Chapter IV: Part 4

OTHER IMPORTANT CITIES AND TOWNS.

Iloilo, Capital of the Province of Panay.

In the province of Iloilo, in the southern part of the island of Panay, is the town of Iloilo. It is on the sea, and is built on a low, marshy plain. Iloilo is the capital of the province in which it is situated, and it is also one of the principal sea-ports of the colony. The harbor is excellent, being well-protected by the island of Guimaras, which lies just beyond. This island is much higher than the mainland, with which it forms a kind of funnel, so that there is a constant breeze, which makes Iloilo much cooler and healthier than Manila. During the spring-tides the whole town is covered with water.

Iloilo is a manufacturing town. Its principal product is piña, a fine cloth made from the fibre of the pineapple-leaf. Jusi--another fabric made from silk and woven into various colors--is also manufactured here.

The country around the town is very fertile, and is extensively cultivated. The facilities for transportation to and from the interior of the island are very poor. This, of course, is a great bar to the development of the commerce. However, over 1,000,000 piculs of sugar are raised around Iloilo; also a great amount of tobacco; much rice, too, is raised here. The town is doubtless destined to become a great commercial centre. It is about 250 miles from Manila. Typhoons are not uncommon, though earthquakes are infrequent. Most of the traders are Chinese Mestizos. Some of them are very wealthy.

The port of Iloilo is of recent date, its opening being wholly due to foreigners. The produce shipped from there comes mostly in American sailing vessels to the United States. Iloilo has become the shipping centre for the crops of sugar and sapan-wood of the islands of Negros and Panay, and the opening up of this port has greatly encouraged agriculture in the Visayas district. Manila is too far away. The Iloilo district includes the large islands of Panay, Negros, Cebú, and others, and has a second port of rising importance, Cebú, on the island of that name.

Cavité is a fortified town, on a small peninsula, in the bay of Manila, about ten miles from the capital. To it a steamboat runs twice daily. The Government arsenal and the only shipyard in the colony are located here, and it is, therefore, the chief naval station in the islands. Cavité is also the residence of most of the Spanish naval officers and of many foreigners: their handsome bungalows are on the outskirts of the town. Some fine shops, a theatre, a few cafés, and the old Cathedral are the most noteworthy objects of interest in the town itself. The Cathedral is large and imposing, and its architecture is characteristic of most of the churches of the colony. The houses in Cavité were formerly of wood, but since a fire, in 1754, which destroyed the town, most of them are built of stone or brick. But even this did not save the town; for the earthquake of 1880 again laid it waste.

Cavité was taken by the British in 1763, and has always been deemed the key to the capital. It was the seat of the rebellion of 1872, when the rebels seized and plundered the arsenal. This insurrection, however, was put down, and the leaders executed or deported. Cavité, on account of its strategic value, was the first place taken by Admiral Dewey after the battle. As elsewhere described, it then became the headquarters for Aguinaldo and the insurgents. Under a humane and an advanced government of the islands, Cavité should become a large city.

Majajay is a picturesque mountain-town, in Luzon; it contains several fine streets and many charming residences. The church and the convent are striking; the scenery in the vicinity is magnificent. The waterfall of Botócan is well worth a visit. It is about 600 feet high, and 60 feet wide. The view is impressive.

Lúgbang, near Majajay, is a thousand feet higher. Around it are extensive rice-fields. In the town are several fine canals, some good streets, and many commodious residences. A stone church and a convent front the little plaza. On the other side is the Tribunal, an imposing government building.

Tayabas is the capital of Tayabas province. In some of the streets are canals. Besides the houses of the wealthy planters, there are the usual church and convent. In the vicinity of Tayabas are extensive timber-yards.

Laguimanoc, a small town on the coast of Luzon, is also a port. The mail steamers stop there. The chief trade is in building-timber; for around the town are magnificent forests. The harbor is an excellent one, and, with increase of trade, the place should have a great future.

Lipa is the capital of the Batangas province, Luzon. It is a centre of the coffee-trade. Besides, the temperature there is cooler than that of most of the Philippine towns. It is noted for its large church and its convent--among the most remarkable in the colony. Most of the houses are three stories high, and many wealthy planters live in the vicinity.

Taal is one of the principal towns of Luzon. It is situated on a hill upon the left bank of the Pansipit river. On the opposite side is the town of Lemeri. A bridge connects the two.

Taal was formerly on the shore of the Lake of Taal, near the volcano, but the old town was destroyed by the earthquake of 1754. The new town is hilly, and is surrounded by sugar-cane plantations and great forests. The streets are lined with modern shops and spacious residences. Many of the inhabitants are of Japanese origin; but the Chinese, strange to say, are not tolerated. As there is considerable trade in sugar, in coffee, and cotton stuffs, trading-steamers ply between Taal and Manila. The population of the town and its suburbs is about 50,000.

Batangas, another town in Luzon, is the capital of the province of that name. It is near the sea, and is the residence of the Governor and the other chief officials of the province. There is a beautiful park in the centre of the town, and a fine drive, where the European residents are wont to meet. In and around the town are many pretty bungalows and some large sugar-factories.

Santa Cruz de Malabon is a town in the rice-district of Luzon. It is a charming little place, and some wealthy natives live there. Near the town are several water-power rice-husking mills, that give employment to hundreds of natives. The country all around is low and flat, but not lacking in beauty.

Silan is also in Luzon, and is a good-sized town. It is noted for its religious feasts and fairs. The church and the convent are celebrated, and are among the handsomest in the colony.

