First let me say that the northern part of the island of Luzon bears just about as much resemblance to the rest of the archipelago as the Alps bear to the plains of Nebraska. We began to notice the difference even at Vigan, though Vigan is at sea-level and is as hot as a sea-level town is supposed to be in that latitude. But it feels and looks like a little foreign city; foreign, that is, to the Philippines. Its houses are well built of ancient-looking stone, with heavy red-tiled roofs; its streets are narrow and crooked and it has a fine plaza filled with fire-trees which, when I saw them first, were in full bloom. There is no way to describe the magnificence of a grove or avenue of fire-trees. They make a veritable cloud of flame which, seen against a background of blue hills, or overhanging the mouldy, old-world grace of a Spanish church and convent, fairly “takes one’s breath.” The world-famed cherry trees of Japan, wonderful as they are, seem pale and soulless in comparison. I wonder the Spaniards didn’t line the streets of Manila with fire-trees and make for themselves the reputation of having created the most amazing city in the world.