a great calamity was to befall her, made a step
forward.

"Where is my child?" cried she in a voice of anger and despair.

"Here he is," answered one of the crowd. "The foreigner is painting a
picture of him."

There was a piercing yell, and the pale woman looked such daggers at me
that I nearly dropped the sketch, brushes and palette out of my hands.
Oh, it was such a look! Brrr! how I shivered. Then, with another yell,
tenfold more piercing than the first, she made a dash into the crowd, and
tried to snatch the child away. I have heard people say that I am
sensitive, and I believe that I really was on that occasion, for I
involuntarily shuddered as I saw at a glance what was coming. The crowd
had got so interested in the picture that they would not hear of letting
the child go; so the mother, scorned and pushed back, was unsuccessful in
her daring attempt. Boldly, however, making a fresh attack, she dashed
into the midst of them and managed to grasp the child by the head and one
arm; which led to the most unfortunate part of the business, for the
angry mother pulled with all her might in her efforts to drag her sweet
one away, while the people on the other hand pulled him as hard as they
could by the other arm and the legs, so that the poor screaming mite was
nearly torn to pieces, and no remonstrances of mine had the least effect
on this human yet very inhuman tug-of-war.

Fortunately for the child, whose limbs had undergone a good stretching,
the mother let go; but it was certainly not fortunate for the others,
for, following the little ways that women have, even in Corea, she
proceeded to scratch the faces of all within her reach, and I myself came
within an inch of having my eyes scratched out of my head by this
infuriated parent, when to my great relief she was dragged away. As she
re-entered the door of her domicile, she shook her fist and thrust her
tongue out at me, a worthy finish to this tragic-comic scene.

I do not wish you to think, however, that all women are like that in
Corea; for, indeed, they are not. In fact, the majority of them may be
said to be good-mannered and even soft in nature, besides being painfully
laborious. You should see the poor things on the coldest days and nights
of winter, smashing the thick ice in the rivers and canals, and spending
hour after hour with their fingers in the freezing water, washing the
clothes of their lords and masters, who are probably peacefully and
sound