Carmona, Perez Dasmariñas, and Viñan, are flourishing towns in the vicinity of Silan. All are well worthy of a visit.

At the foot of the Maquiling mountain is Calamba, a market-town. Nearly all the land thereabouts is owned by the Dominicans, who rent it to the native rice and sugar-planters.

Below the Maquiling mountain, which is a crater, are hot springs. Near them is the town of Los Baños, or the Baths. These springs are beneficial in curing rheumatism and other ills. A hospital, therefore, has been erected there, which is dedicated to our Lady of the Holy Waters.

Other objects of interest are a vapor bath-house and the remains of several large public buildings. Los Baños was once a popular resort, and was under the administration of the Franciscans. The Government, however, desiring a share of the profits, gradually, by onerous exactions, caused the ruin of the place. If some enterprising American would get hold of it, Los Baños could be made a great resort.

A few miles from Los Baños, on the Malanin river, about 1200 feet above the sea, is the boiling lake of Natungos. This, too, possesses wonderful medicinal properties.

Santa Cruz is the capital of the Laguna province. It is a market-town of considerable size and importance, and contains a fine church and one or two impressive government buildings. The principal street is also called the Escolta. Santa Cruz is the centre of the cocoanut trade, and is a meeting-place for stock-dealers.

Pagsanjan, a small old town near Santa Cruz, contains some elegant residences. It has, however, an air of fallen grandeur. And well it may! for it was once an important place. Around it are extensive forests of cocoanut palms.

Puerta is on Palaúan Island, and has an excellent harbor. Near it is a lighthouse and a naval station. It is a penal settlement, and is surrounded by large sugar-estates, worked by the convicts. The town is pretty, and the suburbs are delightful.

The principal port of Mindanao is Zamboanga, a small but interesting town. Sulu is the principal port of Sulu, and is the centre of the pearl trade.

The capital of Negros is Bacólod. It contains, besides a church and a government house, some handsome residences belonging to the chief traders and to the government officials. The town is on the coast, but, as the water is very shallow, steamers are obliged to anchor a half-mile from the shore. Bacólod is a good field for investors, as it is in the very heart of the sugar and rice-district of Negros, and its trade is constantly growing.

Mataban, Talisay, Silay, Sarávia and Victoria are rising towns in the same province. Cádiz Nuevo, a small town just beyond Victoria, has some fine streets, and many large shops owned by the irrepressible Chinamen. The new stone church and convent of the town are the handsomest on the island. In the country round about live many wealthy native-planters, famed for their hospitality.

Cebú: a Mecca for Many Filipinos.

Cebú is the capital of the island of Cebú, and ranks next to Iloilo among the ports of the Philippines. The town is well-constructed, and is surrounded by fine roads. The people are conservative, and lack thrift and enterprise. The principal exports are hemp and sugar, most of which comes from the large plantations of the neighboring islands of Leyte, Camaguin, and Mindanao. The cathedral of Cebú is one of the most celebrated in the islands. It contains the shrine of the Holy Child of Cebú, which thousands of pilgrims visit yearly.

General Topography of the Islands.

The Philippines, with the Sulu Protectorate, number about 600 habitable islands, that lie all the way from 4° 45' to 21° N. latitude.

The area of the eleven largest islands is variously computed to be somewhere between 55,000 and 150,000 square miles. It is probably not far from the latter sum. All the islands together are about as large as the combined area of New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, and Delaware.

The eleven largest islands are: Luzon, Mindanao, Sámar, Panay, Negros, Palaúan, Mindoro, Leyte, Cebú, Masbate, and Bojol. Luzon and Mindanao are probably as large as all the others combined.

All the islands are mountainous and of volcanic formation.

Here is a list of the principal peaks:

Halcon, (Mindoro) 8,868 feet above sea.
Apo, (Mindanao) 8,804 feet above sea.
Mayon: active volcano, (Luzon) 8,283 feet above sea.
San Cristobal, (Luzon) 7,375 feet above sea.
Isarog, (Luzon) 6,443 feet above sea.
Banájao (Luzon) 6,097 feet above sea.
Labo (Luzon) 5,090 feet above sea.
South Caraballo, (Luzon) 4,720 feet above sea.
Caraballo del Baler (Luzon) 3,933 feet above sea.
Maquiling, (Luzon) 3,720 feet above sea.

In the interior of the islands are magnificent forests of stately trees, splendid with luxuriant foliage and the glorious flora of the tropics. Here are gigantic creepers and gorgeous festoons,--the splendid parasites of this opulent clime. Luscious fruits in rich clusters hang from pendent boughs of myriad trees, inviting the passer-by to pluck.

One that has never seen it, can form no idea of the splendor of such a tropical forest--teeming with all that is brilliant and grand in nature. It would seem as if the Creator had emptied the cornucopia of his gifts over this garden-spot of the world, making it a veritable Eden.

There are many rivers throughout the islands,--some navigable. The Pasig river, in Luzon, empties into Manila Bay. Vessels drawing thirteen feet of water enter the Pasig river. In the same island, the Rio Grande de Cagayan is also navigable and runs through the Cagayan valley northward. It yearly overflows its banks. On them are the richest tobacco-districts in the colony. The Rio Grande de la Pampanga flows southward through the glorious valley of Pampanga, emptying by twenty mouths into Manila Bay. On the banks of this river are extensive rice-fields and sugar-cane plantations, and great forests; among them gleam numerous towns and villages, full of a thriving population. The Rio Agno, which flows southward, past the port of Dagupan and the Bicol river--which flows from Bato lake to the bay of San Miguel--is also in Luzon, and navigable.

