Year: 1873

y
never man of feeble courage. There
are few scenes of either human or ele-
mentary strife, upon which / have not
looked with brow of daring. l have
stood in front of battle when swords were
cleaning and circling around me like
fiery serpents of the air have sat on
the mountain pinnacle, when the whirl-
wind was rending its oaks from rocky
clefts and scattering them piece-meal to
the clouds. | have seen those things
with swelling soul that rocked not of
danger, but there is something in the
thunder's voice that makes me tremble
like child. L have tried to overcome
this unmanly weakness l have called
pride to my aid, have sought for moral
courage III the lessons of philosophy,
but they avail me nothing-at the first
low moaning of the distant cloud my
heart sinks and dies within me.


My involu ltary dread of thunder has
it's origin in an incident that occurred
when 1 was ten. l had a cousin, girl,
of the same age as myself, who had been
the constant companion of my childhood.
Strange, that after the lapse of score
OF years, that countenance is so familiar
to me. l can see the bright, young
creature-her large eyes flashing like
beautiful gems, her free locks streaming
as III JOY upon the rising gale, and her
! cheek glowing like ruby through a
wreath of transparent snow. Her voice
had the melody and joyousness of a
birds, and when she bounded over
wooded hill or the fresh green valley,
shouting glad answer to every voice OF
nature, and clasping her little hands III
the very ecstacy of young existence, she
looked as If breaking away like a freed
nightingale from the earth, and going
where all things were beautiful and
happy, like her.


1t was morning in the middle of Au-
gust. She had been passing some days
at my fathers house, and was TO return
home. Her path lay across the fields,
and gladly became the companion OF
her walk. / never knew n summer
morning more beautiful and still ONLY
one little cloud was visible. and that
seemed as pure and white, and peaceful,
as if it had been the incense from a
burning censor of the skies. The leaves
hung silent i'll the woods, the waters OF
the bay had forgotten their undulations,
the flowers were bending their heads, as
if dreaming of the rainbow, and the
whole atmosphere was of such a soft and
luxurious sweetness, that il seemed OF
roses scattered down by the hands of Q
Peri, from the far-of gardens Of Para
disc. The green earth and blue sea were
abroad in their boundlessness, and the
peaceful sky bent over them. The little
creature at my side was in delirium oi
happiness, and her clear, sweet voice
came ringing upon the air as often rs
she heard the tones of favorite bird.
or found some strange and lovely flower
in her frolic wanderings. The unbroken
and almost supernatural tranquility oi
the day continued until neariv noon.
Then the indications of IN approaching
tempest were manifest. Over the sum
nit of a mountain about mile away
the folds OF dark cloud became sudden.
ly visible, and at the same moment q
hollow roar came down upon the winds
as If it were the sound of waves in O
rocky cavern. The cloud unrolled like
a banner-fold upon the air, but still the
atmosphere was calm and the leaves as
motionless as before there was not
even culver upon the sleeping waters
TO tell OF the coming hurricane. TO es-
cape the tempest was impossible.


AS the only resort, we fled to an oak,
that stood at the foot of tall. ruggeo
precipice. Here we gazed almos;
breathless upon the clouds, marshaling
themselves like giants in the sky. The
thunder was not frequent, but every
burst was SO fearful that the young
creature, who stood by me, shut hei
eyes convulsively, clung with desperate
strength to my arm, and shrieked as il
her heart would break. A few minutes
and the storm was upon us. During the
height of its fury, the little girl lifted
her finger toward the precipice shat
lowered above us. / looked up. an
amethystine flame was quivering upon
its gray peaks, and the next moment the
clouds opened, the rocks tottered to their
foundation, roar like the groan of q
universe filed the air, and / felt myseli
blinded and thrown, l knew not whittier.
How long / remained insensible I can.
not tell; but when consciousness re-
turned the violence of the tempest was
abating the roar OF the winds dying in