On returning to the station we found the children in line on one side of the road and on the other a row of Korean men, some in clean and some in dirty-white clothing, waiting for the coming of the Prince. The difference between the mildly disorderly and unenthusiastic behavior of the Korean crowd and the precise and alert enthusiasm of the Japanese on similar occasions was significant. The Japanese policemen treated all the people, especially the children, with conspicuous gentleness. The Prince, who arrived at last in a jinrikisha and took the reserved carriage just back of the one reserved for us, had a languid and somewhat _blasé_ air; but he bowed politely and removed his hat for an instant as he passed by. Before the train left the station a number of the principal civil officers of Japanese Fusan appeared to bid us a good journey; and so we entered Korea as we had left Japan, reminded that we were among friends and should feel at home. Indeed, at every important station the cards of the leading officials, who had been informed of the arrival of his guests from the office of the Resident-General at Seoul, were handed in; and this was followed by hand-shaking and the interchange of salutations. The country through which the train passed during the entire day was very monotonous—or perhaps “repetitious” is the better descriptive word. Each mile, while in itself interesting and possessed of a certain beauty due to the rich coloring of the denuded rock of the mountains and of the sand of the valleys, which are deprived of their natural green covering by the neglect to bar out the summer floods, was very like every other of the nearly three hundred miles between Fusan and Seoul. Here, as everywhere in Korea, there was an almost complete absence of any _special_ interests, either natural or human, such as crowd the hills and valleys of Japan. Of roads there appeared to be nothing worthy of the name—only rough and tortuous paths, in parts difficult for the Korean pony or even for the pedestrian to traverse. No considerable evidences of any other industry than the unenlightened and unimproved native forms of agriculture were visible on purely Korean territory. But at Taiden—about 170 miles from Fusan and 106 from Seoul—where the car of the Prince was switched off, and where he remained overnight in order that he might arrive at the Capital in the daylight, something better appeared. This city is situated on a mountainous plateau and is surrounded by extensive rice-fields, some of which, we were told, belong to the son of Marquis Nabeshima, to Count Kabayama, and to other Japanese. In spots, the number of which is increasing, all over Southern Korea, Japanese small farmers are giving object-lessons in improved agriculture; and grouped around all the stations of the railway, the neat houses and tidy gardens of the same immigrants are teaching the natives to aspire after better homes.