about it. The news has a different flavor, anyway, when one is away from home; somehow the crimes seem horrible and not fascinating when one sees them presented in unfamiliar headlines and against a background of green trees; and the great events which would arouse one's eager curiosity when at home are seen indifferently and as through a glass, darkly, when he is at the seashore and wearing his smoked spectacles to save his eyes from the glare. The Spectator has been perfectly delighted to see how readily he could turn from printed pages to men and women and sky and shore and wayside flowers, and forget to think, and just be happy in living.

But though he took no notes and registered no "impressions," the writing habit is strong in the Spectator, and now that he is in the harness again he is tempted to condense some of his nebulous memories into a drop of printer's ink-if printer's ink comes in drops-the Spectator isn't quite sure. One thought that came naturally to the Spectator during one of his excursions was of the delightfully interesting way in which history's panorama unfolds itself to those who wait till the panorama is painted and then look back. Life is so much more entertaining because we haven't all of us the gift of prophecy, and cannot see ahead! If we could, there would be no pleasant surprises. And then we wouldn't believe our second-sight if we had it. It would seem too incredible. The Iroquois Indians who a few hundred years ago had undisputed possession of the beautiful valley which afterward became the scene of the Battle of Saratoga could not have believed, the Spectator thought as he drove over the battlefield, that their hunting-grounds would in a few years utterly pass away from them, and become the scene of a great contest that was to decide "American" destiny-a destiny in which they, the original Americans, were to have almost no part; and the few thousand heroic patriots who there paved the way for a free continent could as little have credited the wondrous changes of our century, or realized that a great gay summer city would spring up near to their battlefield, from which pilgrimages would be made to their monument with its for

ever-to-be-unfilled niche for one of the bravest of their leaders, who was yet to be known as the basest of Americans. And if our eyes were opened to another century, would they not see just as strange and unrealizable transformations? How interesting it all is, and will be!

The Spectator passed a few days in another place where the lesson that the old order changes was also most impressive. Ichabod!-the glory has departed— would perhaps be the name with which the survivors of the ancien régime of Nantucket would like to rechristen the island. They love to tell of the brave days of old, when Nantucket's ships were on every sea, when the flourishing port had more inhabitants than the city of Brooklyn of that time, when the old houses were full of treasures brought from every land, the spoil of her roving captains, and when the great intellectual lights of the Nation were proud to be called upon to address a Nantucket audience. And now, they say, the great fleet of ships has passed away, the commerce is extinct, the old houses have been burned down or broken up, the treasures have passed into alien hands, and the island has become the haunt of the summer boarder! A dismal fate indeed-for all but the boarder! And yet the Spectator found that some things remain. There are a few of the old houses left with the "walk" on the roof, from which the skipper's wife could look far out to sea to learn whether her Jack was to be home again. There is the town crier, with his quaint cry, as the Spectator happened to hear it one evening, of "Roll of bills-forty dollars-lost this afternoon. Finder will be rewarded. Apply to Cliff House." There is the two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old house, the oldest on the island, with its familiar legend of the drunken Indian falling through the closet where he was hiding with murderous intent, and its pathetic bric-a-brac of figureheads and nameboards of vessels wrecked on the island. There is 'Sconset, with its queer little boxes of houses, its Town Pump, and its antediluvian railway running to Nantucket town. There is the Historical Room in the abandoned Quaker meeting-house, with its curios from all over the world, and especially its century-old log books

bound in sailcloth, telling of the voyages of daring Nantucketers to the South Seas, and containing much curious information besides the to-be-expected entries of "Gentle Gails from the Southwest" and the rough pictures of whales in the paragraphs describing their capture, and of whales' flukes when the prey escaped. And there is Nantucket's marvelous Guide-book. That merits a paragraph by itself.

