sands, along the tortuous and muddy rivers, into the harbours and through the narrow straits which hold back these islands from the mainland. The shores teem with the distinguished names of men of science and sons of the high seas. Following the curl and twist of its configuration a host of buried names are revealed, the last evidence of men who are dead and forgotten. It is infinitely pathetic that even this one last resting-place should be denied to their reputations. Lazareli, who shares Broughton's Bay; Unkoffsky, who foundered in the waters of the bay which is described by his name; the ill-fated La Pérouse, who, in June 1787, discovered in the Sea of Japan an island which now bears the name of the astronomer—Dagelet. Durock, Pellisier, Schwartz, and the rest—what echo do we find of them, their fates, and subsequent careers? Should not their names at least bear witness to their pains and labours, to the difficulties which they faced, to the small joy of something attempted, something done, which was their sole consolation for many hours of cheerless and empty vigil?
Korea is a land of exceptional beauty. The customs, the literature, and the geographical nomenclature of the kingdom prove that the superb and inspiring scenery of the peninsula is quite appreciated by the people. In the same manner that the coast-line of Korea bears evidence of the adventurous spirit of many western mariners, the names given to the mountains and rivers of the country by the inhabitants themselves reflect the simplicity, the crudity, and the supersition of their ideas and beliefs. All mountains are personified in Korea. In the popular belief, they are usually associated with dragons. Every village offers sacrifices to the mountain-spirits. Shrines are erected by the wayside and in the mountain passes that travellers may tender their offerings
