It was soon after seven on the morning of Tuesday, March 26, 1907, that we had our first sight of Chosen, “The Land of Morning Calm.” The day was superb, fully bearing out the high praise which is almost universally bestowed upon the Korean weather in Spring—the sunshine bright and genial, the air clear and stimulating like wine. Tsushima, the island which for centuries has acted as a sort of bridge between the two countries, was fading in the distance on our port stern. The wardens of Tsushima, under the Tokugawa Shogunate and, as well, much earlier, had a sort of monopoly of the trade with southern Korea. From Tsushima, several centuries ago, came the trees which make conspicuous the one thickly wooded hill in Fusan, now the only public park in the whole country. In front rose the coast; its mountains denuded of trees and rather unsightly when seen nearer at hand, but at a distance, under such a sky, strikingly beautiful for their varied richness of strong coloring. The town of Fusan, as we approached it, had a comfortable look, with its Japanese buildings, many of them obviously new, nestled about the pine-covered hill which has already been noticed as its public park. From the steamer’s deck our companion pointed out the eminence on which, according to the narrative written by a contemporary in Chinese (the book has never been translated and copies of the original are rare), the Korean Governor of the District, when hunting in the early morning more than three centuries ago, looked out to sea and to his amazement saw myriads of foreign-looking boats filled with armed men approaching the bay. It was the army sent by Hideyoshi for the invasion of the peninsula. The Korean magistrate hastened to his official residence in the town, but scarcely had he arrived when the Japanese forces were upon him and had taken possession of everything. In twenty-one days the invaders were in Seoul. But according to the universal custom of the country when invaded, from whatever quarter and by whomsoever, the cowardly court—a motley horde of king, concubines, eunuchs, sorcerers, and idle officials—had fled; then a Korean mob burned and sacked the deserted palace and did what well could be done toward desolating the city. For seven years the Japanese held Southern Korea, even after their navy had been destroyed, so as to make it impossible to transport reinforcements sufficient to meet the combined forces of the Chinese and the Koreans. It was the fear of a similar experience which, centuries later, made them so careful first to incapacitate the Russian navy as a matter of supreme importance. On another low hill to the right, our attention was directed to the remnants of one of the forts built at the time by the invading Japanese; and further inland, the train ran near to traces of the wall which they erected for the defence of their last hold upon the conquered country. Even then “the people hated them with a hatred which is the legacy of