One of the most remarkable things attending the Galveston disaster is the fortitude of the people. Their loss in relatives, friends and property has been so overwhelming that it seems too much to be expressed with outward grief. Two men who had not seen each other since the disaster met in the street. “How many did you lose?” they asked by common impulse. “I lost all my property, but my wife and I came through all right.” “I was not so fortunate. My wife and my little boy were both drowned.” There was an expression of sympathy from the other, but nothing approaching a tear from either. “They are making good progress cleaning up,” remarked the one whose losses were heaviest, with a pleasant smile. The other one makes light answer and they pass on. The people of Galveston have seen so much death that they are temporarily hardened to it. The announcement of the loss of another friend means little to a man who has seen the dead bodies of neighbors and townspeople hauled to the wharf by the dray-load. No services have been attempted for the dead. Neither has there been memorial services. The Rev. J. M. K. Kerwin, priest in charge of St. Mary’s Catholic Cathedral, said: “It was impossible. Priest and layman had to join in the work of cleaning the city of dead bodies. I don’t expect there will be memorial services for a month.” STOOD THE STORM WELL. Father Kerwin’s church is among the few which are comparatively little damaged. He sets the value of Catholic property destroyed in the city at $300,000. Included in this loss is the Ursula convent and academy, which was badly damaged. It covered four blocks between Twenty-fifth and Twenty-seventh streets and Avenues N and O. It was the finest in the South. The city is rapidly improving in its sanitary conditions. The smell from the ooze and mud with which most of the streets are filled is stronger than that which comes from the debris heaps containing undiscovered bodies. When these heaps are being burned and the wind carries the smoke over the city, the odor is very similar to that which afflicts Chicago at night when refuse is being burned at the stockyards, and no worse. Soon even the odor of the slime will be gone. Every dump-cart in the city is at work. Every Galveston business man talks confidently of the future of the city, though many of the clerks announce their intention of going away as soon as they can accumulate money enough. “I’m not afraid of another storm,” said a clerk in one of the principal stores. “But I’m sick and tired of the whole business.”