About six months ago there were two large fires outside of the native city on what is called the West Gate Street. At the time the first fire occurred the U.S. S. Boston was here a few days. The ging of bells, beating of gongs, shouting of men and the screaming of women awoke not only the natives around and the foreigners in the concession, but also the sleepers on the Boston. Knowing that there was fighting to be done, and a genuine fire in a Chinese city to be seen, quite a number of the crew hurried to the place of battle to be the observed of all observers—and some wear to fight the fire. On the tops of the native houses could be seen the boys in white with buckets in hand carrying water, or leading a Chinaman to some important point, or standing with arms akimbo looking at the fast falling houses. After the fire was at last gotten under and the flames had died out, "the boys" were left to wind their way back through the dark narrow Chinese street which a short time before was so brilliantly lighted. But their coming had not been in vain. The praises of the crew were sounded at the tables of the learned Chinkianese Professors as the delicate tea; or at the home of the they gathered around their tables to sip humble hut-dwellers as they revelled in the flames of their evening smoke. "What was that used by the foreign devils, John, to stop the fire last night?" "Why have you not yet heard that they have a very
which will extinguish the largest fire? precious kind of medicine, only a drop of
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.