bamboo leaves and delivered the town. The next day the King found his father's grave strewn with the leaves, and he then knew that his father's spirit had led forth an army of spirits and had delivered him.
The battlefields of Korea, as of every other land, form the background for many a thrilling tale. When the army of Koguryu went forth to conquer Puyu, they heard the sound of clashing arms in Yimul forest. The leaders pushed forward and found swords and spears clashing against each other in mimic battle, but wielded by invisible hands. It was deemed a good omen. The weapons were taken, and with them the foe was conquered. When rebels besieged Kyong-ju, a star fell in the city, a sign of destruction. The rebels rejoiced; but the stubborn general within, defying even the fates, sent up a kite with a lantern attached, and the rebels, thinking that it was the star and that the decree of heaven had been reversed, raised the siege and decamped.
At one time or another almost every foot of Korean soil has been the scene of battle, and the tales of wonderful marksmanship, heroic daring, gigantic strength, subtle stratagem, inventive genius, intrepid horsemanship and hairbreadth escape by field and flood are among the commonest household words in Korea. Who can worthily sing the praises of Yi Yu-song, against whose body bullets flattened themselves and fell harmless to the ground; or of Kwak-Cha-u, the "General of the Red Robe," who to-day would be falling upon the enemy in Chulla and to-morrow would take breakfast in Kyong-ju, a thousand li away, because he had the power to "wrinkle the ground"? He would make the ground contract before him, and, after he had stepped over it, expand it again and find that he had gone a hundred li. Many are the dei ex machina like this, whereby men have been saved from seemingly desperate situations.
Women, too, come in for their full share of attention, from the time of Yuwha, the mermaid princess mother of Chumong, down to the time of Nonga, the dancing-girl patriot, who seized
