the carriage suddenly rise, and then fall again. The horses stopped,
and the coachman looked back in vain for the tree he thought he must
have run over, until, on turning the next corner, they came upon a
house in ruins. Then Lady Swettenham knew. Both ladies worked all
night in the hospital, attending to the hundreds of injured. The
hospital dispensary had been wrecked, and, sad to say, the supply of
chloroform became exhausted, so amputations had to be performed
without anaesthetics. Most fortunately there was to have been a great
ball at King's House that very evening, so Lady Swettenham was able to
provide the hospital with unlimited soup, jellies, and cold chickens;
otherwise it would have been impossible to provide the sufferers with
any food at all.

As we all know, points of view differ. After the trolley-car service
had been re-established, my nephew and I had occasion to go into
Kingston daily towards noon. On the front bench of the car there was
always seated a little white boy, about nine years old, with a pile of
school-books. He was a well-mannered, friendly little fellow and soon
entered into conversation. Waxing confidential, he observed to us,
"Isn't this earthquake awfully jolly? Our school is all 'mashed up' so
we get out at half-past eleven instead of at one."

"And how about your own house, Charlie? Is that all right?"

"Oh no, it's all 'mashed up' too, so is Daddy's store. We're living on
the lawn in tents, like Robinson Crusoe. It's most awfully jolly!"

Incidentally I may remark that Charlie's father had been completely
ruined by the earthquake, his store not being insured, but the small
boy only saw things from his own point of view.