the striking of many gongs and bells. The monks offered prayers round heaps of pine branches, which had been thrown together and lighted at the different spots. Chants and prayers were repeated, and the same clashing of instruments went on as before. It was not until a heavy rain descended that the worshippers returned to the seclusion of the temple. I felt, somehow, quite grateful to that shower of rain. In the morning, my interpreter told me that this progress in the courtyard formed a part of services which accompanied the offering of special prayers for rain. It would be a curious coincidence if this were so. Next day, at the hour of my breakfast, there was some desire to continue the celebration. My head was still aching with the jarring discord of the bells, gongs, and cymbals of the previous entertainment, and at the sight of the preparations my appetite vanished. Breakfast became impossible; I relinquished it to pray for peace. Happily this blessing was granted me; and it was decided to hold no further service—the rain, I presume, having appeared—and to devour the sacrifices. All that day the monks and their two guests ate the offerings. It was therefore a day of undisturbed quiet, and as my prayer also had been granted, each was satisfied, and we were a happy family.
My little holiday passed all too quickly. One day I found myself preparing very sorrowfully to return to Seoul. This accomplished, the news of my intended journey was quickly bruited abroad by my servants. During these days curio-dealers crowded the compound of the Station Hotel, where, made very comfortable by the kindly forethought of Mr. and Mrs. Emberley, I was still living. There is little enough to buy in Seoul: quaint, brass cooking-utensils; iron, inlaid with silver; tobacco boxes, jade cups, fans,
