I.

THE COMING ON OF A STORM.

HAD anyone been present when the earth travailed birth of the mountains, when those colossal children, upheaved with fiery throes, stiffened in the cold strata of the upper air-had anyone, I say, stood by when, milder breezes beginning to blow, these frostbound giants thawed in the warm sun, their icy walls melting into water, that water breaking loose from the alpine heights, tearing out ravines, hollowing the soil, shaping the valleys-the whole of Switzerland one vast waterfall-that man's lips would have been dumb; thus beholding Omnipotence, his senses would have failed him, his soul have been filled with endless

wonder.

He who, standing now in some deep alpine valley, mountain barriers all around, above them frozen summits rearing themselves to heaven, a few ravines the only egress has seen the passing of warm winds over those white heads, black clouds resting on the steep

rock walls, God's hand pressing those inky clouds till they dart forth lightning; their thundering wail shaking the earth, their tears flowing down the hill sides, then swelling to torrents that roar down into the valley; he, I say, who stands thus in some narrow rocky cleft, even if in no peril of death, surrounded by lightning flashes, the whole mountain wall a cataract, the valley a foaming caldron, the thunder of the sky lost in the thunder of the water-that man's soul has surely bowed itself in deep humility, his alarm turned into prayer, while he forms some faint conception how earth gave birth to the hills, and how worlds were made.

And he, too, who stands now upon a rounded hill of luxuriant green, and sees fair dwellings in the valley and noble trees on the mountain side, will find it difficult to picture to himself the conflict and devastation in which this lonely valley and these hills had their birth; and when he forces his mind to contemplate it, he, too, bends before the almighty power of God, which does not alone display itself in the uproar of

the elements, nor the creation of worlds, but which shows greater still in its silent, tender, beautifying processes, in changing the wilderness into a garden of delight.

We will now suppose ourselves standing on one of the gentle hills of the Emmenthal, and, the first thrill of delight over, proceeding to take cognisance of the details around. We find ourselves in a narrow valley, which the Emme has scooped out for itself, with a row of fruitful hills on each side, covered with villages and rich crops, and our eye falls upon a small cottage, built of wood and thatched with straw. This cottage is charmingly situated in a green field, and many hearts, grown weary of the world's uproar, might wish with a sigh to take shelter from it in the silent peace of this lowly home; and should this wish have arisen, most certainly a nearer view would not tend to dispel it. The cottage indeed is old, and most of the small panes in the small windows are dull, but it is all most thoroughly clean. In every available recess, on all sides, there is a little bench, and in front of the house a garden. True, the hedge is a little straggling; but for all that the garden itself is in excellent order. Here weeds and plants do not grow together; there is not a weed to be seen; but, in place of them, pinks, roses, and other lovely flowers. And beyond the garden, far away, one sees the mighty Bernese Alps, looking so bold and majestic, their strong feet on earth, their venerable white heads half in heaven. Sitting on the bench before the cottage, one's eyes rest upon a beautiful meadow, while at one's feet a brook flows gently and silently along, the trouts leaping from its clear waters after flies. Yet many would be still more delighted with the view from the bench behind the house. There a strip of ground stretches out below a rustic treasury, planted with flax, beans, potatoes, turnips, cabbage, and poppies. This ground joins on to a wood, whence a perfect concert of birds proceeds, for it is the favourite haunt of the feathered tribe, and even the nightingale, so rarely met with in Switzerland, may be heard here. From behind the wood there comes a deep monotonous sound that forms a bass to the shrill singing of the birds; it is the impetuous Emme, the river which formed the valley, and still from time to time recalls to memory that it is the parent of the lovely scene-and most certainly a powerful and furious one enough.

Had we been looking at this cottage on the 12th of June, we might have seen, in the potato plot behind, the inhabitants of this quiet home. They were four: an old woman, a boy between four and five, and two hens, one white, one black.

