In the same yard with the dead lavandero lived at least ten or twelve other families, yet no one could be found to accompany him to his grave save two play-mates of his son.

If the poor are fond of display, the rich outvie them.  The pomp of a rich man’s obsequies finds its beginning while he is yet on earth, when the padre goes in state to administer extreme unction.  His vehicle, a gilt coach which looks like the pictures of those of the seventeenth century, is often preceded by a band, while the priest within is arrayed in embroidered vestments.  When the surra, or horse disease, had made a scarcity of those animals, the padre’s gilded equipage had to be drawn by a cebu, or very small and weary-looking cow, imported from Indo-China.  The spectacle of this yoke animal, the gilt coach, and the padre in all his vestments was one not to be forgotten.

When the rich man dies, there is generally a wake, noisy enough, as before stated, to be Irish, and a pretentious funeral.  Five o’clock in the afternoon seems to be a favorite hour for this.  In the rainy season, with sodden clouds hanging low in the sky, with almond trees dripping down, and the great church starred with candles which do not illuminate but which dot the gloom, the occasion is lugubrious indeed.  Fresh flowers are little used, but immortelles and set designs accompanied by long streamers of gilt-lettered ribbon attest the courtesy of friends.

They bury the dead—­that is, all the upper-class dead—­in nichos, or ovens, such as are found in the old cemeteries of New Orleans.  The cemetery, which is usually owned, not by the municipality but by the church, is surrounded by a brick or stone wall six or eight feet high surmounted by a balustrade of red baked clay in an urn design.  The ovens form their back walls against this, and are arranged in tiers of four or five, so that the top of the ovens makes a fine promenade around three sides of the enclosure.  In the centre there is generally a mortuary chapel, where the final words are said.  From the chapel tiled walks lead out to the ovens.  The plan is a very pretty one, and if the cemeteries were kept in good condition, it would be beautiful.  But they are nearly always dirty and neglected.

In the open ground between the chapel and the sides, the poor people are rolled into graves so shallow that a little digging would soon exhume the body.

The nichos, or ovens, are rented by the year; if the tenant’s surviving family are not prompt with the annual payment, the body is taken out, the bones cast ruthlessly over the back fence, and the premises once more declared vacant.

When we first came, there used to be a great heap of these bones at the back of the Paco Cemetery in Manila, but so much was said about them that the Church grew sensitive and removed them.  Our cemetery at Capiz also had its bone heap.