eries were conducted. At each season's commencement the fishermen go to a merchant who is called a supplier. They get from him an outfit. to enable them to go to the fishery. The time for settling is at the end of the season, when the merchants meet and decide what they can give for fish per hundredweight. At that time, also, each man is told what he owes, and in case the fishery has been bad, prices of goods rule high, and the necessary food for the coming months of forced inaction (called a winter's diet) is of necessity cut to the lowest.

The Mission began its work by a report to the leading men in Newfoundland. They forwarded the movement with an offer of two small buildings to be used as Mission Hospitals, and a promise of their earnest help to the society, if it would commence work on the Labrador coast for the benefit of the fishermen. At selected spots on islands two hundred miles apart, these hospitals were built, and a small steam launch was added

to the ship, that it might run to and fro and so visit from the hospital ship many places otherwise outside her reach.

With the idea of teaching the difference in the cost of the necessities of life when purchased for cash instead of taking them up on credit, a small, co-operative store to deal only in cash, or dry fish, which is Labrador cash, was started, though not without considerable opposition from traders. This has been running now seven years, entirely under " fishermen management."

Though it has had to teach every most elementary lesson, and has been. delayed in expansion proportionally, it has been an unqualified success. And now five others, at various distances along the shore, have risen in its wake. The fishermen themselves are taught to put any few dollars they have into capital, to take an intelligent interest in the little business, and the result has been that thrift, economy, independence and self-reliance have been

fostered, and all around each store the fishermen have become very materially better off in every way.

In 1901 a schooner, "The Co-operator," was added, to save the profit of transporting the fish and goods. This adventure has also proved a great

success.

The most debatable point, and a most important one, has always been, whether the wage-earning capacity could not be increased by finding work for the forced inaction of the winter months, work which would at the same time lessen the capricious nature of the men's income, which was a "hit or miss" business of at times only a month or two out of the twelve. For this purpose a grant of timber land was taken up in one district and a

small mill erected in 1902. The heads of all the families near went into the bay "logging" in the winter, though only half-a-dozen men have been kept from fishing all the season, to saw up the logs cut. In addition to this we have built and sold two fine schooners on the Hill. Thus co-operative production was commenced, and this has proved a very material benefit, not only to those living around, but any families near, making a bad voyage, now move up this bay in winter and so earn a winter diet.

From one curse of modern civilization we are at present almost entirely free, i.e., the drink traffic. This gives every remedial effort a far more hopeful aspect.

For widows and orphan children, or

The

It is a mountainous country you see; the coast-line before you is rocky and bold, with great cliffs that stand like outposts of Asia. The sun is just rising; the tide is out, and all along the coast are miles of mud where the crabs and turtles and octopus are at play. But it is inland, past the sentinel cliffs, that the real picturesqueness of the country is seen. mountains roll on in unceasing undulations; far up their sides and in their recesses green patches of crop glisten in the early sun. There is the lush, rank green of rice fields, the occasional gold of patches of sesame; there are ridges of birch, beech and pine, and again fields of millet. But it is not a heavily timbered country.

There are several things that add to the picturesqueness of the scene. One is the houses, or huts, as you are tempted to call them. You see little spots all over the country where are clustered together these little ovalshaped structures of mud with thatched roofs. These are villages; we will look at them later.

Our attention is attracted now by

THE EMPEROR OF KOREA.

the white, ghost-like figures we see gliding everywhere, alone and in groups, for white is the prevailing fashion in Korea. The ploughman wears white in the fields; the officials in the villages are clad in snowy raiment. You see people everywhere coming out of low mud huts clad in white, wide-flowing garments. If we were nearer we should see that these white garments often bear various marks of contact with this mundane sphere; there are even various shades of so-called white, but at a distance. such defects are not noticeable.

The third element that gives picturesqueness to the scene before us is, as you see, the birds that dot the land everywhere in great squawking, flapping flocks. Gunning" is not a common recreation in Korea, and in consequence the wild birds thrive and become almost as tame as the domestic fowls of our own land. There are the tall, stately blue heron; the egret; the

paddy birds, looking wise; the great groups of puhongi, looking like white snow-banks on the marshy rice fields.

There are the lark and the cuckoo calling from the trees. And there go. flocks of wild geese and ducks and turkeys that would make the tourist hunting in Muskoka mad with envy. Then, down through the mountain glade you see those deer wending their way. The queer structure of boards and stones is a tiger trap, for the regal beast is a frequent prowler among Korean hills.

This is perhaps the only country where the thirst for gold is subordinated to a reverence for nature. There is gold in the mountains of Korea. But the mountains are sacred. The Korean will not have them disturbed for moneyed considerations.

And now we will let this picture of the land as a whole pass from our vision. In a moment we shall take a nearer view of one of the villages and of the people who dwell in them.

Again you see with the "eye of thought" a collection of mud hovels, with thatched roofs that come down within six or seven feet of the ground. Up and down the streets dogs prowl -the most miserable-looking dogs you ever saw. We are reminded of a story told by the Rev. James S. Gale in his charming "Korean Sketches":

"For mercy's sake, An," said Mr. Gale to his guide as they entered one of these villages, "why don't you kill these dogs?"

"Too early yet," replied the guide. "We'll kill them later on."

"But why don't you kill them now and quiet the town?"

66

Why," answered the guide, "you know that dogs are not good eating in spring. We wait till summer before we kill them. Do you eat them in spring in your country?"

Not far behind the dogs in the racket they are making are the fowls and birds, domestic and wild, with their clacketings and clamorings.