The old woman stood amongst the potatoes, and hoed out the weeds. She was poorly, but neatly, dressed. Her face was wrinkled, but between the wrinkles it was quite clean. The boy's face was smooth, and by nature beautifully pink and white; but this was not very apparent, for he was by no means as clean as his grandmother. Not, indeed, through any fault of hers, for had she washed him every quarter of an hour it would have been to little purpose. He was a lovely urchin, with light curling hair, who knew well how to have his own way with the old lady, and was himself of opinion that he

might touch whatever he liked with his little hands and then put those hands of his wherever he would so, of course, his own face came in for their touches. He was not expensively dressed; somewhat better, indeed, than Eve would have clothed her boys; but yet no one would have guessed, from looking at him, what a pitch tailoring has reached now-a-days. He was cutting laths to make a hen-coop, and every moment wanted his grandmother to tell him whether the coop would be large enough to hold a sitting hen and her brood. Meanwhile, the black and white hens went on feeding quite comfortably and quietly, keeping more especially close to the old woman, because the newly turned-up ground offered them the richest provender, though sometimes one or other would go up to the boy, and, with head on one side, inspect his handiwork; and very often, too, the grandmother looked that way with visible delight, going on hoeing, however, all the time, for she could use her eyes and her hands both, which is more than all young maids can do. Nay, whenever her eyes returned from the boy to her own work, it seemed as though they gave her new strength, and the hands went on all the faster. The grandmother not only took great pleasure in her grandson, but he was her life, he was her love; and because he was this, she was entirely given up to his service. Not only did her life lie in his, but she would gladly have laid it down ten times a-day for his sake. Whenever her eyes rested upon the child one read this plainly in them.

It was a very sultry afternoon, a few black clouds were stationed here and there in the sky, like divisions waiting the order to form in line for a pitched battle. The heat, however, did not interrupt the old woman's work, and she seldom rested on her hoe to take breath. She knew how rapidly evening gathers, how time flies away, and the night comes when no man can work.

Many there are who only begin to spend their money cautiously and judiciously when they have come to the last coins in their purse; and so it is, too, with many in respect to the days of their life. They waste the best of these, let them run through their fingers like sand, so long as they fancy that a countless multitude still remains behind. But when life begins to wane, and suddenly the scant tale of their days appears before them, then, indeed, they resolve to set to work to number those days with wisdom, though it commonly happens that they know not how to set about it. This had not, however, been the way with our old woman. She had always worked faithfully, but with added industry the older she grew; and this day with a quite special eagerness, for she had a task before her that she was anxious to finish. She knew not what the weather might be on the morrow, nor how long bad weather would be delayed. She rejoiced in her heart to think how people would have to say, "Kate is always the most active of us; always ready with her work. If everyone were like her, there would be fewer poor people, and the houses of correction would not be so full."

At length the last row of potatoes was weeded. "Well, I'm thankful that's done," thought Kate, whose

full name was Kate Hanzig, as she carefully wiped away the earth from her hoe, and said: "Now, my lad, we I will go home; but let us first give a look at the flax, which must be nearly in flower." The flax-ground was only divided from the potatoes by two rows of beans, and, as may be easily supposed, was not very extensive, and yet it was the treasury of the old woman, and contributed the best portion of her rent. Never was there a plot of flax more carefully tended than hers, which had the advantage of being very good soil, sandy, with a mixture of marl deposited by the Emme. Kate was famous for her flax, and nothing in the world pleased her better than to hear people say that she had the handsomest boy and the Enest flax to be seen in the whole district. She now stood with great delight looking at her crop, and saying to herself: "If it is God's will I shall have a good year, and need have no anxiety about the rent or our own food ;" and certainly the little plot was a pleasure to the eye. The flax stood at least two yards high, it was not yet in flower, but thick, strong, and apright in its net. In this net were placed, at equal distances of a foot from each other, small sticks, all of exactly the same height, and from one of these to the other coarse threads ran, forming little squares and then crossing diagonally. In these the flax found strength and support, not being bent or broken by the wind, which always makes it sickly and poor. On her short way home Kate mentally reckoned up the proceeds of her crop, compared it with the outgoings, and struck the balance. A woman of this kind carries her account book about with her in her head, calculates profits and losses as well as the first merchant in the land, and makes as few mistakes, nly the sums that occupy her sound somewhat rently.

F

extended view.

