruits prepared in many fanciful ways, Chinese preserved fruits and candies, a gutta-percha-like delicacy called “dock,” made of rice and oil pounded well together, an alcoholic native beverage called sül, and champagne and cigars. It is needless to say that we Americans did not partake of these latter additions to the _menu_. A vast crowd from the streets poured into the large courtyard, to see the acrobats, who were a strolling band hired for the occasion. Their performance consisted chiefly in tight-rope walking and tumbling, and was in no way remarkable. It lasted, however, nearly three hours, during all of which time we listened to the monotonous whining of the Korean band, more like a Scotch bagpipe (dear cousins, forgive) than anything else I know of; and learned the Korean verb “anchera” (sit down), which I heard that day repeated a thousand times, in all its moods, tenses and case endings, in tones of exasperation to the irrepressible Korean boy, who _would_ stand up to see, just for all the world like some boys of whiter skin, nearer home.