railroad, and so great was the propulsive power that the wits said that for weeks thereafter the structural iron belonging to the Benguet Road and the Manila Railroad Company was being picked up by thrifty Celestials across the sea on the coast of China. Nor did it sound entirely improbable to those who were familiar with the effectiveness of mountain rivers under the influence of torrential tropical rain-storms.

On the western coast of the island of Palawan there flows into the sea from what looks like the entrance to an abandoned coal mine in the hills of Ohio or Pennsylvania, an underground river which is one of the physical wonders of the world. From whence it comes no one as yet knows. To the few natives of the remote and desolate coast the cave has an evil reputation. Ghosts and such like evil and undesirable things have made it their abiding place for ages past, and Moro pirates who disappeared through its jagged entrance were seen no more. Until recently nothing was known of this remarkable natural phenomenon. The first partial exploration was made by Lieutenant Miller while acting as governor of Palawan. In the spring of 1912 the river was further explored and surveyed by a party under my direction. After passing up the river for a distance of three miles, the boats were stopped by a huge mass of rock which an earthquake had shaken from overhead. The boulders filled the channel to the height of probably sixty feet. The climb over the slimy rocks into the unknown cavity was difficult and rather awe-inspiring for amateur explorers. Beyond the rocks there was a bowl-shaped depression the bottom of which seemed to be on a level with the lower river bed. The roof overhead was like an inverted bowl, thus creating almost a round cave.

After passing through a kind of tunnel for several hundred feet the river was again located. The cavern or tube through which it came was about the same size as that below the cave-in and there appeared to be nothing to prevent an exploring party from continuing if a boat could be carried over the rock pile. But as neither canoes nor canvas boats were available further progress was impossible.

The river throughout its entire course averages about thirty feet in width and probably fifteen feet in depth. In places the ceiling of the cave is so low that it is necessary to lower the head in passing, while elsewhere it expands into a good-sized chamber, from one hundred to one hundred fifty feet in height. There is very little variation in the size of the stream until the obstruction is reached. The water is fresh, clear and cool and flows with a steady but not rapid current. The air is fresh and pure. The scenery is picturesque and extraordinarily interesting.

Having ascertained that the river continued above the cave-in and not having the necessary equipment for proceeding farther, we began the return journey toward daylight. The party had been under the mountain for about five hours. The Stygian darkness was but slightly affected by the insufficient lights. The return to the sea was a memorable journey. The soft gliding water made no sound. There were no waterfalls. Only the occasional flutter of the wings of a bat, the dip of an oar and the awed ejaculations of surprise and appreciation broke a silence which was that of the ages. The novelty of the situation had somewhat worn away and the details of the rock formations could be more closely observed. Nothing but an artist's pencil could tell the story. Photographs give but the outlines, and convey no adequate conception of the marvelous detail of line and color. Nature's sculpture is everywhere. There a stain like a splotch of paint from the brush of a drunken painter suddenly assumed the form of a huge black cat, squat upon his haunches, and you gazed fascinated, expecting momentarily to hear the cavern echo with an angry yowl. But the boat glided silently by, leaving the fantastic feline to his darkness. Looking over your shoulder for one last glance, you found him metamorphosed into some sprawling, floundering monster without a name. Another dark splotch on the high wall had become a warrior bold, with drawn sword, in the dress of past centuries. The illusion was complete. As the angle of light changed the sword came slowly down in salute to the passing procession. The warrior, too, was

left to meditate upon the strange scene of ghostly boats gliding slowly by, amid the uncertain light of flickering torches, filled with mystic figures, bound seaward.

Again the scene changes. Here the note is of ancient Egypt. Carved by Time itself, unaided by the hand of man there reposes a complete and finished griffin, or is it a sphinx resting solitary as amid the sands of the desert? Between stately stone pillars rise a series of steps leading from the water to some temple within. It all belongs on the banks of the Nile. Stalactites in myriad numbers, carved into forms of fruit, flowers and vegetables, are everywhere. Along the roof extends the perfect keel of a yacht. Then the cavern stretches away, an almost perfect rectangle, with walls and ceiling decorated with many colorssurely the deft work of an artistic, designing hand. A sharp turn of the way and a huge stalactite hangs glittering like a chandelier from the ceiling of some great ballroom. Another has been cut by silent creeping waters into the form of a huge bunch of banana leaves. Here hang dark brown leaves of curing tobacco while there the rocks are folded and convolved into a great artichoke.

