AN ISLAND GARDEN 107 



by the cracking thunder that follows every flash. 

 A moment more, and a few drops like bullets 

 strike us ; then the torn arch flies over in tat- 

 tered rags, a monstrous apparition lost in dark- 

 ness; then the wind tears the black sea into white 

 rage and roars and screams and shouts with tri- 

 umph, the floods and the hurricane have it all 

 their own way. Continually the tempest is shot 

 through with the leaping lightning and crashing 

 thunder, like steady cannonading, echoing and 

 reechoing, roaring through the vast empty spaces 

 of the heavens. In pauses of the tumult a strange 

 light is fitful over sea and rocks, then the tem- 

 pest begins afresh as if it had taken breath and 

 gained new strength. One's whole heart rises 

 responding to the glory and the beauty of the 

 storm, and is grateful for the delicious refresh- 

 ment of the rain. Every leaf rejoices in the life- 

 giving drops. Through the dense sparkling rain- 

 curtain the lightning blazes now in crimson and 

 in purple sheets of flame. Oh, but the wind is 

 wild ! Spare my treasures, oh, do not slay ut- 

 terly my beautiful, beloved flowers ! The tall 

 stalks bend and strain, the Larkspurs bow. I 

 hold my breath while the danger lasts, thinking 

 only of the wind's power to harm the garden ; for 

 the leaping lightning and the crashing thunder I 

 love, but the gale fills me with dread for my flow- 

 ers defenseless. Still down pour the refreshing 

 floods ; everything is drenched : where are the 

 humming-birds? The boats toss madly on the 

 moorings, the sea breaks wildly on the shore, 

 the world is drowned and gone, there is nothing 



