thirst." Then the Sampoluc and
Quiapo districts, where the carriage-lamps are weaving back and forth
among pavilions softly lighted, where the tinkle of the _samosen_ is
heard, and where O Taki San, immodest but bewitching, stands behind
the beadwork curtain, her kimono parted at the knee,--this is the
world of the Far East, the cup of Circe.

There was the pathetic case of the young man who "went to pieces"
in Manila recently. He was a Harvard athlete, but was physically
unsound. As a result of an unfortunate blow received upon the head
a short time after his arrival in Manila, he became despondent and
morose. After undue excitement he would fall into a dreamy trance. At
such times he would fancy that his mother had died, and he would
be convulsed with sorrow, breaking unexpectedly into a rousing
college song. He meditated suicide, and was prevented several times
from taking his own life. On coming to Manila from the provinces,
he stoutly refused to be sent home, but lived at his friends'
expense, trying to borrow money from everybody that he met. Other
young fellows overwhelmed by debts have tried to break loose from
the Islands, but have been brought back from Japanese ports to be
placed in Bilibid. That is the saddest life of all--in Bilibid. Many
a convict in that prison, far away, has been a gentleman, and there
are mothers in America who wonder why their boys do not come home.

Somebody once said that Manila life was a perpetual farewell. The days
of the arrival and departure of the transports are the days that vary
the monotony. As the procession of big mail-wagons rumbles down the
Escolta to the post-office, as the letters from America are opened, as
the last month's newspapers and magazines appear in the shop-windows,
comes a moment of regret and lonesomeness. But as the transport, with
its tawny load of soldiers and of joyful officers, pulls out, the
dweller in Manila, long ago resigned to fate, takes up the grind again.

Sometimes, on Sunday morning, he will take the customs-house launch
out to one of the Manila-Hong Kong boats, to see a friend off for the
homeland and "God's country." Leaning over the taffrail, while the
crowd below is celebrating the departure by the opening of bottles,
he will fancy that he, too, is going--till the warning whistle sounds,
and it is time to go ashore. The best view of Manila, it is said,
is that obtained from the stern deck of an outgoing steamer, as the
red lighthouse