which will not fail to impress a careful observer is
the beauty of the Corean hand. The generality of Europeans possess bad
hands, from an artistic point of view, but the average Corean, even among
the lower classes, has them exceedingly well-shaped, with long supple
fingers, somewhat pointed at the end; and nails well formed and prettily
shaped, though to British ideas, grown far too long. It is not a powerful
hand, mind you, but it is certainly most artistic; and, further, it is
attached to a small wrist in the most graceful way, never looking stumpy,
as so often is the case with many of us. The Coreans attach much
importance to their hands; much more, indeed, than they do to their
faces; and special attention is paid to the growth of the nails. In
summer time these are kept very clean; but in winter, the water being
very cold, the cleanliness of their limbs, "_laisse un peu a desirer_." I
have frequently seen a beautifully-shaped hand utterly spoilt by the
nails being lined with black, and the knuckles being as filthy as if they
had never been dipped in water. But these are only lesser native
failings; and have we not all our faults?

The two qualities I most admired in the Corean were his scepticism and
his conservatism. He seemed to take life as it came, and never worried
much about it. He had, too, practically no religion and no morals. He
cared about little, had an instinctive attachment for ancestral habits,
and showed a thorough dislike to change and reform. And this was not so
much as regards matters of State and religion, for little or nothing does
the Corean care about either of these, as in respect of the daily
proceedings of life. To the foreign observer, many of his ways and
customs are at first sight incomprehensible, and even reprehensible; yet,
when by chance his mode of arguing out matters for himself is clearly
understood, we will almost invariably find that he is correct. After all,
every one, whether barbarian or otherwise, knows best himself how to
please himself. The poor harmless Corean, however, is not allowed that
privilege. He, as if by sarcasm, calls his country by the retiring name
of the "Hermit Realm" and the more poetic one of the "Land of the Morning
Calm"; "a coveted calm" indeed, which has been a dream to the country,
but never a reality, while, as for its hermit life, it has been only too
often troubled by objectionable visitors whom he detests, yet whom,
nevertheless, he is bound to