ABSTRACT
I T was midnight when, by the glory of an October full moon, I arrived from Chemulpo at the foot of the rugged
slope crowned with the irregular, lofty, battlemented city wall and picturesque double-roofed gateway of the Gate of Staunch Loyalty which make the western entrance to the Korean capital so unique and attractive. An arrangement had been made for the opening of the gate, and after a long parley between the faithful 1m and the guard, the heavy iron-bolted door creaked back before the united efforts of ten men, and I entered Seoul, then under the authority of Ye Cha Yun, an energetic and enlightened Governor, under whose auspices the western part of the city has lost the refuse heaps and foulness, with their concomitant odors, which were its chief characteristic. In the streets and lanes not a man, dog, or cat stirred, and not a light glimmered from any casement; but when I reached Chongdong, the foreign quarter, I observed that the lower extremity of every road leading in the direction of the Russian Legation was irregularly guarded by several slouching Korean sentries, gossiping in knots as they leaned on their rifles.
