The Forrest City times., 1892-02-12
ONLY A croup.
But Death ant Destruction .r. Ha.-
 Therein.

Taereiu-
 As you stand here on this hill ana look down into the valley. your av.~ never rested on a more peaceful scens' It is five miles down to where you sss the shimmer of the waters of the l.ss under this afternoon sun. 1t is n,,~ from this hill across to the side of ths wooded mountain.
 How quiet everything Is, The smok. curIs lazily up from half dozen farrs house chimneys; you sec cattle ano horses grazing in the fields; now a,s then you catch sight of farmer nav- ing about. Down there in that ovov. IS school house, and dozen or mon. children have just been called in from recess. Heaven never created a mo-. perfect June day. It would be har5 to find in all the world a more beauti- ful spot Every tree in that valley ;s in full leaf; every rose bush is in fulI bloom There is just a faint stir of ar now and then: it brings up to u, the odor of flowers and blossoms
 Whats thati We face down the v.,. ley with start of surprise No oa. has shouted No one is near. Ther. was no sound. And yet there is some thing to alarm. The bluebird h,. ceased her song. the chirping of ths cricket beside the great rock is heard no more. Ton can almost feel soma. thing like a shudder in these trees pp which ths wild grape vines arc climb. ing in such profusion- There is m change down in the valley. No shadow of danger has crept into the open door of the school house to give warning.
 Down beyond the lake Il cloud sud. denly appears in the blue afternoon sky. It seems at first as if one of the tree ops had suddenly been thrust up. ward but it rapidly enlarges. Oncs before you saw similar cloud. and the recollection makes you chill. Its center Is blue black. its edges ars frayed and ragged and tangled. As you gaze at it. your breath coming faster and your pulses throhbin4. t seems as if giant hand holding | giant pen. was thrust forward to writs the word .'Death'' in letters of nrs across the faee of the cloud.
 Beware, Beware"
 You look down into the valley and cry oat. but in vain. your voice Is lost before 1t reaches the fields and farm houses. Old men sleep on: young men whistle ss they work. With that blue sky overhead and that ..lnd s,.u.Ls..x. lx.tt.s,.<x t},. a,,4h ...~. the boom of a great cannon would not startle man or beast
 It is coming. Scarcely q minute has passed since you saw the cloud. 1t seemed hanging like q balloon in q still sky at first. Now it is moving whiri- ing about like great wheei-adyanc- ing up the valley. There Is a distant moaning nearer nearer--a and nov Death himself bounds over the tree- tops hiding the lake and strikes into the valley with q mad shrek to sound the alarm.
 It Is over before you could count twenty. A cannon ball could scarce ly have kept pace with it. And now you look down into the valley again. It is stilra valley, shut in by the rug ged ranges which have dehed tho wrath of heaven for centuries; but what of the houses. trees those who slept and those who worked? Wreck - ruin -deathi There are q few wounded. there are many dead Not house tree nor fence is left stand ing. Even the headboards marking the graves in the little cemetery have been rent and riven and carried aiaE
 The plague or fire or sword would have wrought less destruction. de- clares the New York World The wrath of the cyclone is the wrath of Creator.