At the end of a trying day, one, perhaps, marred by an accident to an animal, trouble with the native servants, rain, fog, or the difficulties of the track, there is the evening camp. Those hours of rest and idleness, when the horses are fed and groomed, the packs unswung, the camp-beds slung beneath the mosquito curtains, and the evening meal prepared, are full of a supreme sensation of contentment. I have always loved these moments of peace, accepting what they brought as the best that life held for me at the time. At such an hour the refinements of civilisation and the restrictions of convention seem puerile enough. Moreover, there is much material benefit to be derived from such an undertaking. The trials and difficulties develop stability of character; the risks and dangers promote resource and self-reliance. There is much to be learnt from this contact with a human nature differing so radically from the prescribed types and patterns of the Western standard. There is something new in every phase of the experience. If it be only an impression, such as I have endeavoured to trace in these few lines, it is one which lingers in the mind long after other memories have faded. Preparation for an inland journey of any extent takes a considerable time; ponies have to be hired, servants engaged, and interpreters secured. It is as well to personally examine the pack ponies which are to carry the loads. Koreans treat their animals shamefully, and the missionaries make no efforts to lighten the lot of these unhappy beasts. In consequence of the carelessness with which the ponies are treated by their Korean masters, the poor little brutes suffer from back-sores larger and more dreadful than anything I have seen in any other part of the globe. If the Koreans could be taught the rudiments of horse-mastering and a more humane principle of loading and packing their rough saddles, as well as some practical veterinary knowledge, the lot of the unlucky little pony of the capital might be softened. But the spectacle of broken knees, raw necks, bleeding backs, and sore heels which these poor animals present, as they pass in quick succession along the streets of Seoul, is revolting. The American missionaries boast so much of their good deeds that it seems strange that they should neglect such a crying evil as this. There is, I presume, no credit to be “gotten” from alleviating the sufferings of a mere, broken-down, Korean pack pony.