ing the lights on shore,
and listening to the constant chimes of the numerous church bells,
whilst the sailors sang songs and did their best to amuse us. It seemed
so strange to be in a Christian country again.

They have some customs at Manilla which I could not help admiring. When
the Vesper bell rings at six o'clock, all business and pleasure is
suspended for a few minutes, and all the world, man, woman, and child,
say a prayer. The coachmen on the carriages stop their horses, the
pedestrians stand still, friends engaging in animated conversation are
suddenly silent. The setting sun is a signal for the heart to rise to
God; it is a public recognition of His protecting care, and an act of
thanksgiving. When it is over, the children ask their parents' blessing
for the night. This was told me by a native of Manilla, an educated
gentleman, who gave his children every advantage of learning and travel.
The Vesper custom I saw for myself every time I took an evening drive.
We witnessed a very gorgeous procession on the feast of the Epiphany.
All the city functionaries, the military, the priests, bands of music,
and a masquerade of the three kings on horseback, surrounded by troops
of children beautifully dressed in white and scattering flowers, passed
through the streets to a church, into which they all poured, the three
horses riding in too, to attend high mass. I saw but little of Manilla,
being ill nearly all the time. It is a place shaken to pieces by
earthquakes. When we were there the great square, where the Government
offices once stood, was a heap of ruins, and the treasury was too poor
even to clear them away. The bridges were all broken in the middle, and
patched up somehow; and all the rooms in the houses were crooked, the
timbers of the walls being joined loosely together to admit of the
frequent trembling, heaving, and subsidence of the ground, without their
cracking. I believe the country all round was lovely, but I only took
one drive when I was convalescent, and then we steamed away to Hong
Kong. I shall say nothing about Hong Kong, for all the world knows what
a beautiful place it is in winter--how bright and sparkling the blue
sea, how clean and trim the streets, and how stately the buildings; also
what a dream of loveliness is the one drive out of the town to the Happy
Valley, where many an Englishman lies buried in the cemetery. I had a
second bout of fever at Hong Kong. Happily for us, we found kind
rel