IN MIDSUMMER FIELDS 



WHO counts the cost of a thunderstorm in July when 

 that in May is worth a load of hay, and one in 

 June wins a silver spoon? Every raindrop refreshing the 

 thirsty flower is far more welcome than a diamond would 

 be, sparkling in its purity, to play the part of a perpetual 

 dewdrop; and no theatrical spectacle can equal the gran- 

 deur of rain-laden clouds heaped mountain high with 

 frosty, inaccessible summits. 



The cloud panorama changes continually, never re- 

 peating its scenes, ever wonderful ; and when it reaches a 

 culmination of angry portent, heavy with gathered mois- 

 ture, fired with stored electricity, it outdoes any "thriller" 

 presented by an ingenious showman. ' 



Cloud watching is a pastime without disappointment. 

 It is so far beyond human meddling that I feel as if I were 

 looking into other worlds, and am made rich in expe- 

 riences of fear, of awe and reverence, and delight that 

 puny man dares enter into an appreciation of visible ex- 

 citement in nature in which all his wisdom has no part. 



As the thunderclouds roll on the horizon, and the dark- 

 ness deepens, and the storm gathers, we recall that it was 

 "3 