In Mindanao, the Rio Agusan cuts the island almost in two. It is navigable only a few miles. In Negros Island, the Danao is navigable.

The Bay lake (Luzon)--Laguna de Bay,--is 25 miles long and 12 miles broad. It is higher than Manila, and its overflow is the Pasig river.

In the centre of Bombon lake is an active volcano called Taal, which is no less famed in the history of the colony than is Vesuvius in the history of Naples. It has had many celebrated eruptions, some very destructive. In 1754 several towns were overwhelmed by a flood of burning lava, which was thrown as far as fifteen miles from the crater, causing great damage, even at that distance. It is said that cinders fell in Manila, 34 miles away. There was a smell of sulphur in the air for months; the lake was full of dead fish; and the earth, for miles, was heaped with burning lava and ashes. This eruption lasted nearly six months. The town of Taal was entirely destroyed, and most of the inhabitants perished. On that day darkness hung over the whole sky, and the air was full of cries and lamentations. It seemed as if the end of the world had come.

The Mayon volcano, in Albay, has also had several destructive eruptions. Its crest is always fiery. In 1814, 2,500 natives were killed and wounded. During the last eruption, in 1888, fifteen lives were lost, and many cattle.

Near the volcano of Mayon are the sulphur springs of Albay, noted for their wonderful medicinal properties. Here, no doubt, some enterprising American will soon build a resort, or a sanitarium. And a most splendid location indeed it would be!

Though in the heart of the tropics, the Philippines are by no means unhealthy. The year is divided into the wet and the dry monsoons; the west coast being dry, the eastern coast wet, and vice-versa. The annual rainfall is about 90 inches. Mosquitoes and white ants are the most troublesome pests. Terrific tornados are common, and earthquakes are as plentiful as blackberries in an Alabama cemetery. In 1875 a typhoon destroyed 4000 houses and killed about 300 people. In 1863 an earthquake destroyed the greater part of Manila--3000 people were killed and injured. The earthquake of 1880 was also very destructive.

That of '63 occurred at night, and I remember it well. I was then a little boy, but the horrors of that night I can never forget. The earth trembled and seemed to rise and fall; huge fissures opened in the ground, and dull rumblings were heard everywhere, while the shrieks of tens of thousands arose on every hand. Many were buried in the ruins of their houses.

For weeks afterward, the people slept in the streets; for the greater part of the city was destroyed.

The earthquake of 1880 occurred while the people were at tiffin, or lunch. Hence the number of casualties was not so great; for most of the people were able to leave their houses before they were shaken down.

NATURAL BEAUTY OF THE ARCHIPELAGO.

A Botanist's Paradise.

The preceding chapters give but a faint idea of the great wealth of plant-life in the Philippine Islands, of the richness and abundance of the fruits, the variety and usefulness of the trees, the multitude of growths that add to the comfort and convenience of human life. Yet, after all is said, every description of the plant-life there gives but an inadequate idea of the real luxuriance and beauty of the group, and its value from a botanical point of view. These rich and multitudinous islands, seated in the midst of a tropical sea, form, in reality, a botanist's paradise, a region in which an ardent naturalist might browse for years, and still have new treasures to find.

I am no scientist. Indeed, I have often wished I were, when journeying through these lush tropical forests with their interminable variety of forms of plant-life; many of them of the greatest beauty, some odd and bizarre in appearance, numbers of them unknown to science; the whole presenting the appearance of a virgin wilderness, keeping its treasures intact for the one that can appreciate them. The Spaniard looks upon nature with a lazy eye, troubling himself little about anything that cannot be put to some immediate use. And he has jealously guarded the islands against alien footsteps, putting annoying obstacles in the way of all that sought to explore their interior. In consequence, the Philippines may be said to be in a large measure unexplored, waiting for the botanist to discover their treasures, the poet to sing their beauties, the practical man to develop their resources.

Energy and enterprise are sadly needed, and it will require the go-ahead American spirit to bring about the possibilities of those fertile tropical lands.

A Diadem of Island Gems.

And the earth possesses no scenes more beautiful than those to be found in this verdant and blooming Archipelago,--from its northern to its southern verge, this magnificent rosary of glowing islands, that Nature has hung above the heaving bosom of the warm Pacific. Of them all, none is more beautiful than Luzon. the largest and the richest of the whole, with its vast variety of attractive scenery, mountain and plain, lake and stream, everywhere rich with glossy leafage, clustered growths of bamboo and palm, fields of yellow cane, and verdant coffee-groves. Everywhere is wealth of trees, clothing the mountains to their summits, and bordering the long green miles of ocean-shore.

On a smaller scale, but not less beautiful than lordly Luzon, are the many minor islands, such as Panay, Negros, Cebú, Sámar, and others of names that would be strange to foreign ears. Here there are no stretches of barren lands, no drought-stricken shores, as in some of the isles of the West, no flat and chalky fields like those of Barbadoes; and even the loveliest of the Antilles must yield the palm of beauty to these charming isles of the eastern ocean. Here an abundant rainfall, an equable climate, a rich soil, and the warm influences of the equatorial waters combine to yield a luxuriant beauty and variety of scenery that must be observed to be appreciated.

The Magnificence of Tropical Scenery.

