I MEET BAER AT LAST
O
F my four years'
residence in Manila, "the Pearl of the Orient," as the Filipinos fondly
refer to the capital of their country, I have many pleasant
recollections, but few worth the telling. The Philippines form, as it
were, a bridge between Formosa in the north and British North Borneo in
the south. The Filipinos are therefore Asiatics. They really belong to
the kingdom of childhood, though they believe themselves grown men.
Their beautiful capital, but for its climate, is what it was made by
the Spaniards and by the Americans who came after them.
Among
the things which I remember best, though why I cannot tell, is the fact
that our lavendera—or washerwoman —had a son who possessed a
rudimentary tail. There is also the memory that the Igorote who brought
the eggs to the hotel in the hill-station at Baguio complied fully with
the police regulations in that he came to town with his pants under his
arm and put them on with an air of ennui just outside the hotel.
This
boy belonged to a tribe of dog-eaters. Who could forget the sight of
the dog-market in Baguio of a Sunday morning, where the wild hill-men
came down their mountain trails leading thin woebegone dogs, not to
find a new master or a new home, but as meat "on the hoof"? They say in
the Philippines that any dog can scent the dog-eating native and is
careful to keep clear of him. But I cannot vouch for the truth of this.
I
have often wondered whether the Manilans realize how privileged they
are in their gorgeous sunsets, the like of which cannot be seen
anywhere else in the tropics. Merely for me
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