and
from a woman, too!"

It is, indeed, easy to be a philosopher after the event, but it is
strange how very often one gets into fearful rows and trouble without
having had the slightest intention either to offend or to annoy the
natives. Here is another little anecdote which I narrated some months ago
in the _Fortnightly Review_, and which is a further proof of the violent
temper of the women-folk, of the lower classes in Cho-sen. The Coreans in
general, and the women in particular, are at times extremely
superstitious, which partly accounts for the violent scene in question,
which arose out of a mere nothing, and nearly resulted in a most serious
case of wilful infanticide. This is how things stood.

I was sketching one day outside the east gate of Seoul, and, as usual,
was surrounded by a large crowd of natives, when a good-natured old man
with a kindly face attracted my attention, as he lifted up in his arms a
pretty little child, on whose head he had placed his horse-hair
transparent hat, and asked me whether I would like to paint the little
one so attired in my picture. I was tempted by the offer, and, having
taken up a fresh panel, proceeded to dash off a sketch of my new model in
his pretty red frock, his tiny padded socks, and his extra large hat, to
the great amusement of the audience, who eagerly watched every stroke of
my brush, and went into ecstasies as they saw the likeness come out more
and more plainly. The Coreans, like the Japanese, are extremely quick at
understanding pictures and drawings, and I was much gratified to notice
the interest displayed by my _auditorium_, for never before had I seen a
crowd so pleased with work of mine. My last experiences in the sketching
line had been among the hairy savages of the Hokkaido, among whom art was
far from being appreciated or even tolerated, and portrait-painting was
somewhat of a risky performance; so that when I found myself lionised,
instead of being under a shower of pelting stones and other missiles, it
was only natural that I felt encouraged, and really turned out a pretty
fair sketch so far as my capabilities went. "Beautiful!" said one; "Very
good!" exclaimed another; "Just life-like!" said they all in a chorus as
I lifted up the finished picture to show it to them, when--there was a
sudden change of scene. A woman with staring eyes, and as pale as death,
appeared on the door-step of a house close by, and holding her forehead
with her hands, as if