In the afternoon of the same day, at the house of Mr. D. W. Stevens, whose hospitality we had before enjoyed and whose friendship we had learned highly to prize, we met at tea some twenty-five of the most intimate of the acquaintances made during the previous two months. This was not, however, our final leave-taking of these friends. For the next morning at 8.50, at the South-Gate Station, most of the same persons gathered to give us one of those partings which one would not gladly miss, but which are always a mixture of sad pleasure and sweet pain. The insight of the Japanese language into such human experiences is shown by the fact that it has a single word which combines all these complex elements, and expresses them in itself. Nor do I find that the repetition of many such experiences in different far-away lands at all changes the intrinsic character of the feelings they excite. To make friends away from home is the traveller’s choicest pleasure; to part soon from these friends is the traveller’s keenest pain. The journey from Seoul to Fusan was without incident and accomplished on time. As furnishing a change in the character of the surroundings, it is almost equivalent to going from Korea to Japan. For Fusan is essentially a Japanese city, and has been such for many years. The greeting given us on arrival was also characteristically Japanese. There, on the platform, were thirty or more of both sexes, including the Resident and other officials, whose cards were handed to us with such speed and profusion that to recognize names was impossible, and even to avoid dropping some of the pieces was difficult. The harbor launch again served us, as it had done before, for transportation between railroad station and Japanese settlement. Only twenty minutes were allowed for effecting a presentable appearance after the day’s travel; and then we were ushered to the dining-room, where about fifty persons had gathered for a complimentary banquet. After this, the Resident introduced, welcomed, and proposed a toast for the guests, and Mr. Zumoto interpreted the response. The banquet finished, there followed, in another part of the hotel, an entertainment of juggling, a farce, and dancing to samisen and koto—all by amateur performers. The day had certainly, when it ended, been sufficiently full of incident. But a real old-fashioned Japanese bath, in a deliciously soft wooden tub, with water at 108° Fahrenheit—the first I had been able to obtain during this visit to Japan—took away all soreness of flesh and weariness of spirit, and secured a good night’s rest.