The Spectator is somewhat familiar with the extravagances of summer resort pamphlets, but for what he might call balloonatic effervescence, which carries the reader far above the laws of gravitation and grammar, the Guide to Nantucket excels. The first page rivets the attention, and the rest are like unto it. "Nantucket," it begins, "that queenly island whose ineffable supremacy over other seashore resorts, is steadily forging ahead in universal popularity, is to-day one of the most sought after watering places. The rich sights of quaint mannerisms and the unchanged customs of ye years ago, are readily conducible to a complete reversal of the customary visions that confront the metropolitan visitor. On every hand the tourist is encountered by sights that have a refreshing tendency upon the intellect, that to be fully comprehended must be experienced." Even

So.

The voyage to the island brings out the descriptive powers of a Gautier "Young and old commingle together alike, each intent upon partaking freely of the occasion. . . . Now for a brief period is observed the broken coast noted for its promiscuity. . . . The varied array of spectacular scenery and natural splendor are so happily blended that, when contemplated in their ensemble, they cannot but elicit the unmitigated enthusiasm of the observer. . . . Gaily tripping with swan-like ease, the boat pursues its southeasterly course " until the landing is reached, when "their pent-up spirits burst their bonds and they are an incorrigible mass of struggling humanity." And of the ringing of the silver-toned Unitarian Church bell (a bell that, like most things in Nantucket, has a history) the Guide affirms: "It is nine o'clock! Clanging clearly with monotonous bingbang, the curfew rings out." And much

more of the same delightful quality, which the Spectator refrains from quoting for fear he should be charged with inserting an advertisement in his chaste columns. This Guide-book is certainly one of Nantucket's "uniquest" productions, and sufficiently attests the change from the days when in its Athenæum were heard the voices of Everett, Phillips, Lowell, and Emerson.

Is it permitted to the conscientiously lazy vacationist to hear a summer lecture? As a general thing, no; especially must. he not attend a lecture given within walls, be they of wood or stone. But if he can lie under the spreading branches of a great pine, gazing at vistas of clouds and sky while listening peacefully to the murmur of peripatetic philosophers, is not Idleness justified of herself? And though he may not wish to spend many hours even in this innocuously studious way, he gains certain benefits by living in the neighborhood of such a lecture platform. The table talk, for instance, that he hears is apt to be more edifying in the vicinity of philosophers than in that of others. And so the Spectator is glad that, after all, his outing, which began among the thoughtless throngs of a popular wateringplace, with its appeal to the eye and the ear in the shape of fashionable sirens, swift horses, and seductive music, should have ended under the Lysekloster pines at Greenacre, Maine, amid prophets and prophetesses from both Occident and Orient. To the man who is determined to be lazy for a week or two, for conscience' sake, refreshment comes from association both with the daughters of laughter and with the sons of wisdom.

I

T has been my privilege to have been intimately associated with the Filipino people for a short time at a most interesting period of their history. With the permission of Admiral Dewey, I spent the greater part of the months of October and November of 1898, in company with Paymaster W. B. Wilcox, U.S.N., in the interior of the northern part of the island of Luzon. It will be remembered that at that date the United States had not yet announced its policy with regard to the Philippines. The terms of the treaty with Spain were being negotiated by our commissioners at Paris, and the fate of the islands hung in the balance. In the meantime the native population, taking matters into their own hands, had declared

The author of this article, it should be stated, is a Naval Cadet. The report made by Mr. Sargent and Paymaster Wilcox was regarded by Admiral Dewey as of great value, and the Admiral commended them for "the success of their undertaking, their thoroughness of observation, and the ability shown in their report."THE EDITORS,

their independence from all foreign jurisdiction, and had set up a provisional government, with Aguinaldo at its head. Although this government has never been recognized, and in all probability will go out of existence without recognition, yet it cannot be denied that, in a region occupied by many millions of inhabitants, for nearly six months it stood alone between anarchy and order. The military forces of the United States held control only in Manila, with its environs, and in Cavite, and had no authority to proceed further; while in the vast remaining districts the representatives of the only other recog nized power on the field were prisoners in the hands of their despised subjects. It was the opinion at Manila during this anomalous period in our Philippine relations, and possibly in the United States as well, that such a state of affairs must breed something akin to anarchy. I can state unreservedly, however, that Mr.