Tropical scenery cannot be pictured in words. It must be seen to be comprehended. One need not, too, go beyond the environs of Manila--that Venice of the East, with its labyrinth of canals and estuaries,--through which the tides of the broad bay daily ebb and flow,--and with its wealth of brilliant flowers and tropic verdure--to imagine oneself in a new world. Its surroundings are a dream of beauty.

Take any of the roads that run outward from the city. Say, starting from the Malecon promenade: one passes through stretches of country verdant with groves of graceful bamboos, lofty cocoanut palms, flowing-leaved plantains, and all the wonderful variety and luxuriance of tropical vegetation. Upon it the eye gazes unsated, the leaves and flowers alike being rich and gorgeous in tint and form. Often have I wandered, entranced, up the eddying Pasig, enraptured by the beauty of its scenery and the charm of its coloring, viewing, also from its leafy banks the splendors of sunset skies, grand and glowing to a degree seldom seen in temperate zones.

Further inland the mountain scenery never fails to charm, with the varied pictures presented by its forest-growth. A grotesqueness of form is often assumed by the trunks and limbs of tropical trees, and this, with the glossy green foliage, the rich hues and attractive shapes of the blossoms, the novel forms and colors of the fruits, the dash and sparkle of mountain streams, here and there breaking into lovely cascades, all co-ordinated to the eye, compose a spectacle of beauty seldom excelled.

Of all those plants, the tall and graceful bamboo ranks among the most beautiful. Everywhere it is found, growing in groups and clusters, scattered with great profusion and variety over hill and plain, along the streams, and around the native huts and villages. At the slightest breeze its fleecy tops and supple branches wave gracefully in the air, giving to the foliage the charm of perpetual motion. In addition, too, to its almost endless variety of uses, it has a mission beyond that of utility,--the mission of beauty, and it may justly be viewed as one of the choicest decorations of the island scenery.

The bamboo never grows monotonous. It presents forms and colors of wonderful attractiveness and variety, and so fully dealt with has it been by the brush of the painter and the pen of the poet, that it might well be given a fine-art gallery and a library of its own.

In the depths of the forest, and along the streams, beautiful orchids abound; here clustered on stately trees so dense of growth that the sun's rays scarcely penetrate their foliage; there giving life and color to the ground, and of such odd and amazing forms, that one often seems looking rather upon flowering birds and insects than upon plants. Here and there one finds oneself amid the spreading roots of the balete tree (Ficus Indica), from whose broad buttresses rises the mighty trunk, of such girth and even rotundity, that the natives make cart-wheels from sections of it. Down from the boughs, sixty feet in air, hang the rope-like lianes, descending, like nature's cordage, to the ground, while to the limbs cling orchids and other foreign growths, until the entire great tree seems a botanical world in itself.

I have passed hours wandering spellbound in the forest, or gazing with eyes of wonder and delight into its silent depths. Yes, little of the poet as I have in my make-up, I, too, have been taken prisoner by a beauty and a grandeur that I found it difficult to tear myself away from.

And these scenes are not merely local. Indeed, wherever one goes into the rural regions of the islands he finds the same amazing prodigality of tropic growth. There are thousands of square miles of dense forest within which the foot of the white man has rarely ever set; thousands perhaps upon which none but the natives have ever gazed; costly woods, whose value can be reckoned only in millions of dollars. Valuable herbs, medicinal plants, and hot springs abound; and the naturalist and the economic botanist alike are sadly needed to open up this luxuriant land to the world.

The Promise of the Future.

Under new control I expect to see, in the twentieth century, a new destiny for this noble group of islands. Whether the people be given their freedom under the protection and influence of the United States, or the islands become a direct appanage of that or of some other enterprising nation of the West, a turn in the tide of Philippine affairs can hardly fail to set in, and the possibilities of the land be developed to an extent undreamed of under the effete rule of Spain.

I expect to see an invasion of this island-realm by three classes of modern enterprise. The scientist is sure to find his way there, and tell the world of the new and the strange in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms. With him will come the engineer, opening up roads right and left, laying a network of iron rails, where now only the buffalo-cart drags along, introducing the latest machinery for mining and farming-industries, and starting a hum of activity in every quarter of the long-slumbering land. With these also will enter the practical economist, in search, not of the new, but of the useful, prospecting the forests for plants of economic value, seeking for new mines of coal and iron, tracing the gold placer-beds up to their mother-veins, seeking everywhere for what the Philippines have to add to the useful productions of the world.

These will be the twentieth century pioneers of this promising Archipelago, the results of their labors being exploited by the merchant and the manufacturer. The seas shall teem with ships carrying the products of the islands to foreign shores, and bringing back full cargoes to supply the demands of the islanders, commerce steadily growing in amount as civilization awakens the natives to the perception of new wants.

Examples of a similar rejuvenation could easily be pointed out, and there is no conceivable reason why the Philippines should not be added to the list. These islands have been lavishly dealt with by nature; they have an industrious population; yet they have been allowed to remain for centuries in a semi-savage industrial condition; they still await the touch of the magic hand of modern enterprise to arouse them from their state of decadence, and swing them into the tide of human progress. Under this influence prosperity and activity must come to them, as it has come to other lands, and those long-neglected and abused islands be made to "bud and blossom like the rose."

Certainty of conviction and opinion, too, leads me to affirm that, with sanitary arrangements in all the cities, with hygienic living, and American enterprise, philanthropy, and valor in the islands, and free educational facilities eventually,--all will manifestly increase the morale of the islanders and develop a just appreciation of the natural beauties of their bounteous realm; hence, what is now confusedly enjoyed and but vaguely beheld in nature, will, in a comparatively brief period, become simple, clear, sympathetic, and clearly formulated to their apprehension.

