SEPTEMBER 



The Storm 



IN the history of an English hamlet some great 

 storm often stands out as a wonderful event. 

 It may belong to a vague past, elders alone 

 speaking of it with authority, and even their 

 authority borrowed, for they only "heard tell" 

 of it as lads through a past generation. Such 

 oral history can be borne out by mark on tree 

 or building ; the church steeple was struck, the 

 shire oak, or the clump of pines on the windy 

 hill. On the whole, few trees seem to be struck, 

 in spite of the warning to avoid trees during a 

 storm ; the scarred oaks in English woods are far 

 between. But a fortnight ago a ribbon of fire, 

 a storm compressed into narrowest compass, fell 

 on the common and high-lying wood near the 

 hanger of beeches. The oldest villager cannot 

 recall such artillery. It slew cattle in the valley 

 beneath, though a few miles off; across the 

 common, the sun was bright all the time, and the 

 workers never left the harvest field. 



On common and wood, four or five good oaks 

 bear witness. It is an idle boast that we do not 

 fear the lightning we only do not fear because 

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