clusters of hovels, upon both sides of this excellent highway, suggest that the eligible sites are only those which abut upon this spacious thoroughfare. Glimpses of the bay are visible through gaps in the houses. The smell of the sea is lost in the fumes of drying fish and decaying garbage, which hang heavily in the atmosphere, impregnating everything and penetrating everywhere, save to the wind-swept heights which encircle the bay. A population of 15,000 huddles in these groups of thatched shops and tumble-down houses.
The native town ceases abruptly about a mile from the settlement. Fields of vegetables border the road. The strip of beach upon which the town is placed, is black with patches of fish spread to the sun, littered with fishing nets, and encumbered with crazy fishing-boats and junks. After a little it disappears around cliffs, whose crests are fragrant with pine and fir trees. Tortuous valleys, giving glimpses of prosperous villages set in their midst against a background of majestic peaks and ridges of hills, well-timbered headlands and promontories upon which are set the houses of the missionaries, combine, with the broad waters of the bay and the vista of the open sea beyond, to form a series of picturesque and supremely attractive views. There are nearly three thousand Japanese in residence at Won-san, a few Chinese merchants, and a small foreign community, including the Commissioner of Customs and Mrs. Wakefield, and the Customs staff. The rest are evangelists of no great importance.
The climate of Won-san is dry and healthy. The heat is tempered by sea breezes and the nights are cool. The mean temperature for the summer is seventy-three degrees, and for the winter twenty-nine degrees; the rainfall is forty-
