The Panamanians are nothing if not expansively hospitable. On the 4th of December, after we had been on the Isthmus a couple of weeks and while the results of the official negotiations were still, as far as anyone knew, “in the lap of the gods,” an ocean steamship was chartered by a company of hosts, and about three hundred guests, the elite of the whole republic, were invited for a picnic party to the Pearl Islands in the Bay of Panama, and a sail out into the Pacific Ocean. It was an all-day expedition and included the exploration of the beautiful little group, some pearl-diving for our especial benefit, a most amazing luncheon, and a dance on deck, to the music of a stringed band in gay and most decorative uniforms, at which Mr. Taft made a tremendous “hit.” The tiny Panamanian woman who first danced with him was thought to be very courageous, but as one after another followed suit his reputation grew and it finally was conceded, in the midst of great merriment, that he was as light of foot as the slimmest Panamanian of them all.