To one standing on the edge of that wriggling throng with the yellow flare just lighting the impassive countenances of its chief personages, and hearing a low monotone, broken only by the clink of metal as gold pieces fall into the plate, it is difficult to believe that this is a wedding, just like those pictured and tableau effects that one is treated to at home.

At last the voice stops, the mob and the smoky candles surge forward to the altar, where the benediction is said.  Another impeded progress to the rear (everybody gets up without waiting for the bride and bridegroom to pass), the sorely tried couple step into a waiting victoria, and we troop after them, getting our felicitations ready.

On arriving at the house we are received by the groom and some female relative of his, or, perchance, the bride’s papa.  No opportunity of formally congratulating the young couple is offered.  The bride retires into an inner room, where she removes her veil, and receives such of her lady friends as desire to kiss her on both cheeks.  But by and by she comes out, self-possessed and unsmiling, to distribute the fragments of her artificial orange blossom wreath to her aspiring girl friends.  This is a parallel to the distribution of wedding cake, which the American girl puts under her pillow and dreams upon.

By this time the orchestra has arrived and is playing triumphantly under the windows.  Though engaged beforehand, it always accomplishes its appearance with a casual and unpremeditated air.  The musicians are then (per contract) invited to enter, and strike up a rigadon.  Generally, but not always, the most important man present invites the bride for this dance.  But I have known brides to sit it out, for lack of a partner.  The bridegroom chooseth as he listeth; when American women are present, the fathers of the bride and groom usually request the honor of leading them out.

After this first dance supper is served.  If an important native official be present, it is a point of etiquette that he take the bride.  Only a few men of high rank sit at the first table, which is given over to women.  The service is not left to servants, but all male relatives of the family vie with each other in anticipating the wants of the guests.

It is a feast of solid and satisfying excellence.  It begins usually with vermicelli soup (made from a lard stock) which is more than likely to have been dished a half-hour and to be stone cold.  But Filipinos are not critical in this regard; and Americans, in view of all that is coming, may dispense with this one dish.

Then follow meats innumerable, each with its own garnish, but without separate vegetables.  There is goat’s flesh stewed with garbanzos, onions, potatoes, and peppers; chicken minced with garlic, and green peas; chicken boned and made to look and taste like breaded cutlet; boiled ham; a fat capon, boned, stuffed, and seasoned with garlic, his erstwhile proud head rolling in scarified humility; breaded pork chops; roast pork, with unlimited crackling; cold turkey; baked duck, and several kinds of fish.