Originally, if history speaks truly, the farmers of Korea were inclined to be masterful and independent. Indications of this earlier spirit are found nowadays in periodical protests against the extortionate demands of local officials. These disturbances are isolated and infrequent, for, when once their spirits were crushed, the farmers developed into the present mild and inoffensive type. They submit to oppression and to the cruelty of the _Yamen_; they endure every form of illegal taxation, and they ruin themselves to pay “squeezes,” which exist only through their own humility. They dread the assumption of rank and the semblance of authority. Their fear of a disturbance is so great that, although they may murmur against the impositions of the magistrate, they continue to meet his demands. [Illustration: THE KOREAN AND HIS BULL] At the present day the farmer of Korea is the ideal child of nature; superstitious, simple, patient and ignorant. He is the slave of his work, and he moves no further from his village than the nearest market. He has a terrified belief in the existence of demons, spirits and dragons, whose dirty and grotesque counterfeits adorn his thatched hut. There are other characteristic traits in this great section of the national life. Their capacity for work is unlimited; they are seldom idle, and, unlike the mass of their countrymen, they have no sense of repose. As farmers, they have by instinct and tradition certain ideas and principles which are excellent in themselves. To the wayfarer and stranger the individual farmer is supremely and surprisingly hospitable. A foreigner discussing the peculiarities of their scenery, their lands, and the general details of their life with them, is struck by their profound reverence for everything beyond their own understanding, and their amazing sense of the beautiful in nature. The simplicity of their appreciation is delightful. It is easy to believe that they are more susceptible to the charms of flowers and scenery than to that of woman. At rare intervals the farmer indulges in a diversion. Succumbing to the seductions of market day, after the fashion of every other farmer the world has ever known, he returns to the homestead a physical and moral wreck, the drunk and disorderly residuum of many months of dreary abstinence and respectability. At these times he develops a phase of unexpected assertiveness, and forcibly abducts some neighbouring beauty, or beats in the head of a friend by way of enforcing his argument. From every possible point of view he reveals qualities which proclaim him the simple, if not ideal, child of nature.