Suddenly the boats glided into a great chamber, resplendent with color and decorations, like a stage set for a scene in some grand opera or spectacular drama. The chiseled stones catch and break the light into myriad glistening particles. All these and a thousand more wonderful things are there three miles inward from the sea and four thousand feet beneath the roots of the great forest trees which cover the mountains above.

As the boat neared the exit a certain eagerness to reach daylight became apparent which evidenced the strain inevitable to such a journey. The air, although comparatively pure, lacked vitalizing power. We turned suddenly to the left, and the entrance flashed into view. The brilliant yellow sunlight seemed to be crowding and surging against the jagged saw teeth cavities like the surf of the sea beating upon a rocky shore. The oppressive silence gave place to the sound of life and being. So

sudden the change that we seemed to hear "the roar of sap in bough impregnated and the deafening rumor of the grass."

Manila is situated at the mouth of the Pasig River which flows into a great bay twenty-five miles in diameter, over the narrow entrance of which the great fortress of Corregidor stands guard. The traveler in the Philippines is impressed by the fact that the towns and cities are badly located. They are seldom on the coast. Even Manila is twenty-five miles from the entrance to Manila Bay. It would have been better for the moderns if Legaspi had located the city at or near Maravales at the entrance to the bay, where there is a good protected natural harbor lying under the guns of Corregidor. Such a location would have had many advantages over the present one. Nature there has furnished good water, and perfect drainage. From their residences on the mountainsides, the inhabitants would have enjoyed the cool invigorating breezes, and a view such as poets seldom imagine and painters never dare paint.

But the cities and towns of the Philippines are centuries old and their original locations were determined largely by reasons of defense. From the very earliest times the coasts were harried by sea rovers. First came the Dutch and the Portuguese, then the Malay pirates from Borneo, and ever after the Moros from the southern islands. The towns and villages shrank back from the shore in order to find protection from these ocean raiders. From the north of Luzon to the far south the coasts bear the marks of the long contest with the Moros. On many strategic points the Spaniards and Filipinos constructed the stone watch towers which still stand gray and picturesque amid the green foliage and entangled vines. For two and one-half centuries a substantial stone fort, built by the natives under the direction of a Spanish friar, on a cliff jutting into the sea, has guarded the entrance to the beautiful little harbor of Romblon. It was built of the white stone found on the island and stands today an interesting and picturesque memorial of the time when pirates' craft and sea marauders were as common as now are merchant vessels and tourists.

The entire Archipelago is mountainous, with broad valleys between the ranges and along the shores, and occasional high tablelands in the interior. The general trend of the mountains is north and south. Ordinarily the height is not great enough to be very imposing, but what is lacking in grandeur and impressiveness is supplied by beauty of form and coloring. The tropical forests mass about the foothills and roll up the mountainsides like green waves on a sloping beach until they crown the summits with. verdure. There is little of the ruggedness of the mountains of temperate climes. The soft warm mists hang about them. Strange animals live in their shadowy depths, and stranger men. Primitive, timid little people build their habitations in the branches of the great trees, hidden amid the entanglement of vines and parasitic growths. Unseen waterfalls splash and tinkle amid the silence. To climb the slopes of one of these mountain ranges beneath the great trees through whose interlacing tops the sun never penetrates, is to realize the meaning of the forest primeval.

In the interior the mountains rise often to grandeur. Mount Apo in Mindanao is more than ten thousand feet in height, while many others run from five to eight thousand feet. The scenery in the Benguet mountains is very beautiful and impressive. From the observatory on Mount Mirador the plains of Pangasanan unroll toward the great Gulf of Lingayan and the China sea. From the rest house on the summit of Santa Tomas on a clear night, the lights of Manila, one hundred fifty miles away, glow dully against the sky. About twenty of the mountains are volcanic and many others bear the marks of early activity. About a dozen have been in active eruption within historic times, while scores of others are quiescent or extinct.

Mount Mayon in Albay is one of the most beautiful mountains in all the world. A perfect cone, with a base eighty miles in circumference, it rises in the midst of a rich cultivated plain to the height of eight thousand feet. Smoke and steam float about the summit in lazy grandeur. Amid the memories of many beautiful tropical scenes, none stands out more distinctly