Wilcox and I found the existing conditions to be much at variance with this opinion. During our absence from Manila we traveled more than six hundred miles in a very comprehensive circuit through the northern part of the island of Luzon, traversing a characteristic and important district. In this way we visited seven provinces, of which some were under the immediate control of the central government at Malolos, while others were remotely situated, separated from each other and from the seat of government by natural divisions of land, and accessible only by lengthy and arduous travel. As a tribute to the efficiency of Aguinaldo's government and to the law-abiding character of his subjects, I offer the fact that Mr. Wilcox and I pursued our journey through out in perfect security, and returned to Manila with only the most pleasing recollections of the quiet and orderly life which we found the natives to be leading under the new régime.

Some years ago, at an Exposition held at Barcelona, Spain, a man and woman were exhibited as representative types of the inhabitants of Luzon. The man wore a loin-cloth and the woman a scanty skirt. It was evident that they belonged to the lowest plane of savagery. I think no deeper wound was ever inflicted upon the pride of the real Filipino population than that caused by this exhibition, the knowledge of which seems to have spread throughout the island. The man and woman, while actually natives of Luzon, were captives from a tribe of wild Igorrotes of the hills; a tribe as hostile to the Filipinos as to the Spaniards themselves, and equally alien to both. It is doubtful to what extent such islanders are responsible for the low esteem in which the Filipino is held; his achievements certainly have never been well advertised, while his shortcomings have been heralded abroad. The actual, every-day Filipino is not as picturesque a creature as the Igorrote. The average human imagination has a remarkable affinity for the picturesque; and the commonplace citizen of Luzon is too often overlooked in the presence of the engrossing savage. If the observer's attention can be drawn to the former, however, much that is of interest will be found in his comparatively homely life.

In our journey we traveled first across the province of Nueva Icija, by far the poorest and least interesting of all the provinces we visited. And yet even here we were greatly surprised by the intelligence and refinement of the inhabitants. While our entertainment at first was meager for want of the wherewithal to provide a more generous one-we could nevertheless detect the same spirit of hospitality that found vent in elaborate manifestations in the richer towns which we visited later. We were particularly struck by the dignified demeanor of our hosts and by the graceful manner in which they extended to us their welcome. We had unlimited opportunities for conversation with the citizens of the towns, and we found everywhere a class that gave evidence of considerable culture and a certain amount of education. Their education included those branches only which were taught at the schools conducted by the priesthood at the capital towns of the provinces, and was of rather an impracticable nature. The Spanish language, Spanish history (appropriately garbled), Church history, and the dead languages evidently formed its leading features. The natives of this class seemed to have made the most of the opportunities offered them, and they had the subjects above mentioned completely at command. This enabled them to give a trend to their conversation that served at least to indicate their aspirations. On the other hand, their ignorance of modern history and politics, and particularly of current events, was astonishing. What they knew of the United States had been learned, like the Latin, from Spanish teachers, but was not equally reliable. Not only in the backward province of Nueva Icija, but elsewhere throughout our journey, we found the same fund of misinformation on the subject. This related in great measure to the attitude of our Government toward the two races of people that have come under its jurisdiction with an inferior political status, namely, the negroes and the Indians. Of the condition of the negroes since the war the Filipinos seem not to be aware. They express great curiosity on the subject of the Indian question, and have evidently been taught to see in the unhappy condition of that race the result of deliberate oppression, and a warning of what they

their last suspicions are removed. In the meanwhile we cannot but hope that the good faith of our Government in any proposition it may make to the Filipino people will be accepted in advance. When it becomes a question of our fairness and our honest intentions toward them, the burden of proof must rest on us.

The towns of Nueva Icija are small and unimposing. They are composed principally of "nipa" huts, built on "stilts" to evade the vapors that rise from the marshy ground. The "stilts" and the

bamboo ladder gives entrance to the hut, which consists of two rooms, one forward of the other. The front room is raised a step higher than the rear one, and is provided with as smooth a floor as possible, to be used principally for sleeping purposes. The back room contains the native stove, the only piece of furniture in the hut. This consists of a section of the trunk of a large tree hollowed out into the form of a bowl and lined with mortar. Many "nipa" huts are far more elaborate, but the one described is of the