This burst of thunder had not
been preceded by any lightning, but was accompanied by two immense
forked columns of fire, which seemed to stretch from the sky to our very
feet. We all cried out, even my poor wife; but the silence of terror
succeeded, and seemed to be the silence of death. I flew to the bedside,
and found my dear patient in a state of total insensibility. I was
convinced that she was dead, and I was dumb with despair. I was roused
from my stupor by the voice of my children. I then remembered that I
had not lost all: there still remained duties to fulfil, and affection
to console me. "My children," cried I, extending my arms to them, "come
and comfort your unfortunate father: come and lament with him the best
of wives and mothers." Terrified at the appearance of their mother, they
surrounded her bed, calling on her in piercing accents. At that moment I
saw my little Francis was missing, and my grief was augmented by the
fear that he had been killed by the lightning. I hastily turned to the
window, expecting to find my child dead, and our dwelling in flames.
Fortunately, all was safe; but, in my distraction, I scarcely thanked
God for His mercy, at the very moment even when he graciously restored
to me my lost treasures. Francis, frightened by the storm, had hidden
himself in his mother's bed, and fallen asleep; awaked by the thunder,
he had not dared to move, fearing it announced the arrival of the
savages; but at last, the cries of his brothers roused him, and raising
his pretty fair head, supposing his mother sleeping, he flung his arms
round her neck, saying, "Wake, mamma, we are all here,--papa, my
brothers, and the storm, too, which is very beautiful, but frightens me.
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