ing foreheads, and woolly heads of the West Coast African, and closely resemble the Bushman of south central Africa. They are numerous, and in the unknown interior of Luzon they live an utterly savage life, and have never been even nominally subdued.

The Spaniard from "the Peninsula," as they call Spain, is invariably an office-holder, or in the army or navy. He looks down on everybody else, and has come to make as much money as possible, no matter how, and then go back to spend it in Spain. Then there are the Filipinos"children of the country," they are called-who are supposed to be pureblooded descendants of Spanish settlers. But there are few of them without some touch of Chinese or native blood. There are from forty to sixty thousand Chinese. Many of them are wealthy, but the bulk of them are coolies earning 20 cents a day. The vast majority of the population is made up of every shade and cross, natives (Malays) and half-breeds (mestizos). Smallest in number, but controlling the entire import and export business, are the "foreigners"-English, Germans, Americans, Swiss, etc. Most of the European countries are represented.

Among the first things to impress a stranger are the horses. Descended from horses brought from Mexico, they have become much smaller, while they are also much more shapely. In fact, I have never seen a better-looking breed. There is nothing of the pony about their shape, though in size they range between 48 and 52 inches. At first it looked absurd to see them ridden by big men whose stirrups hung down to the horses' knees; but I soon found out that they easily carried a rider weighing 200 pounds. The foreigners have a jockey club, which holds two meetings a year at the beautiful turf track at Santa Mesa. To avoid sharp practice, members of the club only are eligible to ride. This necessitates a scale of weights starting at 132 pounds and rising to 154 pounds. It demonstrates the speed and strength of these miniature horses that a mile has been run in two minutes and ten seconds by a pony carrying 150 pounds. Only stallions are used. Mares can not even be brought into the city. Nobody walks; everybody rides; and on any special fiesta thousands of carriages fill the streets. I doubt if there is a city in the world that can turn out half the number of private vehicles in proportion to the population.

The better houses differ in some ways from any other in the world. Always of two stories, there is a high stone basement, with a carriageway through to the court, where are the servants' quarters and domestic offices. The upper story is of wood, being complete in itself, so that in case of an earthquake it will settle together. The ceilings are covered with cloth instead of plaster. A wide stairway leads up from the carriageway. Between 3 and 4 feet above the floor of this story is a wide window ledge with grooves running the whole length of every side. In these grooves slide blinds, and also frames in which are set small squares of oyster shell (called "conchas "). Both blinds and conchas run the full length of each side. Either or both can be closed at the same time, and both can be slid back to the width of one at each end, leaving the whole side open, and allowing the air to circulate as freely as in a shed. The roofs were formerly made of heavy curved tiles. Now galvanized iron is used, as it vastly decreases the chance of the roof falling during an earthquake, and lessens the damage if it does. On the other hand, the iron roof is much more likely to be blown off by the terrible typhoons.

The native houses are built of bamboo, with thatched roofs made of the leaf of the nipa palm, and elevated from 6 to 10 feet on bamboo

poles. When one builds a house in Manila it is necessary to decide whether to make it safe from earthquake or typhoon. The frail nipa house may swing like a ship in a heavy sea during an earthquake, but is perfectly safe, while the tile or iron roof may fall, killing and destroying everything near it. But when the typhoon comes the nipa houses go down by the hundred, while the tile and iron roofed ones suffer little. Possibly the chief peculiarity of the Philippines is its position as the stronghold of the priest and the religious orders. All the great orders are established there; black, blue, brown, and white robes swarm in the streets. All education is in their hands, and in the country and village the priest is virtually all powerful. No translation of the Bible is allowed to enter the islands, and no Protestant church can be built, no service held. To illustrate the power of the Church, I will describe the ceremony I saw on Corpus Christi. There was a great procession, with all the officials, troops, and sailors taking part. Finally the procession halted, and the archbishop drove slowly by in his carriage, drawn by four white horses, with outriders and guards. As he passed the colors of each regiment, the carriage stopped and the colors were laid on the ground. The archbishop descended, stood on them, and elevated the host to the four quarters, and then went forward to repeat the ceremony at each regiment.

Formerly, a serious drawback to a visit to Manila was the lack of hotels; but now there are several. If the visitor has letters of introduction, there is also a pleasant and comfortable foreigners' club at which he may stay. Manila loves holidays. At one time there were over forty in each year. The number has been sadly diminished, though there are still thirteen left, I understand. Each pueblo has its saint, and on that saint's day the inhabitants give themselves over, as they do on all the great holidays of the church, to music, fireworks, cockfighting, processions, etc.

