The tragedy grows greater every moment. The romances dead to the world, the grief lost beneath the wave or carried to the vapors above the earth, the aching hearts soothed by lasting peace, the tired souls in the arms of endless rest, the ambitions stilled by the calm which banishes the anguish of life’s dreary struggle—it matters not what these rings may bring to mind—we are yet confronted with the loss of the thousands who shall never again press these wave-kissed shores. The sentiment of this people is, God rest every one who sleeps beneath the wave, and gather to everlasting peace the ashes of all whose funeral pyres were built of these shattered homes. A DAY OF ANGUISH. It has been a day of anguish like all the days of this week have been. There has been no cessation of tear-stained faces appearing here and there to tell of the lost. And it is a wonder if the end of this sad divulgence will ever come. A motherless boy or a fatherless girl, a now childless mother or father, or whatever it may be, they still come to tell of their woe, and the stolid men who glide over the water or who search the shore, still bring in the swollen and unrecognizable victims of the storm. It will end some day, and agonizing hearts may rest the painful throbbings of this hour. It matters not how great the numbers of the dead, they are numerous enough to shock the sympathies of the world, and they are gone forever. But we fear to look upon the sea, lest some heartless wave shall bring to view the cold, stark form of somebody whom somebody loved. The victims are still growing into larger thousands, and the bereft are still coming in to tell of losses. It is a continued story of anguish and death, such as Texas has never known before and will never know again. It is needless to repeat the sad discoveries which every day brings forth. It is said that every wave of the sea has its tragedy, and it seems to be true here. In Galveston it has ceased to be anxiety for the dead, but concern for the living. The supreme disaster, with its overwhelming tale of death and destruction, has now abated to lively anxiety for the salvation of the living. Men are at work clearing the streets of piles of timber and refuse. Men are beginning to realize that the living must be cared for. It is now the supreme duty. There is much work to be done, and it is being done. Women and children are being hurried out of the city just as rapidly as the limited facilities of transportation will permit. The authorities and committees are rational and idleness is no longer permitted. There is an element with an abundance of vital energy, who intend to save the town, and the town is being saved. WORK RAPIDLY PUSHED.