The cottage stood, as we have said, rather higher than the field of green crops, and thus had a more Still absorbed in her calculations, Kate put by her hoe, went to the front of the house to get wood to cook their supper, and now first remarked the threatening appearance of the sky. Over the Jura to the north lay a black wall of clouds, while to the south, over the Alps, heavy white masses reared their jagged outline high in the heavens, a new mountain range above the old. "Alas!" sighed "what an outlook this is! If only the good Lord will spare us hail and tempest. To be sure we deserve it, but if He gave us our deserts who could endure it?"

the old woman,

Then came the boy running up, exclaiming: "Grandmother, come and see how the fish leap in the brook: there will be good fishing; you must make me ard at once." The grandmother did not refuse her daring absolutely, but persuasively; gave her reasons, half acknowledged the plan itself to have its merits, tat submitted that the present moment was not the best for carrying it out.

"What makes you want to catch fish?" she said; "what could you do with them ?"

“Sell them, granny, sell them: Landlord Mareilli has told me that fish are worth a great deal of money; many, many pennies."

"Yes, the large ones," said Granny, "but there are

often eaten them, and he is alive for all that; and what he can eat I can eat; and I should like them as much as he likes them."

"See, deary, I have not time for it now; I have got to cook our fried potatoes. Only think,-fried potatoes, that you are so fond of."

"I don't want fried potatoes," cried the child; “I won't have fried potatoes. I am sick of them, granny. I want a fishing-rod-a fishing-rod," and he began to howl. "Granny does not love me, granny does not love me." The urchin knew well that this was the prize-shot at the grandmother's heart, which never failed to hit the mark.

"Child, child, be quiet!" said the good woman, frightened; "be quiet, and don't talk wickedly. Sick of potatoes! What would you have to eat? And what would you say if God sent hail to kill the potatoes, or let the Emme come and drown them? what will you eat then? what shall we both eat? Then you would soon cry out for your potatoes. You don't know, you poor lad, what potatoes are: pray God it may never fare with you as with me in my sixteenth year, you little simpleton. Your red cheeks would soon go if you lived upon fish and had no more potatoes." But while she exhorted him thus, she went on all the time making him a fishingrod-that is to say, she tied a crooked needle to a piece of string; the boy looking on in delight, and we very much doubt that he took in a word of her lecture. "There now, bait thy fishing-rod; mind thou dost not tumble into the brook, and take care of thyself."

Before the good woman had finished the sentence the crooked needle was hanging in the brook. Now, then, she could make her fire, wash her hands, and give their supper to the fowls, who afterwards struggled up to their roosting places in the kitchen.

"Preserve us!" said Kate, who went every now and then to the door to keep an eye upon the lad, "how it is lightening to be sure; it's as if a whole scuttle of fire was being emptied out. God keep the poor souls who are out in the storm."

Look, granny, at those fiery chains yonder! My! if they were all gold and I had one end and you had the other, gran, we should be rich then ; we should have good times; we could buy a cock and more hens, and sheep, and horses, and cows, and I should be a great farmer, shouldn't I, grandmother?"

"Thou poor lad, what things do come into thy head. But in with you now; don't you hear how it is thundering yonder? If it comes this way, God have mercy upon us."

The old woman had much to do, however, before she could get the little fellow into the kitchen. He

was set upon the fish, and the thunder was still pretty far, and sounded like a cart going over a wooden bridge. While it is distant, children, and some grown people too, are extraordinarily bold, and when the storm is far away or behind a mountain range such heroes are as thick in the land as the flax in Kate's field. But when thunder and lightning burst over their heads, when the river swells to their very feet, the moment that the distant draws near, then heroes are few, and he who seemed most valiant when the storm raged in another valley is the first to vanish as soon as the lightning hisses in his own ears.

And so it was that the grandmother could do nothing with her child, till a dazzling flash and a pretty loud clap came as forerunners of the storm. Then the fish and the golden chains were all forgotten; the boy ran in to his granny, and entreated her to shut the door that the thunder and lightning might not come in. But what we shut out by the door often finds its way in at the window, and as they looked out a red flash met them, which made Johnny scream out, Granny, it burns!" and hide his head in her apron. She had a good deal of trouble to get him to the table, where stood their frugal meal of coffee, and potatoes fried in a very very little butter. The little one was a bold rogue, and yet a timid child; whatever he could understand he would face courageously, but all connected with the invisible world would inspire him with terror, and as ghosts were said to appear by night, he was much afraid of the dark.