Almost all these processions took place at night, and the effect was most picturesque. There would be a line of marchers-men, women, and children-walking in single file on each side of the street, every one with a lighted candle in his hand. At intervals, in the middle of the road, would come images of the Saviour, the Virgin, and the saints, borne on the shoulders of from ten to thirty men, surrounded by priests, and preceded by a band of music. Some of the images were covered with diamonds and other precious stones, said to be enormously valuable. In these cases there was always a guard of soldiers with fixed bayonets about the image. Often there would be thousands of people walking in these processions, and all the while it was moving tens of thousands of rockets and bombs would be fired. These rockets and bombs are homemade. The rockets consist only of a joint of bamboo filled with powder, exploding with a great noise, but with little light. The bombs are simply a handful of powder tightly wrapped with hemp. They cost a mere trifle, but make a great noise, and no fiesta is complete without plenty of them.

The most curious procession is participated in only by natives and the poorer mestizos. It takes place, if I remember rightly, during Holy Week, and is a high solemnity. Every one walking in the procession is robed in his graveclothes. The garment is a long, loose gray robe with a hood, and it comes to the ground. The effect is very strange, and as the people go they repeat continually: "Santa Maria, madre de Dios, ora pro nobis!" It may seem strange that graveclothes are provided before they are needed; but in Manila they are considered a prime necessity, and every native owns those clothes, even if he is bare

of all others. The ordinary dress of the native man is trousers and shirt of "piece goods" (calico), the shirt being worn outside the trousers. On holidays they wear a shirt made of piña, which is an expensive material. Native servants wear the same articles, but they must be of spotless white; and very suitable and nice looking it is, though I suppose that the idea of being driven by a coachman so dressed would shock the habitués of Central and Hyde parks. A curious freak of custom was that native servants were required to serve barefooted, while it was an insult if a Chinese servant appeared before his superior without his shoes.

Our firm had a mess house, in which the partners lived, and which was open to all their American and English employees. Should the latter prefer to live elsewhere, $1,000 a year was allowed as the equiv alent. I lived at the mess, finding it much the more comfortable. Indeed, it would have been hard to be dissatisfied with our way of living; and as it will show the style in which the great American houses in the East are conducted, I think it worth telling with some detail. The mess was a fine house, handsomely furnished, in one of the pleasantest parts of the city. The table was supplied by a Chinese cook. He was allowed $500 a month, and given certain of the heavier groceries, such as flour, rice, etc. He paid his under cooks, and was responsi ble for meals at the mess, and for breakfast (like the French déjeuner à la fourchette) and afternoon tea, which were taken at the office by all the employees, except on Sundays and fiestas. Then there was a majordomo, who had control of all the servants and had charge of the house. There was also an extra house servant, and a Chinese porter, who opened and shut the great house doors, filled the baths, pulled the punka, and watered the street in the dry season. Then everyone had a personal servant, who took care of his room, attended to his clothes, waited on him at table, prepared his early breakfast (about 7 a. m.), and so on. Everybody also owned a horse or horses, which involved one more servant at least. Being a junior, I contented myself with one pony and a two-wheeled trap, something like a dogcart. The others drove victorias and pairs. Three of our mess owned racing ponies, which inured to my benefit, as it gave me as much riding as I wished. After the bath and an early breakfast came the drive to the office, between 8 and 8.30; then work till 12.15, at which hour breakfast was served at the office; then work again until 5.30, interrupted between 3 and 4 by afternoon tea; then to the bungalow to dress, to drive, and back to dinner at 7.30.

To a lover of music Manila is a charming place. The natives have wonderful musical talent, and there were numerous bands. Those of the three regiments then stationed there were remarkably good, and four afternoons each week they played in turn on the Luneta, a sort of plaza on the shores of the bay just outside the old walls. I recall vividly the open-air concert, by three hundred instruments, given in honor of Prince Oscar of Sweden. The glorious full moon of the tropics, far brighter than in more northern lands, shining on the quiet waters of the bay, the innumerable lights, the brilliantly dressed crowd, and the thrilling music of the mighty bands, softened in volume on the great plain, combined to make it an occasion to be long remembered. The "Battle of Castellejos," which they played, was inspiring, and the effect was heightened by the repetition of the trumpet calls by soldiers who were stationed at intervals far off upon the plains, while the guns on the city walls added a touch of reality.

