To the ordinary traveller, after the first strangeness of its more obvious aspects is over, not much remains of particular interest in the capital city of Korea. Of fine buildings, of museums, picture-galleries, temples, theatres, parks, and public gardens, there is little or nothing to compare with any European or Japanese city of the same size. There is, however, here as everywhere in the peninsula, no little of antiquarian and historical interest which awaits the researches of those trained and enthusiastic in such pursuits. Of those sights which the city of Seoul within the walls can show, there are three principal classes—the so-called palaces, the shrines, and the monuments. Even these are interesting, not for their intrinsic grandeur or beauty, but chiefly for their connection with the legends or historical incidents of the country. To quote again from the articles of Dr. Jones: “The Koreans apply the term _Kung_ or palace to all residences of royalty, and to them Seoul is a city of palaces, for there are eighteen _Kung_ of varying sizes and degrees of importance in and about the city.” Among the eighteen, however, “there are several which are to-day a name and nothing more.” Of these minor palaces the most interesting is that called the “Special South Palace,” which was erected nearly five hundred years ago by one of the kings for his favorite daughter and her consort. But the latter made it such a “veritable den of infamy” that it was abandoned as a house haunted by evil spirits and unsafe for habitation. The mixture of fawning malice and hypocritical servility characteristic of Korean officialdom was at one time humorously exhibited in a way to deceive even the Chinese; for when the Mings were overthrown by the Manchus, the hated envoys of the latter were assigned to this House, “for their entertainment and as a covert derogation to their dignity.” Thus, too, with the so-called “Mulberry Palace,” known by the Koreans as the “Palace of Splendid Happiness.” It was erected by the tyrant Lord Kwanghai who was here dethroned, and from here sent into exile, where he died a prisoner. From it also his successor was driven out by the usurping “Three Days, King.” It was in this palace, also, that the King Suk-jong, having surprised his favorite concubine in practising magic rites to accomplish the death of the Queen whom she had already caused to be divorced and banished, turned upon the concubine herself, sentenced her to drink poison, and when she in revenge mutilated the Crown Prince, had her torn in pieces. Its present name is derived from one of the many fruitless experiments which the present Government of Korea, left to itself, is constantly making. The “mulberry” plantation remains only as a name to adorn, or degrade, the ruins of the palace. But if any visitor to Seoul thinks that such violence, lust, and thriftlessness, must of necessity belong to the _ancient_ history of Korea, let him learn his mistake.