When he sat in the little room by his grandmother's side, and she told alarming stories, or when God thundered out of heaven, and the fiery flashes fell to earth, he trembled, but it was not a painful fear; rather a sweet and enjoyable one, mingled as it was with the confidence that here by his granny's side he was safe and well guarded, and that no evil one had any power over him.

"Pray, Johnny," said Kate. Both folded their hands.

Send angels down, their watch to keep
Around us, in our nightly sleep.
And, when our time is come to die,
God take us to his heaven on high.

"Can you say grandmother.

Amen."

"Our Father 99 as well? asked the

The child was beginning, when a few sharp raps were heard upon the wooden walls of the cottage, at which Kate started up, grew pale, and exclaimed: "That is hail!"

Then there was a moment's stillness outside. "Pray, Johnny, pray: it's bad enough as it is ;if it hail besides, what shall we eat? Whatever shall we do?"

And scarcely had the poor woman said this, when the knocking outside began again, more and more rapidly; till, at length, the hailstones rattled incessantly against the walls and the windows. Flash after flash rent the sky; the roar of the thunder became continuous; and the earth shook beneath one mighty and prolonged clap.

In the gloom of night, and in awful majesty, a storm now raged over the country such as even mountain districts but seldom experience;-a storm to make all mortals tremble, and the most impious lips cry out to Jehovah the Almighty for grace and mercy. The elements seemed to have burst their bonds, and to fight against each other in wildest fury. The earth was deluged with fire and water, borne on the wings of the winds. The earth shook, as though her foundations were shattered, and her fragments were to be washed away into the infinite space through which the worlds roll. The three elements, fire, air, and water, seemed kindled with wild rage against the fourth, and madly bent upon its utter destruction, unmoved by the misery of its living creatures-by their terror and consternation. Hail and rain poured down in dense sheets; lightning flashed through woods and dwellings; the shock of the thunder stirred the abysses of the earth; springs burst from the ground; land-slips choked the valley;

The flashes became more frequent; while, on the other hand, darkness came down upon the earth, though the sun was hardly set. But the clouds had sunk down low, and very black and threatening, over the lesser hills, like an army that puts itself into motion and moves slowly along the plain to a deadly battle. The forerunner of the storm began to roar; a few violent gusts of wind swept through the trees, bending their tops to the ground; the hollow rumble of the thunder grew louder and louder, and the cottage shook again.

"It's getting dark!" sighed Kate; "and only hear what an uproar !—and the clouds lie upon the very ground! I have not seen it so black for a long while past. What will the Lord do with us! Pray, Johnny, pray the prayer against tempest. In spite of the thunder and the wind our Heavenly Father will hear it."

Johnny again folded his little hands, and began : "God save us from the power of ill;

From storms, floods, death, God keep us still;

dams, and laid the land under water.

In short, there was an uproar such as might well make kings and beggars alike realise their powerlessness, and every reflective soul feel in deep humility the nothingness of man,-poor flower of the field that fades at a breath,—and raise its glance to the Hand which founded the world, governs the elements, and bridles the storm.

II.

A FINE CROP OF FLAX IS DESTROYED, AND WORTHY PEOPLE ARE BROUGHT INTO TROUBLE.

THE grandmother and the child were stricken dumb by the roar of the tempest; their folded hands lay on the table, and the tears ran fast down the good woman's face. All her crops came before her mind, at once destroyed; the fruit of her industry lost. What she had raised in the sweat of her brow, was neither to please nor to nourish her any more. dark heavy cloud lay upon her spirits. It was not

the feeling of the captain whose ship takes fire in midocean, with waves roaring all around, and no friendly sail in sight. Such a one would hide his head in the silent prayer of immediate death. Kate's feeling was rather that of the exhausted wanderer who has wrestled with the pain and weariness of the road for a whole long tedious day, in hopes of having a cheerful evening in a comfortable inn, and having reached the summit of the last hill sees no inn before him, but an endless plain, thickly covered with snow, icy winds blowing over it; and has to go on over that plain, seeing no goal before him. Such a one is seized with inexpressible weariness; he loses all power of thought. One wish only remains-to sleep on, to sleep on; to rest, to rest; not to go further; not to struggle with the distance, and the snow. So felt Kate; who had walked through difficult paths, in all truth and honesty, for seventy years, and now stood before the steep hill of want, with a feeling of exhaustion; and no way led round this hill to welcome rest; no way but one-death.

