Iloilo, February 4, 1905.

To-day is the Chinese New Year, and all last night the Chinamen were letting off crackers down in the town. All to-day they have been going on with them, too, and as the chief rejoicing seems to be to explode the fireworks under a horse, you may imagine—no you can’t—what the streets are like. On an ordinary day there is a good deal of pretty wild driving and no small peril in getting about in a vehicle or on foot, but the frightful risks one runs on every other day of the year are mild adventures compared to this Chinese New Year.

There are a great many Chinamen, you see, for they continue to come into the Philippines in spite of the heavy tax against them; and besides that, so many are left over from the Spanish days that Celestials are still the principal shopkeepers of the Islands. They make large fortunes here, I believe—the fortunes that are ready waiting for anyone who is as clever and industrious as a Chinaman—and so good a speculation do they think this country that they are constantly arriving, whenever they can get permission, paying the heavy tax, and then beginning by working for a year or two with some friend or relation for no pay!

Of course, the Filipinos hate the idea of being cut out by strong, hard-working, clever rivals, who make fortunes under conditions in which they themselves starve, so they have forced the hand of the American Government in abolishing foreign labour, which measure, so the business men say, has been the ruin of the Philippines. They say that such a law is wise enough in a country like America, perhaps, which is teeming with a busy population of its own, but here it is quite different, and “Philippines for the Filipinos” would be all very well if these people wanted their country, which does not seem to be the case. Moreover, if they did want it, it is too large for them, for there are 75,000,000 acres of cultivable soil in the Philippines, and the population all told is barely 7,000,000. Suppose one calculated one in ten of the natives of all ages as a capable tiller of the earth—a most unlikely average—and if three Filipinos could do the work of one Chinaman or white man (which they can’t), even then one would think there would be room for competition and other labour.

The magnificent forests of priceless woods simply fall into decay; the gold and all the metals with which the country is filled, lie untouched; the marbles are unquarried; the rich soil is uncultivated; and so these riches must remain as long as it pays no one to work them. Men often come to the Philippines to “prospect,” but when they find out the conditions of labour and the rate of Export and other Duties, they go away and are no more heard of; for, though you may run a sort of Government with philanthropical ideas, you won’t get business to flow in on the same system; and business men don’t care two straws if a labourer can read Latin or understand mathematics, so long as he will work well for low wages; but this latter ideal is the very last one the American Government appear to encourage or aim at.

Well, we went last night to a cinÉmatograph show, which has established itself in a big empty basement in the Calle Real, with a large sign outside, made of glass letters lighted behind with electricity, all in the most approved European style. The “show” lasts for half an hour, going on from six in the evening to about ten o’clock at night, and the proprietor makes about 300 pesos a week out of it, for he has very few expenses, and it is the sort of thing these people love. They come out when the show is over, stand about and expectorate for a few minutes, and then pay their cents and go in again and enjoy the same thing about five times running, probably without the faintest idea what it is all about from start to finish. You remember the dreadful extent of the habit of expectoration in Spain? You have heard about this failing in America? The Filipino is the epitome and concentration of the two.

Everything in the hall was boarded up to prevent any stray, non-paying enthusiast from getting a free peep; but all the same I saw several little brown forms in fluttering muslin shirts, outside, where the wall formed a side street, with eyes glued to the chinks of a door in rapt attention; though I don’t suppose the little chaps could really see anything but the extreme edge of the back row of benches.

In the hall we were saved from suffocation by two electric fans, and kept awake by a Filipino playing a cracked old piano with astonishing dexterity, rattling out the sort of tunes you hear in a circus and nowhere else on earth. I could not help wondering where he had picked them up, till it suddenly dawned on me that one, at least, gave me a faint hint that perhaps the performer might once have heard “Hiawatha” on a penny flute; so I concluded that he was playing “variations.” Pianos never sound very well out here, and I am told it is difficult to keep them bearable at all, for the chords have an unmusical way of going rusty in the damp season, or else snapping with a loud ping.

The moving pictures were not at all bad, rather jumpy at times, but the subjects really quite entertaining, and all the slides, from the appearance of the figures on them, made in Germany, I imagine. The series wound up with an interminable fairy tale in coloured pictures, really a sort of short play, and in this one could see the German element still more apparent, in the castles, the ancient costumes, and the whole composition of the thing. I don’t suppose the natives in the audience had the wildest idea what it was all about, or what the king and queen, the good fairy, and the wicked godmother, were meant to be, probably taking the whole story for some episode in the life of a Saint.

The audience were really more amusing to me than the pictures, and I was quite pleased each time the light went up so that I could have a good look at them. In the front rows, which were cheap, as they were so close to the screen, sat the poorer people in little family groups, with clean camisas and large cigars, the women’s hair looking like black spun glass. Our places were raised a little above them, and were patronised by the swells who had paid 40 cents—a shilling. Amongst the elect were one or two English and other foreigners; some fat Chinamen, with their pigtails done up in chignons, and wearing open-work German straw hats, accompanied by their native wives and little slant-eyed children; a few missionaries and schoolma’ams in coloured blouses and untidy coiffures À la Gibson Girl; and one or two U.S.A. soldiers, with thick hair parted in the middle, standing treat to their Filipina girls—these last in pretty camisas, and very shy and happy. A funny little Filipino boy near us, rigged up in a knickerbocker suit and an immense yellow oil-skin motor-cap, was rather frightened at old Tuyay, who had insisted on coming to the show and sitting at our feet. When she sniffed the bare legs of this very small brown brother, he lost all his dignity and importance, and clung blubbing to his little flat-faced mother. Poor old Tuyay was dreadfully offended; she came and crawled right under C——’s chair, where she lay immovable till the performance was over.