And all this, as well as many other allied benefits co-existent with a permanent American occupation, will come with personal education, personal elevation; and without lessening the labor-producing quality of the native, or the outward physical radiation that constitutes his health and vigor. Health, like knowledge, will come to him in ever-widening circles, and Nature, in full festival--as she is during the greater part of the Philippine year--will also appeal to him as she has never appealed before.

All this may be hazardous prophecy; it may appear optimistic, æsthetic, and fanciful, but I have talked with many rude untutored natives, that, frankly, astonished me with the unwitting revelation of latent poetry, love of imagery, and spiritual longings in their nature.

Knowing all this, and also the adaptability of the cultured native, hence the rosy view of the possible development of the Philippine Islands' native population.

The vivid contrasts, the checkered scenery, and the pulchritudinous beauty of the islands would ravish the soul of the impressionistic painter, and inspire his brush to masterpieces. There forest and plain, sky and sea, unroll in unexpected beauty or marvelous grandeur at every turn; until, after visiting the interior or skirting the shores of many islands, one has a kind of kaleidoscopic memory, yet none the less brilliant, perfectly formed, and orderly--each in harmonious sequence--of long lines of shadowy hills, majestic mountain-ranges, with forest-clad slopes verging toward the sea; pretty rambling creeks and gurgling rivulets, cliff-bound coasts, cultivated plain and rugged hill; here and there shaded dells with mountain torrents roaring, unseen; a glorious sunset, or a splendid sunrise present in the memory-pictures of mountain, sea, and plain.

A VILLAGE FEAST.

The Morning Ceremonies.

Nothing in the life of the people of the Philippine Islands is more interesting to the foreigner than the village feasts; nothing is more indicative of the character of the people, who are exceedingly fond of ornament and display. Every village has its own feasts, to which all the natives in the surrounding district contribute;--in which all alike take part.

These feasts are always of a religious character, and are encouraged by the clergy, who find them not only lucrative, but also conducive to religious feeling.

Come with me and visit the busy morning-scene of a fiesta in a populous village near the capital. As we enter the broad roadway, winding with serpentine folds among the gleaming bungalows, we see everywhere signs of unusual activity; groups of smiling natives, dressed in their Sunday best, hurry by, chattering gaily. Here comes a long line of carromatas (small carts) drawn by wiry ponies, driven by well-to-do native planters: with the lofty consciousness of worldly prosperity they sit erect in imperturbable dignity.

We join a passing group and follow them past the low, airy houses, all decorated now with gorgeous bunting and gay festoons. Flags and streamers flutter on every house-top; the whole village presents a scene of picturesque animation; for the tropical luxuriance of the trees and the myriad flowers of gorgeous hue, form a brilliant background.

We arrive at the village-green, and here stands a motley assemblage, constantly reinforced by the throngs that come in by every path and roadway. An expression of eager anticipation is on the faces of all as they gaze in the direction of the little church that fronts the crowded court. The church is a low, massive, white building, with large pillars in front, that give it a semi-classic appearance; it forms a curious, but not uninteresting, contrast to the many-gabled bungalows.

The bells in the campanile begin to toll slowly, and from the midst of the crowd instantly comes a burst of glorious music. The village-band stationed there renders effectively an operatic air as the natives slowly enter the church. After all are seated, the priest preaches a short sermon, full of pith and of pertinent suggestion about the Saint whom the day commemorates. The audience is then dismissed with a benediction; and to the lively music of some composer it files leisurely out. The natives see nothing incongruous in the introduction of operatic music into divine worship. They are moved to devotion no less by the stirring strains of one of Sousa's military marches or a languorous waltz of Strauss, than by the solemn Te Deums of the Catholic ritual. To them all music is divine.

We stop a few minutes to watch the cura,--the parish priest,--as he dispenses blessings to his devout parishioners, who now crowd round him with every appearance of reverential affection.

Our friend the cura is a veritable father to his people. As he listens to the ingenuous confidences of his flock, his face beams with that rare benevolence born of godliness; there is a whisper of domestic sorrow that he needs must hear, a story of happiness or a tale of wrong. For each and all he has a word of kindly affection, and as he sees us waiting near the entrance, he approaches with outstretched hand and invites us to the grand procession in the evening.

The people have dispersed, and have returned to their homes. Already the sun is high in the sky, pouring a deluge of heat upon the landscape. From the horizon, mountain after mountain springs airily into the heavens, their blue peaks suggesting a place of perpetual coolness, upon which the eye loves to linger amid the oppressive blaze of the tropic sun.

Surrounding the village are forests of majestic trees, of indescribable grandeur, and of unparalleled magnificence. Among these the white houses of the planters nestle peacefully.

Each house has its own tiny garden, fenced in with reeds, and forms a miniature paradise, where are flowers of splendid hue, creepers with purple blossoms, red-coral blooms, and trees of palm, mango, orange, lanzon, santol, and giant bananas, whose rich fruits, in giant clusters, tempt the eye of the beholder. Here the native is a petty king: for his own little domain, for nine months of the year, yields sufficient for his wants. Nature, indeed, gives him a golden harvest for only the reaping.

We have been invited to spend the day with a well-to-do native planter, who, at the conclusion of the service, has sought us out. He lives on the outskirts of the village, and we are soon with him in his carromata, speeding leisurely over the highway.

