The river above the bridge is lined with latticed balconies; but from the veranda of the Paris Restaurant, when that establishment was in its glory, one could sit for hours and watch the bustling river life below. The thatched tops of the huddled _cascos_ formed a compact roof that extended half across the stream. Upon these nondescript craft hundreds of Filipinos dwelt, doing their washing and their cooking on the decks. The scanty clothes are hanging out to dry on lines, while naked brats are splashing in the dirty water, clinging to the tightened hawser. Launches go scudding under the low bridge, rending the air with vicious toots. Unwieldly _cascos_ are poled down the river, laden heavily with cocoanuts and hemp. Small floating islands whirl along in the swift current, and are carried out to sea. At the _Muelle del Rey_--the "King's Dock"--lie the inter-island steamers, and the gangs of laborers are busy loading and unloading them. Carabao drays are hauling fragrant cargoes of tobacco and Manila hemp, while over the gangplank runs a chain of men, gutting the warehouse of its merchandise. The captain of the _Romulus_ stands on the bridge, daintily smoking a cigarette, and supervising the disposal of the demijohns of _tinto_ wine. The derrick keeps up an incessant racket as the hold is gradually filled. Although the _Romulus_ is advertised to sail to-day at noon, she is as liable to sail at ten o'clock, or possibly to-morrow afternoon; and although bound for Iloilo or Cebu, you can not be at all sure what her destination really is. She may return after a month from a long rambling cruise among the southern isles. The Spanish mariners, in rakish Tam o'Shanter caps, lounge at the entrance to the warehouse, or the office of the _Compania Maritima_, dreamily smoking cigarettes, sometimes imperiously ordering the laborers to _"sigue, hombre_!" (get along!) a warning that the Filipino has grown too familiar with to heed.