Mr. McLeavy Brown has long been an enigma in Seoul. Although the variety of his gifts and the hospitable quality of his nature make him an important element in the life of the capital, there are few who care to study the man and his movements intelligently. Mr. McLeavy Brown possesses many moods; and the isolation in which he is placed, by the absence of any sympathy between himself and the people among whom he lives, renders the circumstances of his position almost pathetic. When, in 1896, he refused to accept any salary for the hopeless and onerous post of Financial Comptroller of the Imperial Treasury, the foreign community of Seoul were astounded. This refusal to burden still further the resources of an exhausted country is, however, an index to the guiding principles of his life. There is no dissembling in his transactions. Although he may temper an ill wind with promises, the continuity of his decision is maintained, and he attempts to carry out independently and honestly anything to which he may have pledged himself. He is indefatigable in his work; indomitable in his perseverance, cool and determined. A barrister by profession, he devotes himself to the minutiæ of his service with an attention which discloses his legal training. In his estimate of a person, no less than a situation, he seldom errs. In his official life he represents a type of Englishman that is rapidly disappearing from our public services. His private life reflects the culture and the grace of an attractive personality. They say, in Seoul, that Mr. McLeavy Brown is more skilful as a diplomatist than as an administrator; and his brilliant conversational powers give some colour to the assertion. Upon arrival in Seoul, newcomers are apt to hear that “Brown is a walking encyclopædia.” He speaks, reads and writes with equal facility French, German, Italian and Chinese. It will be remembered that he is in the service of the Korean Government, a sphere of utility and activity which demands fluency in yet another language. His library attests the breadth of his culture; it numbers some 7000 volumes, and fills the walls of the rooms and corridors of his house at Seoul from floor to ceiling. Boxes of new books arrive by every mail. When he reads them it is difficult to conjecture. At night, as one strolls from the British Legation to the Station Hotel, the lights in his study window may be seen burning brightly. He is believed to sit up with his books very often until dawn. It would be typical of this silent self-contained man if he found in the pleasures of his library the antidote to much which takes place in Seoul.