We approach his home--a typical native dwelling; the body of the house is raised about six feet from the ground, and is mounted on thick pieces of stone. This allows the air to circulate freely beneath, and prevents the entrance of snakes and insects, and is in every way conducive to health and comfort. We mount the wide stairway, that connects the house with the ground, and enter upon a broad open piazza facing the street, called a cahida. The sides of this are formed of sliding windows, composed of small square panes of mother-of-pearl, opaque to the heat, but admitting the rays of light. Here we are introduced to the various members of the family, who receive us kindly and offer sugared dainties and a cigarette.

Beyond is a large room, with walls of window and with sliding doors. Here are some chairs and a table, covered with a handsomely embroidered cloth. Upon the walls, which are covered with cloth instead of plaster, are various bric-a-brac, artistically arranged upon scrolls; while several engravings of religious subjects and one or two family portraits hang between. From the centre of the ceiling hangs a crystal chandelier with globes of colored glass; a small oratory, supporting the brazen image of some Saint, stands in the corner. The broad floor-planks, daily scrubbed and polished with plantain leaves, are as smooth and clean as a mirror.

Opening from this main room are several smaller rooms, used as bedrooms. A narrow passage-way leads to the bath-room and to the kitchen--in a separate building. The design of the whole domicile seems to aim at cleanliness and coolness,--both essentials of comfort in this hot, moist climate.

The roof is patched with nipa palm, and the outside walls of bamboo--painted white and striped with green and blue--are covered with grotesque carvings. This, with the broad eaves and the wide balconies, gives the house a most picturesque appearance.

We note with gratification the many signs of family affection around us. The father, kind and considerate; the mother, sweet and sympathetic; the children, quiet, obedient, and well-behaved--a picture of domestic happiness that is representative rather than exceptional.

How the Afternoon is Spent.

After tiffin, each retires to his own room to enjoy the siesta; and thus we sleep soundly through the heavy afternoon hours.

The siesta over, we venture into the village. Through the streets are hurrying scores of men, nearly every one with a cock under his arm. They are going to the cock-pit. We follow, and soon we come to our destination.

Imagine a large bamboo building with a thatched roof, wherein hundreds of natives have gathered, for, what is to them, the supreme enjoyment of life. Around the door are one or two guards in Spanish uniform; but everything appears so decorous and orderly that it is indeed difficult to realize that we are in a gigantic gambling den. Nearly every native has with him his fighting-cock, which he loves as devotedly as one of his own children, and upon which he has spent much care and interest. The "farmer," often a Chinaman, who has secured a license from the Government to run the cock-pit, stands in the middle of the ring, around him a group of natives excited and eager.

Two fighting-cocks, each armed with a steel spur three or four inches long, are in the hands of their respective owners. Every eye is riveted upon the prospective contestants. The farmer, or proprietor, announces that the contest is about to begin, and from every hand dollars rain into the ring, each person staking a certain amount upon his favorite.

This done, all is breathless expectation, and at the word "Casada" (meaning matched), and at "Largo" (let go), the fowls are let loose.

The fight waxes hot and furious; the two cocks are as pugnacious as bull-pups. But it is soon over; for, at a well-directed thrust from the steel spur, one of the contestants lies dead.

The crier now announces the name of the winner, and all the winners come down into the middle of the ring and pick up their own stakes, as well as the amount won by the wager.

Strangers often remark how unusual it is that amid so much confusion, and where there is apparently boundless opportunity for cheating, there should be so much honesty and good faith.

However, every man is to be trusted. I have never known but one exception--he was instantly hacked to pieces with knives. There are over a hundred of these gambling pits around Manila. It is the natives' greatest diversion. Opposition to this sport would almost create a rebellion; and so the Spanish Government wisely makes the best of it, pocketing almost a million dollars a year from the licenses.

The Evening Procession.

It is night. Against the sombre gloom of the heavens twinkle millions of stars: they too are a part of the grand illumination that is to be the climax of the whole fiesta. Again the village-green in front of the church! It is alive with the happy villagers, decked in all their finery--the men and boys in airy, colored shirts and white trousers, the women and girls in splendid skirts and brilliant chemisettes.

All are standing bareheaded. The band is discoursing sweet music, and the people stand entranced. Not a sound is heard till the tune is ended; then, on every hand, arises a decorous murmur of delight. Here comes the cura. He at once proceeds to arrange the procession, which is the event of the feast, and to which the villagers have been looking forward, with joyous anticipation, for many months. Mysterious groups are issuing from the church. These are assigned to their respective positions by the father, who, in this, as in all else, is the master of ceremonies. Let us, however, leave the crowd and move a little way up the street, where, before long, the procession is to pass.

Over the roadway, from airy arches, gaily decorated with bunting, are suspended Chinese lanterns. On the gateways to the houses, on all the fences that line the street, hang little fat-pots, whose pale flicker, multiplied a thousand-fold, produces a most romantic effect, to which the lights on the arches and the many-colored illuminated lamps in the windows add a subdued splendor.

We have not long to wait; for the procession has been speedily arranged, and is already making its way up the street, the band, at the head, playing an operatic air.

Behind come the happy participants, two by two; men and women alternating. All carry torches, whose glow throws over their grave faces a gleam of soft light, that harmonizes well with the nature of the occasion.

And now comes the spangled image of some old Saint borne aloft on a litter; while a murmur of applause bursts from the admiring onlookers. From every house rockets are shot into the heavens, showering on the dusky night constellations of colored stars.

