towns in the Philippines speak Spanish, and, as only one or two of our
party could at that time boast of more than a formal acquaintance with
the Castilian tongue, the exchange of ideas that evening between us
and the Filipinos was of necessity not very rapid.

The necessity of easy communication between us was rendered somewhat
less indispensable by the announcement of supper as soon as we were
rested from our trip. When we had taken our places at the table a
young Filipino about twenty-five years of age arose and gave a lengthy
toast to the recent union of the Philippines with the United States.
But as we Americans were unable to scale the dizzy heights of his
climaxes or sink to the depths of his pathos, we forewent the
pleasures of his oratory and turned our attention to the savory odor
of lamb, chicken, and roast pig that came slyly stealing up our
nostrils to send us nerve dispatches about the gastronomic delights of
our not far distant future.

At last the toast was ended and the world-wide soup ushered in a long
train of things good to eat, served in a style better fitted to the
delights of the appetite than to the formalities of dinners, for, as
soon as the pleasant task of one dish was completed by any one, the
next was served him at once regardless of the progress made by the
others at the table.

The last course was _dulce_. The new-comers to the Philippines will
not be long in making the acquaintance of this dish, and at all
meetings, both public and private, where eatables are served, it
performs an important part. It is anything sweet, and it may vary all
the way from an india-rubber-like black mixture of cocoanut milk and
dirty sugar to a really toothsome and respectable confection. No
matter of what materials a dish is composed, just so long as it is
sweet, it is _dulce_.

After paying our respects to this last course, we arose from the table
and entered a great rectangular room from the center of whose ceiling
hung a large glass chandelier, a mass of shimmering crystals. In the
chairs around the room were the wealth, the youth, and the beauty of
the town.

The first and also the last number of every Filipino dance of any
formality is the "_rigodon_." The dancers are arranged in a square, or
quadrangle according to the number participating, and are then led
through a tangled maze of figures that so utterly bewilders the novice
that he sinks into his chair at the end of the dance wondering how it