An Epoch in History | Page 9

to the first cost of articles must in most cases be added the expense of distant shipment from American, European, or Australian ports, and not infrequently the cost of long refrigeration must also be taken into consideration. But, expensive though it is, it is very pleasant to live there and those who have once enjoyed it often wish again to quaff the cup of its delights.
In strong contrast to this pleasant life is the life of the quiet little hamlet away in the distant islands. Indeed, the Filipino from the distant town, who by some good fortune has been to Manila, or, by a coup de main, has studied in one of the Manila colleges, is looked up to in a true hero-worshiping attitude by all who either know him or hear of his fame. Life in such a place is one long state of harmless inactivity. Not a wave of trouble from the great outer world ever disturbs its peaceful repose. One lounges forever in an air of indolent ease and extreme aversion to anything approaching what might be called a respectable effort.
One arises in the morning about the time the sun's first rays silver the top leaves of the cocoanut trees and then stirs around until nine or ten o'clock, when it is found expedient to avoid a further exposure to the sun. From then until about five o'clock in the afternoon it is best to take things as they come, even though one of those things be a Filipino dinner. But then you may have your vehiclo attached to a young bull with a ring in his nose and go for a drive. If it is the dry season you will probably enjoy the drive unless you object to the frequent clouds of dust swept along by the evening wind. If it is in the rainy season your pleasure will depend to a considerable extent upon how wet you get; but, whether the season be wet or dry, your pleasure will be regulated largely by the state of harmony existing between the driver and the bull.
In these quiet secluded nooks successive generations of Filipinos are born, reared, grow old and die in an even chain of events broken only by the occasional erection of a new grass house on the identical spot where its predecessors have stood for ages. The son lives in the house of his father, cultivates the same few square feet of soil planted in edible roots, climbs the same cocoanut trees, follows the same winding path down to the stream, pounds rice in the same mortar and with the same stick that his ancestors have used from time unremembered, and, in case of illness, curls up on a grass mat in a corner of the room until he dies or by some good fortune recovers. Beyond this narrow horizon he never looks. So narrow and contracted is the life that the languages of two towns a few miles apart are so different that one would scarcely recognize them as belonging to the same race of people.
Such are the two extremes of life in our new far Eastern provinces: the one is active, progressive, and cosmopolitan; the other, inactive, decadent, and narrow; but, whether one enjoys the first or endures the second, there comes to him after leaving a longing to lounge again in tropic airs and listen to the lullaby of the winds among the palms.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FILIPINO AT HOME.
As one enters a Filipino sitting-room for the first time, there is one feature in the arrangement of the furniture that impresses itself upon him at once, and it may be stated without fear of serious contradiction that this same peculiar feature in its arrangement will continue to face him, as he enters different homes, about as certainly as he crosses the threshold.
The arrangement referred to is that of one large mirror, one settee, and some ten or a dozen chairs that appear to have had a certain orderly affection for one another. The mirror is hung upon one of the large interior parts of the house about four feet above the floor. The wooden houses in the Philippines are built by setting large posts upright into the ground, extending into the air from twenty to thirty feet. Cross timbers are fastened to these upright posts about eight or ten feet above the ground and then not sawed off even with the posts, but allowed to extend beyond them each way. The framework of the house is built upon these extending cross timbers, a style of building by which these large upright posts are left standing out on the inside of the room from one to three feet from the walls. It is on that one of these posts most nearly opposite the door