To watch the people here is an endless source of amusement to me, and I only wish my words could be more photographic, or our photographs more pictorial, so that I could convey to you a real impression of this queer end of the world. That is what it is—I feel as if I had arrived at the end of the world, where nobody cares or knows or hears or thinks of anything, and where the inertia that is in the very air of things will at last wear down even the vitality, pluck, and good intentions of the Americans themselves.

I have arranged to go to Manila on the 28th, to-morrow three weeks, by the Butuan, the weekly mail. We heard fearful reports of these steamers, as I told you, when we were leaving Manila, but unfortunately there is no other means of getting to Manila from here. I am very glad it is arranged that I am to go, and I am looking forward very much to the change of air and scene. C—— is very anxious for me to take a servant to wait on me, for ladies generally take a native retainer with them when they travel about; but I won’t hear of such extravagance, and think I shall have far less trouble with only myself to look after, and without the extra burden of a bewildered Filipino. A friend of ours came from Manila the other day on a visit, with one of these appanages of state in her wake, and he seemed to me to be more trouble than the whole journey was worth.

À propos of servants, we had an amusing and very characteristic adventure with the cook a day or two ago, when it occurred to us that for some time past we had not seen what we thought was the worth of a peso and a half of food appearing on the table, and nearly all the dishes seemed to be concocted from ingredients out of the dispensa; and eggs which, tiny though they are, cost the same as fresh-laid ones of ordinary size at home. What is more, they go bad so quickly that the price is really more, because so many have to be thrown away. Well, C—— said to the cook quite amiably that that functionary must revert to his original plan of giving us a daily list of his expenses, and the cook replied, very sulkily, “Si seÑor.”

Next morning, when I was giving out stores, the cook said:

“I should like to leave the seÑora’s service to-morrow. I can’t read or write, as the seÑora knows, and the cook downstairs, who used to do my list for me, has gone away.”

Of course I knew every word of this to be an utter lie, and that my wily friend was only “trying it on,” as they say, because he knew it would be very inconvenient for us to dismiss him before I went to Manila. But I did not flatter him or “play up” to him by looking the least surprised or put out; I merely answered, very gravely and politely: “Certainly, cocinero, that will suit us perfectly. I will see about your wages.”

Such a look of utter disgust and surprise came over his monkey-face—exactly like Brookes’ monkey with the frying-pan—but I said nothing, and went on serving out potatoes and tinned fruit, and giving orders as to how I wished to have the things cooked.

When C—— came home and heard this domestic history, he wanted to go and find the cook, and call him and his ancestry every name under the sun; but I implored him not to pander to the creature’s vanity by such a compliment as letting him think for one instant that we wished him to stay. So no words were said; but we observed that the menu was immensely improved.

Next morning, when Domingo came for the cook’s marketing money, instead of sending it out, I went out myself and said: “Well, do you want the gastos money or your wages?”

“Oh,” said the cook, with a regular sort of rogue’s way he has of looking you straight in the eye, “I will take the gastos. I will remain with the seÑora to-day, as I see she has not been able to get another cook.”

Inwardly I gasped; but I thought it better not to take any notice of such impudence, so I pretended I had not understood what he had said, and replied that I was very sorry he had not been able to find another situation, and that the seÑor would permit him to stay on. He opened his mouth as if he were going to answer, but evidently changed his mind, for he said nothing, but just held out his hand for the money.

Since which skirmish he has given us better food, and better cooked than we have ever had from him, and a daily list of expenses is handed to me without comment.

I hope I don’t bore you with my simple domestic stories? But this one I felt I must really tell you, as it is so absolutely characteristic of the half “cute” Filipino.

Talking of native characters, there is a strange but very typical hairdresser along our street, with one poor-looking little room opening on to the road as his whole shop. All the barbers here do their business in the evenings, when their saloons may be seen brightly lighted, with men inside being operated on, while others loaf and gossip, but we have never seen a sign of a customer in our neighbour’s little shop. Perhaps he does business in the day time, and though we doubt it, we always hope this is the case. In the evenings his door stands wide open, and inside, the barber is to be seen lying back in an old armchair, with his bare feet on the basin, playing an old fiddle in absolute peace and contentment, while he watches his reflection in a big looking-glass.

In a sort of wild and whimsical way he makes me think of The Lady of Shalott, and I fancy that some day a real customer will come riding by, when the mirror will “crack from side to side,” and the hairdresser will look out and see the world as it really is, and just die of misery.

But I am sure that as long as he sits and plays like that, it would be a thousand pities if anyone came in with foolish and mundane ideas about shaving chins or cutting hair.

The burst of heat I told you of, is over, and the days are cool again, by comparison. Also, last night rain fell, and we got some water in our tank, after the preliminary excitement of diverting the pipe to let the dirt wash off the roof. This is a most important consideration, and as the servants are very apt to leave the pipe over the cistern, instead of moving it, so that when rain comes the first dirt will run away, one has to turn out at any hour of the day or night, when rain begins to rattle on the roofs. And how these tropical showers do rattle and roar, so that one cannot hear the other speak without “hailing the main top,” as papa would call it.