My school had been vacated three days before, and all the pupils, together with their baggage, had gone. We felt, on that Sabbath afternoon, a full sense of relief from responsibility and care. About 3 o'clock in the afternoon, while engaged in reading, I was informed by my wife that an unusual rumbling and loud noise could be heard in the west. I remarked that it must be a thunderstorm and nothing more. The loud roar, however, continued, and became clearer and more distinct. I arose hastily, took a position and listened to the sound. In a few moments my mother-in-law, who resides with us, called to me in a loud voice to come to the west window on the main hall of the second story. I hurried thither, and on looking toward the west saw the great storm-cloud approaching, distant at that time perhaps half a mile, and coming over the level plain of the intervening fields. It was a novel and terrible sight to behold. The great conical mass seemed to be carrying along with it the timbers and burning embers of a barn on fire; vast masses of dirt and other dark objects appeared to be also in motion and coming directly towards my school buildings. No time must be lost; the whole establishment _might_ blow away, but in any event the safest place seemed to be the basement story. Thither I asked my family to go immediately; they did so. On reaching the story immediately above the basement I halted, passed to the front porch, and took a position for observation, thinking that possibly our plans for safety would have to be modified. In a few moments the cloud struck the building; it came apparently with the force of two or three batteries of artillery, and the question was about to be decided whether the brick walls could stand the shock; if they could not, our lives must be sacrificed. It was all over in less than one minute. I had withdrawn to a front room on the first heavy fall of brick through the porch roof, for the upper story seemed to be coming down bodily upon the lower floors. After it was over I stepped to the east end of that part of the porch which was remaining, and viewed the situation; it was enough to sadden the stoutest heart. Not a solitary building without was standing; the fourth story of the Seminary was completely gone. Our new dwelling house was in course of erection and was nearly completed. Although it was a large structure, thirty-six by fifty feet, not a vestige of it remained above the cellar walls; even these were partially overthrown. My barn, carriage-house and stable, together with every other out-building, were nowhere to be seen. Such a sight was never witnessed in this part of the country. The horses were still alive, though one of them, which had been in the barn, was gasping for life more than fifty yards from the building, and was badly mutilated; the other appeared unhurt, having kept just outside of the storm track. The cow, which had been grazing in the pasture