Well, he was the curator of his own department in some Indian museum--I
think at Calcutta--and when the time came for his holiday he took a passage
for Japan on a little tramp steamer. Everything went well until a few hours
out of Shanghai, when a typhoon began to blow with terrific force. The ship
was driven on the coast of Korea, where she set about breaking up, and only
with the greatest difficulty did the passengers and crew get to shore,
bruised and saturated, without anything but their clothes and what their
pockets could hold. Some lives were lost, but my man was saved.

It was a desolate part, with nothing but the poorest huts for shelter,
dirty and verminous, so that the discomforts of the land were almost equal
to the perils of the sea.

Naturally, on his return to Calcutta the curator was plied with questions.
How did be feel about it? Wasn't it an awful experience? If ever a man
deserved sympathy it was he. And so forth. But he wouldn't rise.

"Sympathy?" he said. "Good Heavens! I don't want sympathy. Why, I had the
time of my life. Do you know that during the night in that Korean hovel I
found five absolutely new kinds of bug."

E.V.L.

* * * * *

"Notice to the public, that John ----, Toronto, will not be responsible
for debts hereafter contracted by any one."--_Canadian Paper._

Very sensible of him.