236 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY. 



flows along the southern edge of Siberia. . . . The whole of this 

 country shows signs of a volcanic origin. There is no doubt that 

 this mountain Peik-tu San was formerly a volcano, and that this 

 lake is the crater of the volcano." 



Mr. Campbell's narrative and the discussion furnished some 

 pleasing pictures of Korean life and character. It is a curious 

 fact and suggestive that the most conspicuous and seemingly the 

 most lasting traces left of ancient Korean settlements are the 

 strawberries. The beauty of the situations of the Buddhist mon- 

 asteries was remarked upon. For centuries Buddhism has been 

 under a ban in the country, and its followers, driven from the 

 settled country to the mountains, have established their monas- 

 teries there, out of the way. In selecting the most beautiful re- 

 treats for the study of their religion, they have followed, said one 

 of the speakers, the bent of Korean character. " These monas- 

 teries form hotels for those travelers in the country who take 

 their delight in leaving town life, taking simple food, and travel- 

 ing day after day, piping their way on the roads, rejoicing in the 

 beauty of the country. I should think in hardly any country in 

 the world the ordinary rustic takes so much delight in Nature as 

 in Korea; when he goes with you up the mountains, and, on 

 arriving at the top, you expect him to sigh as if nearly dead, he 

 will expatiate on the beauty of the scene before him. In this love 

 of scenery, as in many other points, the Korean differs greatly 

 from his neighbors the Chinese." 



The Korean hamlets are of two kinds, " the purely agricultural, 

 and those which depend as much on the entertainment of travelers 

 as on farming. The site of the agricultural village is a hill-slope 

 facing the south. Over this, low, mud-walled, straw-thatched 

 hovels, each standing in its own piece of garden, which is pro- 

 tected by a neat fence of interlaced stems, are scattered at random, 

 and there is not much of an attempt at a street anywhere. Every 

 house has its thrashing-floor of beaten clay, the workshop of the 

 family. The stream which runs past the foot of the hill, or courses 

 down a gully in its side, is lined with women and girls washing 

 clothes with sticks instead of soap, preparing cabbages for pickle, 

 or steeping hemp. Seen from a distance, these places are quite 

 picturesque. The uneven terraces of thatch are brightened by the 

 foliage and flowers of gourds and melons which climb all over the 

 huts. In the gardens surrounding each house are plots of red 

 chilli, rows of castor-oil plants, and fruit trees such as peach, apri- 

 cot, pear, and persimmon. The roadside village, on the other 

 hand, is generally a most unlovely spot. The only street is the 

 main highway, which is lined on both sides by a straggling collec- 

 tion of the huts I have mentioned. Heaps of refuse, open drains, 

 malodorous pools, stacks of brushwood for fuel, nude, sun-tanned 



