stom had existed for years until the Japanese took
possession of Korea and stopped this beautiful tradition.

But behind that same mountain from which the bonfires used to flash in
the olden days; indicating that the frontiers were safe for the night;
that no enemy hosts were invading the peninsula; behind that mountain
the fires of sunset still flame, flash, flare, and die away in the
somber purple shadows of night.

* * * * *

Nor shall one forget an evening at Wanju; a hundred miles from Seoul;
sitting in the Mission House looking down into that village of a hundred
thousand souls; watching the fires of evening lighted; watching a
blanket of gray-blue smoke slowly lift over that little village;
watching the great round moon slowly rise above a jutting peak beyond
the village to smile down on that quiet, peaceful scene in mid-December.

Koreans never light their fires until evening comes and then they light
a fire at one end of the house, under the floor and the smoke and heat
travel the entire length of the house warming the rooms. It is a poor
heat maker but it is a picturesque custom.

Thousands of flames lighted up the sky that night. The little thatch
houses, and the children in their quaint garbs moving against the flames
composed a strange Oriental Rembrandt picture.

* * * * *

Streets! Streets! Streets!

Lights! Lights! Lights!

Somehow streets and lights go together.

We think of our great Broadway. We smile at our superior ingenuity when
we think of the "Great White Way."

But for sheer beauty; fascinating, captivating, alluring, beauty; give
me the Ginza in Tokyo on a summer evening; with its millions of
twinkling little lights above the thousands of Oriental shops; with the
sound of bells, the whistle of salesmen, the laughter of beautiful
Japanese girls; the clacking of dainty feet in wooden shoes; and the
indefinable essence of romance that hovers over a street of this
Oriental type at night. I'll stake the romance, and beauty of the Ginza
in Tokyo, against any street in the world. He who has looked upon the
Ginza by night, has a Flash-Light of Flame; of tiny, myriad little
flaming lights; burned into his memory; to live until he sees at last
the lighted streets of Paradise itself.

* * * * *

Nor are the clothes of the Orient without their flaming colors.

The beautiful kimonos of the Geisha gi