My little holiday passed all too quickly. One day I found myself preparing very sorrowfully to return to Seoul. This accomplished, the news of my intended journey was quickly bruited abroad by my servants. During these days curio-dealers crowded the compound of the Station Hotel, where, made very comfortable by the kindly forethought of Mr. and Mrs. Emberley, I was still living. There is little enough to buy in Seoul: quaint, brass cooking-utensils; iron, inlaid with silver; tobacco boxes, jade cups, fans, screens, and scrolls. My purchases were few; the native furniture, massive presses, and cabinets faced with copper plates, and small tea-tables, attracting me more than anything else. The Emperor had already sent a present of silk and fans to my hotel, and, with these few remaining articles, my stock of Korean relics was completed. The dealers were importunate, and crowded into the private apartments of the hotel like bleating sheep into a pen. Remonstrances were in vain, and I found the specific cure for their pestiferous attentions to be administered best in the shape of a little vigorous kicking. They took the cuffing with much good humour, and retired to the courtyard, where, at intervals in the day, a plaintive voice would be heard calling upon His Highness to inspect the treasures of his slave. His Highness, however, had concluded his inspection. The atmosphere in these hot days in Seoul was very bad; the air was heavy with malodorous vapour; the days were muggy and the nights damp. The steaming heat of the capital emphasised the wisdom of an immediate departure, and I hastened my exodus, touched up with a little ague and a troublesome throat. The endless business of obtaining servants, guides, and horses was repeated, until at last the day of my removal was arranged and the hour of actual departure fixed. The prospect was alluring—a journey from Seoul to Vladivostock, through a wild and desolate region, nearly eight hundred miles in length, lay before me. Much of it was unexplored. It was the chance of a lifetime, and, in thus embarking upon it, I was very happy. My last farewells were said; my last calls had been paid—the kindly hospitality of Seoul is not forgotten. The day had come at last, the horses were pawing in the courtyard. My effects, my guns, and camp-bed, my tent and stores, were packed and roped. The horses had been loaded; the hotel account had been settled, when my interpreter quietly told me that my servants had struck for ten dollars Mexican—one sovereign—monthly increase in the wages of each. Mr. Emberley stood out against the transaction; I offered to compound with half; they were obdurate. It seemed to me that a crisis was impending. I was too tired and too cross to remonstrate. I raised my offer to eight dollars; it was refused—the servants were dismissed. Uproar broke out in the courtyard, which Mr. Emberley pacified by inducing the boys to accept my last offer—a rise of eight dollars Mexican.