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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"


He stood calmly surveying the tremendous pageant, and thought in each
roar and crash: "This must be the climax."
That last flash had crimson streamers, and it swamped the road with
violet waves. The fury and the splendor of the thing was overwhelming.
Was it brought about by Nature's forces or God's machinery?
Titanic--like a struggle between the divine and the evil power--some
fresh rebellion of Satan just reported up there, and God, rightly
indignant, giving the devil what for--or God angry with _man_! Very
magnificent, whatever way you regarded it.
The worst was over, and gradually the storm began to roll away.
Holding his hands high above his head, he felt the rain-drops beat
upon them, saw the lightning soften and grow pale, heard the thunder
booming more gently, grumbling, whispering--as if it had been the
voice of the Maker of heaven and earth, murmuring in sleep.
Such a storm had naturally disturbed everything. Mavis and Norah were
trembling on the lamplit threshold; horses rattled their head-stalls
and stamped in the stables; even the bees were frightened in their
hives. And a cock, thinking that so much light and noise must mean
morning, had begun to crow hours before the proper time.


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