From this sense of utter prostration and hopelessness the old woman was suddenly aroused by the boy calling out "Grandmother, water! water! we are drowning!" Kate started from her mournful reverie. Water was indeed splashing about her feet-water that had poured through the window, of which the hail had broken several panes, and with it came a roaring and raging such as Kate had never heard before. In great alarm she opened the door into the kitchen, and found water there too; then she opened the door that led from the kitchen out of doors, but the lightning and the rain nearly knocked her down, and it was all she could do to fasten the door again. She groped her way back into the bedroom; the Water had risen-it was as high as the step between the rooms. She lifted Johnny into the bed, took him upon her knee, and trembled no longer for her crops, but for dear life; not hers so much, but that of the poor child. She knew not how it would turn out. The thundering and roaring all round the house was such, and the water went on rising so, that the fancied it was the roar of the Emme that she heard, which, having broken its banks, would sweep away the little cottage and themselves in its waves. In weather like this, flight was impossible: their only chance of escape lay in God's mercy. And thus poor Kate spent hours, clinging, between hope and fear, to the mercy of the Lord, for the storm was of unusual continuance. When it seemed passing over, it would burst out again with renewed fury, as though to destroy whatever it had overlooked before. The Hand which binds the elements in chains seemed paralysed. Johnny was fast asleep. Kate trembled and prayed, and at length began to feel a ray of hope when the flashes grew fewer, the thunder fainter, the bail ceased, the rain beat less violently against the window, and the water rose no higher. This last was an especial comfort, as proving that this water came from the skies, and not the river, which would have gone on rising after the storm was over. And yet, as the thunder decreased, she heard the voice of the river till more plainly, so that the sword of death was still kept hanging over her head. At length she thought

danger must surely be over; and gently laying the child on the bed, she pushed back the window and tried to look around. But the dark clouds still covered the sky, and the ground looked so strangegreyish instead of greenish-that Kate at first thought it was covered with hail; but then there was a strange sound, and the surface seemed uneven, so that she again doubted whether it was not water that gave that livid aspect to the earth, and made that rippling noise. Again she splashed through the wet to the kitchen door, and this time no storm drove her back. She could cross the threshold, but at first could distinguish nothing. The hail lay in the chinks of the roof, and round the house there was a rippling and gurgling as of water, but it did not seem to be the Emme, it was not loud enough for that. At length the covering of clouds was rent, and there was moonlight for a few moments. There was indeed water all around, far as Kate's eyes could reach, and it tossed wildly enough; but for all that it was not the terrible Emme. It was however water that Kate had never seen before, and therefore it caused her a new fit of terror. What was to be the end of it she did not know. She closed the door, and went back to her child, to watch and pray over him anew. But it grew stiller and stiller without; the child drew his breath lightly, and Kate lay down by him, only to close her eyes a little, as she thought; but when she opened them the daylight was glimmering in the little room; a pale grey day, like a face that is drawing near to the grave, or that has risen out of it.

For a long time the good woman could not lift her head to look out and see the extent of the mischief done; her heart was so sick and faint, she thought she must be going to die. This was her feeling till she looked at her little lad, who was sleeping so prettily and sweetly beside her. "Alas! poor child; what will become of thee!" she sighed, and fell to praying again. This gave her strength; she lifted herself up, looked out as far as she could see, and saw heaven and earth one uniform grey. She looked no further, made her fire, and got the bread, the coffee, and the fried potatoes ready. The wood hissed, one of the hens began to cackle, and that awoke the child, who called for his granny, insisted upon getting up, looked out of the window, and could not make out the change that had come over everything. He had slept off his fear, and forgotten all about the yesterday's storm. So it is with children: they soon lose all memory of some events, and others capriciously take permanent possession of their mind, and they keep harping upon them. When his grandmother told him, with many tears and lamentations, that the flax was all gone, and the potatoes and all that they had to look to, and that they were now quite poor people, who had nothing to eat, and did not know what was to become of them, the little fellow only said, "Eat, granny; you'll be better by-and-by, particularly when you have had your

coffee."

"And if I were better, poor laddie, what would be the use of that, seeing we have nothing to eat? It is a dreadful thing to die of hunger: think of that, my child, my poor darling."