The families whose huts or houses were completely destroyed, have taken refuge in the pagodas, or in the ancestral temples,—themselves half-ruined. I have even seen them lying on the ground under a heap of straw. Others have been able to find lodging in dirty little hovels. Our Christians are living in our chapels—which are also in ruins. There are miserable people who insist, at the peril of their lives, in remaining in the wretched runs, which defy alli description, and which a good gust of wind would bring to the ground. The timbers have bent over, and form angles of 10 or 20 degrees with their base. One wonders how they keep upright ats all at such an angle. I said to the poor creatures, "But it is not safe to remain here, Some day or other you will be buried under the debris." "Yes, Monsieur, but what can. we do? We have no money, or any other place to live in."
In the case of others, the houses are not threatened with ruin, at least not immediately. But the typhoon carried away the tiles of the roof, in such a way that the poor things, even within their own walls. or their own rooms, are sleeping in the open air. When the weather is good they can manage. But when it rains, when it snows, can it be said to be endurable? And they will have nothing better, if no one helps them. As one poor old women said to me, "Here is our shelter in bad weather or good, and, to add to it, we must"die of hunger." My heart, ached to hear her.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.