1904.] on First Impressions of Seoul. 501 



insignificant. I stop for a moment in the great square ; it may be the 

 centre of the city, but is little more than a cross-road leading into a 

 few side-streets. 



It is scarcely seven o'clock and yet over all broods a death-like 

 silence, a peaceful calm, as complete as one can imagine. The broad 

 streets seem an immense cemetery and the mean little flat-roofed 

 houses graves. One might think it is All Saints' Day for on each 

 grave a little lamp is burning. A lantern hangs from each eave, 

 showing a yellowish flame. 



But the people themselves — like ghosts they are returning to 

 their homes, each robed in white, each and all mute. Without a 

 sound they flit over the roads of this endless graveyard, until they 

 disappear into the depths of some one of the illuminated tombs. 



1 have never been so impressed by any other city I have seen as 

 I was by my first sight of Seoul. As I saw the city just now, by the 

 light of a November moon, dark, dumb, desolate and ghostly, it 

 resembled more some fairy city than reality. Almost like those 

 storied places sung of in the poetry of almost every people, whose 

 tale is listened to with such rapture by the little folk of the nursery 

 who know nothing as yet of life's seamy side. 



Such a town was Seoul to me, the first few hours after my 

 arrival. 



The Dawn. 



I am aroused by the sound of drums and trumpets. Of whom ? 

 Of ghosts ? What can have happened that the house of silence 

 should have been disturbed by such an awful uproar ? 



I hasten to my window. The long street, the square, every inch 

 of ground is occupied by soldiers. These are short and yellow, 

 wearing a black uniform, the black cloth set off by a broad red collar. 

 The black coats, red collars and yellow faces make a motley colour- 

 scheme, almost as though they were checkered. The men seem to 

 like it. 



If the mixture serves no other purpose it offers an excellent 

 target for an enemy, which was probably the idea of its inventors. 



The din continues. The trumpets blare and these black, red and 

 yellow little people, like tin soldiers, keep moving before me. To 

 and fro, up one street and down another they go, like property 

 soldiers, now appearing on and again disappearing from the stage — 

 always the same supers, but one would think they were a mighty 

 army. 



And all the time the bayonets flash on the rifle barrels, whose 

 weight seems rather too much for the little men. The drums still 

 beat and fanfares ring out on the frosty morning. 



What has happened? Has the coronation not been postponed 

 after all ? Is the Emperor at last inaugurating the festivities so long 

 looked forward to ? 



I ring the bell, and a servant wearing a pig-tail wound up in a 