Thus, Saint after Saint, martyr after martyr, is majestically borne along, till near the end of the procession appears the image of the Virgin, herself "decked with jewels bright and with glory crowned."

Now the murmur rises to a shout of devout acclaim: the Queen of the festive night, Our Lady, passes on.

Thus, through every street, winds the brilliant procession under the lighted arches, returning finally to the village-court, whence it started. Here the priest pronounces a benediction, and with a clash of triumphant music the participants are dismissed.

The Entertainment at Home.

Again we accompany our host back to his hospitable mansion, where a generous meal has been prepared for us. We partake heartily of the good things: roast-pig, chicken, many kinds of native fruits, and rice. At the close, cigarettes are passed round,--both men and women smoking,--and we soon enter into conversation while the newer arrivals are being served.

It is our host's grand reception night. A hundred guests have partaken of his bounty, and the veranda and the sitting-room are crowded with friends and neighbors,--invited and uninvited; all are equally welcome. Cigars and cigarettes are passed round, and now the fun begins. A girl--a wonderfully sweet and pretty creature--with glowing black eyes and long, loose black hair--advances to the centre of the room, and croons a low, plaintive air, reminiscent of unrequited love. She accompanies her music with a weird dance, impressive through its very simplicity. Gradually her tones grow louder and her movements quicker, signifying all the varying degrees of advance and refusal. Her supple body glides into a thousand graceful curves, each eloquent of beauty. Her pale olive face becomes mantled with a rich crimson tide as she lashes herself into a fury of passion. She feigns anger, and, stamping her pretty feet, now in petulant disdain, now in a paroxysm of wrath, stands the incarnation of beautiful rage. It is a picture full of tragic power, of deep significance.

She is approaching the climax of her passion. Her voice is sharp and shrill as it trembles with scorn or defiance. Forward and backward her body sways with a rhythmic swing that compels the attention of every beholder. Many, in fact, accompany her every motion with the sympathetic movement of unconscious imitation: their faces mirror the feelings of the dancer.

And now a note of triumph rings out, and the singer's face glows with an expression of ecstasy; while, bounding forward, her splendid hair trailing its waves of ebony, she seems transformed,--the apotheosis of joy. Then slowly decreasing in volume, her voice sinks to a low whisper of serene content, and, blushing modestly at the applause, she retires to give place to others.

Two young men and a girl now come forward, and a scene of desperate rivalry on the part of the men, and of tantalizing coquetry on the part of the maiden, is enacted. This is by means of a series of intricate dance-movements, no less striking than original. A pretty tableau truly! And one not lacking in sentiment and in spontaneous expression. A foreigner would believe that these lithe young natives were in terrible earnest, and that they were rehearsing a passion of the heart! Such, indeed, is often the case, and many a girl has, through the license of this dance, shown her preference. Many a youth, too, has seen his hopes blasted, and his rival exalted, by a dainty pirouette.

This dance is followed by another, in which an exquisite girl and a fat young man take part. It is an Oriental rhapsody; a sort of couchee-couchee,--very suggestive and voluptuous, according to Western ideas. There are wrigglings and writhings, and clasps and embraces; all the sweet contortions of secret love, that the natives take as a matter of course, just as Europeans regard the waltz.

Dance after dance follows, and it is getting late. But another entertainment is in store for us; and so once more we venture forth into the night--en route to the village-green.

The Moro-Moro, and the Fireworks.

Here has been hastily erected a large booth, around which hundreds of natives are standing in an attitude of profound interest. A moro-moro play is going on. This is a sort of Philippine miracle-play, in which kings and queens and soldiers, and various persons with Biblical names, contend together. There is rivalry, ruin, and despair; there is death, murder, and awful retribution. It is a tumultuous tragedy; in which, too, are some subtle and refined elements, and a kind of gross humor, represented by the stage-fool and by the lads that take the female parts. There is, however, no coarseness; not a suggestion of it.

Love and religious persuasion and devotion mark the greatest number of moro-moro performances, and while some of the plays are fairly good,--not judging from too lofty a standpoint,--yet, on the other hand, it is indeed amusing to note how little in this line, how thin a texture, pleases the people, bombast and fury, honeyed accents and unnecessary vicarious suffering, false and flagrant violations of dramatic art--all alike are viewed with breathless interest, and applauded, or stoically witnessed as the occasion demands. The entire play is given in the Tagal language.

The native spectators, indeed, enter into the action of the play with, as it were, a grim earnest; as if all their mental faculties were judging complex emotions and nice situations.

Nothing, indeed, in the native character is more remarkable than its unvarying decorum. Here the happy crowd has been standing for three hours, agape with delight, drinking in the rude splendors of tinsel potentates.

Here, too, they would be willing to stand for several hours more; but it is nearly midnight, and a sudden illumination on the other side of the square announces that the time for departure is almost at hand. It is seen that the villagers have constructed a miniature castle, now ablaze with fire-works. Various designs are traced by the spreading glow, and scores of rockets shoot into the sky, dropping a shower of brilliant stars. Ever and anon, at some unusual display, a murmur of applause rises from the admiring throng. Entranced, they stay until the last rocket has been drowned in the vast ocean of Night. Then all leave as silently as they came, and the village square is soon deserted; while the lamps and lanterns are allowed to burn till their glow is quenched in the brightness of the morrow's sun.

HISTORY OF COMMERCE IN THE PHILIPPINES.

The Spanish Policy.

