vil ways; the new prophet who could point at any object
and make it disappear, and a hundred other superstitious extravagances.

Jolo (_vide_ p. 149), one of the prettiest places on earth, has
been improved since the American occupation. Apart from the many
new buildings erected for military convenience, there is now a fine
jetty with a tramway, a landing-stage for small vessels, a boys'
and a girls' school, some new residences, etc. The municipality
is under the presidency of a military officer, and the clean,
orderly aspect of the town is evidence of Anglo-Saxon energy in
its administration. In 1904 there was only one drinking-saloon,
kept by a Bohemian-born American, who paid $6,000 a year for his
monopoly licence. Much to the disgust of the military, a society of
well-intentioned temperance ladies in America procured the prohibition
of alcohol-selling in military canteens and Post Exchanges. The
eastern extremity of Jolo is appropriated for military purposes,
and on the rising ground is situated the stabling for the cavalry
horses. There is a large military hospital, well appointed, and a
club-house for whites, overlooking the picturesque harbour. Outside
the town walls towards the west the dwellings of natives, chiefly from
other islands in their origin, extend about a mile as far as Tulay,
where the Sultan has a residence. On the way one passes through the
little square, in the centre of which stands a monument erected to
commemorate the landing here of Gov.-General Corcuera, April 17,
1638. During my last visit to Jolo I called upon His Highness the
Sultan at Tulay, accompanied by the civil interpreter, Mr. J. Schueck,
whose late father I had known many years before. [263] Tulay signifies
_bridge_ in Tagalog, and probably this place derives its name from the
bridge spanning the rivulet, which forms a natural division between
this village and the Jolo ex-mural western suburb. Just across the
bridge, in most unattractive surroundings, stands a roofed rough pile
of wooden planks--the residence of the Sultan. At a few paces to
the left of it one sees another gloomy structure, smaller and more
cheerless than the royal abode--it is the domicile of Hadji Butu,
the Sultan's Prime Minister.

Passing through the ground-floor, which serves as a vestibule and
storehouse for nondescript rubbish, I was met by several armed Moros
who conducted me up a dark staircase, the lid of which, at the top,
was raised to admit me to