“The thunder, marching on for a long time with that solemn roll which reveals the depths of the skies, suddenly explodes with a crash; the lightnings fall straight and serried—no longer a series of fantastic zig‐ zags, but a very focus of electric light. Sometimes the brilliancy flashes out behind the castle, and the outline of its square tower, black as ink, is thrown upon the palazzi opposite to it. Sometimes the fire kindles in the east, and the square, the houses, the fortress, are all lighted up by a flame of unbearable white, which scorches the eyes. The air is rent by the winds in fury, the boom of the waves resounds through an undertone of wild complaint. Angels of destruction are passing by this night; one hears the hiss of their swords. What is human life? A nothing. What is man himself? A worm. In hours like these the boldest among us calls his ways to remembrance. “I can understand seriousness; I have no patience with fear. “There was a time when, during heavy storms, my mother was wont to say to me: ‘Come!’ We used to go out in the full fury of the tempest. ‘Listen,’ my mother would say; ‘it is the voice of God!’ Then she made me join my hands; she prayed, and peace descended into my soul.” And again of a storm elsewhere Madame de Gasparin says:—“The mighty voice fills the air with clamour. Not another word; there it is in its frenzy. “There it is, stretching out to the furthest horizons. The clouds which are driving along alternately dye it grey or black; then the mists are rent, they let the sun pass through, and the intense blue is lit up to the very depths of immensity. “Near the shore squadrons of green waves of baleful perfidious hue—heavy opaque masses, uplifted by a convulsive throb, shone athwart by a pale ray—roll over and break with thundering noise; and foaming cataracts, precipitated in torrents, dash up, then, suddenly quieted, come and lave the shore with their clear waters. “Terrible in its rage this sea! full of spite, like a wicked fairy. Howling to the four quarters of the sky, heedlessly breaking proud ships to pieces, intoxicated with cries, calamities, frenzied with might; and then, as in irony, tracing magic circles, enclosing, inundating you, and thrilling with pleasure, running back, leaving the sand strewn with rainbowed bubbles. “We stand motionless, mere nothings in presence of this brute force. But our soul thrills, feeling herself greater than the sea, stronger than the waves—she who can lay hold on God. * * * * * * * “But a ray or light has shone out.... “And now that the sun is lavishingly scattering diamonds over the sea, now that the wrath of the waves breaks into sparkling laughter, let us run on the shore, and defy the spray.