He had letters of a different tenor from members of his family, toward whom he yearned all his life with an almost singular devotion; but for his strong sense of family duty he might then be receipting for great fees and living sweetly in Hong-Kong instead of facing the miseries of Dapitan. Of this fact he never made a mention to any one, if he thought of it himself. Among the letters from these relatives that he held so dear came one from a nephew in Luzon to which he made the following characteristic reply: I think I ought to mention to you a slight fault that you have committed in your letter. It is a little error that many in society make. One does not say, “I and my sister greet you,” but “my sister and I greet you.” Always you have to put yourself last. You should say, “Emilio and I,” “you and I,” and so on. For the rest, your letter leaves nothing to be desired in clearness, conciseness, and spelling. Then keep on advancing. Learn, learn, and think much about what you learn. Life is a very serious matter. It only goes well for those that have intelligence and heart. To live is to be among men, and to be among men is to strive. But this strife is not a brute-like, selfish struggle, nor with men alone. It is a strife with them, and at the same time with one’s own passions. It is a struggle with the proprieties, with errors, with prejudices. It is a never ending striving, with a smile on the lips and the tears in the heart. On this battle-field man has no better weapon than his intelligence. He possesses no more force than he has heart. Bring it out, then. Improve it, keep it prepared, and strengthen and educate yourself for this.