An execution in Manila is an interesting, though a gruesome, sight. The populace always flock to see one, and the condemned, with the stoicism natural to their race, as a rule seem perfectly indifferent to their fate. The garrote is the instrument usually employed. There is the pomp and ceremony incident to all Spanish functions of State: a procession of soldiers, a solemn death-cart, draped in mourning, on which sits the culprit apparently enjoying his last ride, two or three priests chanting a dolorous refrain, and the executioner,--all slowly approach the place of execution. Here is a raised platform, on which is a rude seat; against the back of it is an upright post. To this the condemned is firmly bound, and the deadly brass collar--the garrote--that is attached thereto, closes with a click around his neck. The executioner now takes his place behind, the priests elevate the crucifix and continue their chant, while the victim, half-bewildered, smiles a last farewell or mumbles a hasty prayer. The commanding officer gives the signal; the executioner gives a twist to the screw, that just touches the base of the prisoner's brain; there is a convulsive shiver and a groan, and all is over. And the spectators, laughing and chattering, turn homeward. But no street scene is more interesting than a native funeral. The hearse is a rude wagon, drawn by white horses. A most melancholy-looking person is the driver, who, clad in black and a high beaver hat, sits aloft in mournful dignity. In front is a brass band, playing a lively march, while a long line of carriages follow slowly behind. On account of the heat, the burial is nearly always on the same day as the death. The bodies of the well-to-do are usually deposited in a vault in the church as long as the relatives of the deceased pay the priests well for the privilege. When this tribute ceases, the remains are dumped without ceremony into a huge pit at the back of the church, where perhaps are the bones of a thousand others. The pit, it is safe to say, is the ultimate destiny of all. Bull-fights have never made the headway in the Philippines that they have in Cuba. In the suburb of Paco is a bull-ring; but it is not attended by the better classes, and it offers but a sorry spectacle. The Beautiful Luneta: the Sea-boulevard.