Commerce has its two forms, the extensive and the intensive; one that considers the world at large, and one that seeks to confine itself to the interests of a nation. The latter, before the nineteenth century, was everywhere the type of colonial commerce. The nations held their colonies in leading strings; cramped and crowded them in their natural growth, and so checked their development that they lost the benefit that they might have gained from a more liberal policy. Of all the nations, Spain pursued this short-sighted policy most rigidly. Not only in commerce, but in everything else, she cramped her colonies. Foreign trade was so sternly prohibited that, in her period of supremacy, she put to death any alien merchant that ventured into one of her ports. Her colonies were her cows; no one could milk them but herself; but she milked them so dry as to starve them of their natural yield.

Spain never learned the lesson that the other nations were taking to heart. In the nineteenth century her policy with her colonies was as illiberal as in the eighteenth. As a result, rebellions everywhere broke out; one by one the colonies became free, and the country whose possessions covered more than a continent at the beginning of the century, held, at the end, but a shred of her once-splendid dominion. Spain's treatment of the Philippine Islands in their commercial interests, forms a marked example of what I have previously said, and an extended account of this remarkable method of trade cannot fail to be of interest.

The Philippines, at first, in 1569, were too far away to be dealt with directly, and were made an appanage of the intermediate colony of Mexico, through which they were reached and controlled. The method was curious. The natives were no sooner subdued and put under Spanish governors than they were required to pay roundly in taxes and tribute to the royal treasury. All this belonged to the crown, but some of it had to be devoted to the government of the colony; and the Spanish grandees that exiled themselves to that far land, took good care to pay themselves well for the penance.

For many years the taxes were paid to the treasury wholly in colonial produce, and for many more years, partly so. This material was exchanged for Chinese wares, junks from the Celestial kingdom visiting the islands each spring, and bartering silks and diverse goods of China for the rice, hemp, and other produce of the islands, which had been collecting during the year in the royal stores at Manila.

The Treasure-galleons.

The method of dealing with the goods thus received was, to say the least, peculiar. They were done up each year in bales, always just fifteen hundred in number, and of exactly the same size and shape, for shipment to Mexico. From the first year after the formation of the colony until the year 1811, a fixed process was maintained. Every year a State-galleon left Manila for Mexico, bearing the baled Chinese goods, which represented the Philippine tribute. Every year the ship returned with a portion of the proceeds to the starting-point, this being known as the Mexican subsidy. One galleon and no more. For two centuries, and longer, this rigid system was kept up, the commerce of the islands being limited to this conveyance of tribute across the seas. Navidad was at first the Mexican port of call. Then Acapulco was chosen, and for more than two hundred years the State-galleon, Naos de Acapulco, yearly came and went across the Pacific, carrying tribute for Spain. The ships employed were very different from modern commercial craft. Short of length, wide of beam, and light of draught, with high elevation in bow and stern, above water they presented something of the outline of a crescent moon. They were of about 1,500 tons burden, had four decks, and were provided with guns; for, the waters they crossed were not secure from hostile craft, and Spain not infrequently had the loss of one of her rich galleons to mourn.

Thus it continued, until the rebellion in Mexico put an end to the traffic, the last of the treasure-galleons leaving for Mexico in 1811. The last for Manila set sail in 1815. There were other reasons than the war to put an end to the old traffic. The expense had become too great and the profit too small. Spain's finances had fallen into a lamentable state, and the Naos de Acapulco was, perforce, withdrawn. Needy politicians, who knew little about seamanship, but much about perquisites, had forced themselves into the galleon, whose commander received an annual salary of $40,000, the chief executive officer $25,000, and the quartermaster nine per cent. of the cargo, the total of which was no small sum.

It was an odd idea to restrict the commerce of a group of the richest islands of the tropic seas, to a single vessel carrying the annual tribute of the island. In fact, it was not quite so restricted. The tribute-cargo did not fill the ship. There was some space left, and the use of this was given to a few favored merchants, the Consulado, as they were called, a trading ring, each member of which must have resided a certain number of years in the Philippines, and have a fortune of at least $8,000. This surplus freight was regulated by the issue of boletas,--documents that long did duty as paper money, passing from hand to hand. The demand for space much exceeded the supply, and the right to ship on the annual galleon often went to favored hands, merchants being set aside by churchmen, officials, and others with grasping palms.

It may be that the idea of adding to the island-trade by supplying more ships, never penetrated the thick official cuticle of Spain. At all events, the single galleon sailed back and forth year after year, until the years lengthened into centuries, and while other nations were sending their deeply-freighted craft to all the ports of the earth. It was odd and lamentable to see this pitiful travesty of commercial enterprise kept up until after the dawn of the busy nineteenth century.

The yearly value of the official cargo sent from Manila was at first limited to $250,000. But such was the demand for the goods in Mexico, that one hundred per cent. was usually realized on the sales. The return-trade was not permitted to exceed the value of the proceeds,--$500,000, in coin or stores. In this way Mexican dollars, the recognized coin of the colony, made their way thither in large quantities. They were largely absorbed by China, where they were highly welcome. A certain sum was necessary to maintain the colony. This--the royal subsidy (Real Situado)--was fixed by decree from time to time, coming out of the proceeds of the annual tribute.

In saying that the annual galleon conveyed all the commerce of the Philippines, I should have confined this statement to Western trade. There was some commerce with the East. Indian and Persian goods reached Manila in considerable quantities. The same was the case, as I have stated, with Chinese wares. But the absurd restrictions of Spain hampered this trade. No Spaniard was permitted to go to China to buy his own goods. He must wait for the Chinese junks, and content himself with what they chose to bring.