During the height of the rainy season, from about the middle of June

to the middle of September, all outdoor pursuits are suspended. The violence of the downpour is hardly to be imagined by dwellers in higher latitudes. The streets in Manila and some of the roads for a few miles outside are fairly good during the dry season, but quickly become nearly impassable when the rains set in. As I have already mentioned, Manila is intersected in all directions by creeks, which are traversed by hundreds of canoes. These canoes are dugouts, often of great size, and the natives are most expert in handling them. They are indispensable at times when vast floods come down from the great lake, about 30 miles from Manila, of which the river Pasig is the outlet. One storm will sometimes raise the river and overflow most of the city. After a few hours' rain I have gone direct from our steps into a banca (canoe) and been paddled through the streets to the office.

In this lake is found one of the most remarkable phenomena in the islands. Not very far from the center rises what is evidently the old crater of a submerged volcano. Circular in shape, it comes up abruptly from the water, the sides several hundred feet in height, except in one place, where it is not more than 30. The natives are dreadfully afraid of it, saying it is full of crocodiles; but a party of us who went there in a steam launch induced them to drag their canoes over, and paddle us about. The interior walls rise perpendicularly, and are masses of vegetation which has found foothold in every crack and cranny. The water within seems to have no communication with the lake, and is no longer water, but a mass of corruption and putridity that fills one with shuddering horror. We saw no crocodiles. Perhaps our noise frightened them; but I can not understand how fish could live in that mass of filth, nor where the crocodiles would find food, if fish were lacking. The depth of this place is unknown, no bottom having been found in the soundings thus far made.

I have no space here to write of many other interesting topics-the venality of the Spanish officials, from the lowest to the highest; the almost incredible impediments which they throw in the way of business; the character and customs of the women, Filipina, mestiza, and native; the fruits, including the mango, king of all, and the one hundred and sixty-five varieties of bananas, and—but the list itself might extend almost to the length of an article.

A VISIT TO THE PHILIPPINES.

[The Contemporary Review, June, 1898.]

[By CLAES ERICSSON.]

On June 13, 1894, I arrived in Manila Bay, from Singapore, on board the Nuestra Señora de Santa Loreto. The faith of the pious Spaniard who gave the steamer her long name had been abundantly justified, or she must have gone to the bottom years before, for a more ramshackle craft I never set foot upon. Luckily we had no rough weather, or these lines might never have been penned, the protection of "Our Lady of Holy Loreto" notwithstanding. It was night when we came to anchor, and the spectacle of the lamps on the Luneta gave me a blessed feeling of security which had been lacking many a day. If the Nuestra Señora, etc., should go down at her anchorage I might possibly swim ashore.

Landing at 9 next morning, I visited the custom-house. Officials, Spanish and Creole, were lounging about, cigarette or cheroot in mouth, and presently one of them condescended to inform me that my luggage would be examined at 3 o'clock. It was then 9.30 a. m. At the appointed hour I returned; but in Manila four years ago no one dreamed of hurrying, and another hour passed before I was free of the port. An acquaintance assured me, however, that my good fortune had beeu great; and when, three days later, I obtained a licensia, or permit to stay in the islands, the same gentleman consoled me for the delay with the remark that such dispatch was phenomenal-in Manila. During my stay I made the acquaintance of one of the leisurely officials, a Creole. In a burst of confidence he gave me to understand that a great deal of money was received at the Manila custom-house, but the Government saw very little of it.

I am told that they have the electric light in Manila to-day, but in 1894 the streets were lit with oil lamps, on posts more or less resembling the famous tower of Pisa. The fortifications had a very ancient look, not surprising when it is remembered that they were built between two and three centuries ago. Leaving the Lunetta, I passed through a beautiful avenue of feathery bamboos, swaying to the gentlest breeze, and so reached the town in time to witness a very pretty sight. It was a funeral. Four white ponies, harnessed in sky-blue and silver, driven by a coachman similarly arrayed, drew the hearse, which was painted white, blue, and gold, and decked with plumes of snowy feathers.

As my business in the Philippines was to collect plants on the mountains of South Palawan, I left Manila by the first steamer, taking two natives as personal servants. One of them, named Minico, was very small, not more than 4 feet in height, but brave enough, nevertheless. My fellow-passengers numbered seven. One of them, a gentleman of martial aspect, I addressed in my best Spanish:

"It is a fine day, Captain."

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