On entering the large bamboo casa, with its nippa eaves extending beyond the walls, I was met by the affable Carmen, and conducted to a cosey retreat, in the manner and customs of the Philippines, After meeting her mother, a very retiring Filipino lady. I presented the señorita with the periodicals, which included the San Francisco Sunset Magazine, containing my picture taken at Salt Lake City when a soldier in a machine-gun battery. Her beauty on this occasion was augmented by a pretty silken kimono and straw sandals, characteristically simple. In her hair she wore a pink carnation, which vied in beautiful contrast with her complexion. A gold necklace with pendant attached and a finger-ring of turquoise and diamonds completed her attire. Side by side on the wall hung two large pictures,――one the martyred patriot Jose Rizal, the other the ex-Governor-General of the Philippines, now our President, William H. Taft. On the opposite wall hung the señorita’s much-cherished diploma from the University of Manila and a certificate of belles-lettres. Books were shelved in galore. An East Indian matting covered the bamboo floors, while the sleeping compartments were hidden from view by large portières. Various articles of interest were shown to me, including photographs, a prayer-book printed in Spain in the sixteenth century, and the bridal-veil worn by her mother on her wedding morn. During the evening the son of the presidente of the village, accompanied by his sweetheart, a pleasing young couple, called at the hacienda. Being unable to hold an intelligent conversation with these guests, our conversazione was one of ignorance crasse. The elder Señora Lemaire, [Illustration: CHIEF ADAMS GUN MULE DEWEY AID COLEMAN] Carmen’s mother, served the guests with limeade and charlotte-russe, which were delectable and refreshing. After the couple had departed, I related several stories of the United States to this amiable señorita. I told of my home away off in Pennsylvania, my school days, friends, escapades, the war, my travels, and incidentally mentioned the resemblance she bore the Creoles of New Orleans, among whom I had spent a winter; being careful to impress on her mind, that the Creole is of Spanish and French descent, not negro, as some educated people suppose. She listened very attentively to my stories, occasionally asking questions, particularly regarding the Creoles. The anecdotes of her college days were more than interesting, as were the stories she told about the insurrection. She was very familiar with the history of the war, from the blowing up of the _Maine_ to the battle of the “crater” in the Sulu. “Lemaire is a very uncommon name in the Philippines, is it not?” I remarked. “Yes,” she sighed, “very uncommon.” Realizing the interest I took in her, and the eagerness I possessed to hear some of her life’s history she continued: