himself upright, whirled the twisted whip
with a crash into the midst of some porcelain
toys that stood on a distant table, and
dashed headlong from the room.

HURRICANES.

MICHAEL SCOTT, in his delightful West
Indian novel of Tom Cringle, gives a very
graphic picture of the approach of a tropical
storm which would almost pass for a
description of the commencement of one of
those tremendous convulsions of nature
which we still call by the old aboriginal
name of "hurricane." First, says the writer
referred to, comes a black cloud that slowly
spreads like a pall over the entire face of
nature. One by one the cattle hurry to
sheltered places; the huge carrion crows
alone brave the open sky; the jewelled
humming-birds disappear; the parrots,
pigeons, and cranes retire into the
deepest coverts; the wild ducks, migrating
to some calm region outside the storm,
shoot past in long lines with outstretched
necks and clanging wings; the negroes
hurry silently from the cane patches with
their hoes over their shoulders. There is
a lull of expectancy and dread, then the
storm bursts in all the blindness of its fury.

One of the most tremendous hurricanes
that has ever devastated the West Indies,
since 1783, was that of August, 1831. On
the night before, at Barbadoes, the sea and
air seemed restless and troubled, there
were many signs of unsettled weather and
an impending gale; but still nothing
unusual was anticipated. The wind kept
gusty and fitful, and about ten P.M. there
was a shower of rain, which was succeeded
by a treacherous calm. After this a dense
mass of black cloud gathered over the
horizon, and hung there in deep gloom.
About midnight a severe squall burst
forth from this darkness, and fierce and
sweeping rain followed, the wind blowing
hard from the north-east, and every
moment increasing in violence. Louder and
louder it grew, till by three o'clock it had
increased to a hurricane that raged over
the whole island till five o'clock, the
lightning every few minutes cleaving the
darkness with keen blades of blue flame.
Wherever the hurricane spread the houses
were levelled to the earth, or the roofs blown
off. The largest trees were torn up from
their roots, or were snapped in two like
reeds. Many persons were buried under
the ruins of the houses and huts, and the
survivors cast forth to the storm and rain,
at the same time being exposed to instant
death from the ceaseless and dangerous drift
of scattered boughs and timbers. The wind
blew alternately from every point of the
compass. After veering to east it went
back to north-west, shifted fiercely to east,
veered to south-east, and about six o'clock
in the morning broke from the south-west
with tenfold fury, accompanied by a
perfect deluge of rain. This continued for two
hours, and during all this time the houseless
suffered both bodily and mental
torture. In many cases delicate women, risen
from a sick bed, and half naked, had to
remain in the open fields, separated from
their husbands and children. Many
infants, too, lost by their mothers, were left
exposed to the storm. When day broke
through the dreadful gloom, the wrecked
country was a heartrending sight. As the
howling of the wind and the incessant
crash of ruins ceased, there arose the
shrieks of the affrighted and the groans
of the wounded and dying. The islan
d was like one huge battle-field, and the end
of the world seemed come. Then
commenced the sorrowful and eager search for
the missing, and the extracting of crushed
bodies from the ruins. The fields a few
hours before so luxuriant, were now
deserts. The canes and the corn had both
been destroyed. The houses still standing
were generally so shaken as to be dangerous.
Everywhere was desolation, mourning,
and woe. Those churches that were
left were converted into hospital depôts for
the wounded; the dead were piled in heaps
till graves could be dug. There was fear
of a famine, and indeed there would have
been one but for the generous exertions
of some of the merchants, who refused to
raise the price of provisions, and distributed
large quantities of flour, &c., among the
sufferers. A pestilence, too, was dreaded
from the shoals of fish cast on shore, and
from the negro bodies that began to putrefy
before they could be removed from under
the ruins. The neighbouring colonies
generously sent immediate supplies of provisions
and money, and the Governor admitted all
such supplies free of duty. Very few
vessels rode out the storm, and the southern
beach was lined with wrecks, only four
or five of which were got off. The streets
were strewn with masts, spars, hen-coops,
binnacles, and boats blown from the wrecks.
The wind crowned all this destruction by
actually blowing over one of the ''Keys,"
or tall isolated rocks which had stood near