JULIA and her mamma resided chiefly in London. Owing to indisposition the family were a little way from home for the benefit of the air. In consequence of that, Julia and her mamma were frequently walking out. One summer's evening they had extended their walk to an unusual length, when suddenly the clouds gathered, and distant thunder indicated an approaching storm. They were a great way from any house, but hurried to the nearest one for shelter. It was a large brick-built house, with a court-yard, inclosed by a high wall. At the iron gate was a servant, with a pitcher in her hand, taking some milk of a man who stood by. Julia's mamma went up to her, and said, "Will you be so obliging as to let us have a shelter from the storm? It appears likely to be very severe." The servant replied, "I am very sorry, ma'am, but it is not in my power; my master and mistress are not at home, and they have given me orders not to admit any stranger."

There was no time to hesitate; immediately they proceeded to an unfinished house they recollected to have seen; it was a quarter of a mile distant. Almost breathless with fatigue, they arrived; the wash-house door was standing open, they entered, and thought themselves happy in having so good a shelter. "Oh," said Julia, "how cruel it was in that young woman to refuse to let us go into the house! I would not have done so." "Then," replied her mamma, "you would have done wrong; however painful it must have been to her, to refuse was no more than her duty as a faithful servant."

Every minute the lightning became more vivid, and the thunder appeared to be bursting over their heads. "Oh, mamma," said Julia, "how awful this is!" "Yes, it is indeed, my dear," said her mamma; "God thundereth marvellously with his voice; great wonders doeth he, which we cannot comprehend." "This is a storm," remarked Julia, "such as I never remember before. Hark! how it thunders. Oh, what a dreadful flash of lightning! Oh, the thunder! It gets worse; how shall I bear it! Hide me, hide me, my dear mamma; let me get into some dark place." "My dear love," said her mamma, "you surprise me to see you so alarmed; it is what I did not expect; don't give way to fear; I cannot hide you from this storm any more than I can hide you from the presence of God; and that you are sure I cannot do. Be composed, my love, and let each of us say—

"It makes me tremble so much," said Julia. "If a storm like this is so awful, my dear," said her mamma, "what must the second coming of Christ be, when the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also, and all the works that are therein shall he burned up! How will the sinner tremble, and call to the mountains and rocks, 'Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the lamb!' Now we need not try to hide ourselves, but if we love the Saviour, may say—

"I think the thunder is more distant," continued her mamma, "and does not succeed the lightning so soon." "Does that make any difference?" asked Julia. "It proves, my dear," answered her mamma, "that the cloud is going from us; but I observed you were more afraid of the thunder than of the lightning; when you hear the thunder, the danger is over. It is only the lightning that is fatal. When we have seen the lightning, but have not been touched by it, and when the thunder does not come immediately after it, it is foolish to turn pale and tremble at a sound which is not dangerous. After the flash of lightning is over, we may securely wait for the clap of thunder; it is as harmless as the sound of a cannon. The thunder tells us we have escaped the danger, and at the same time informs us at what distance; for the greater space of time there has been between the flash of lightning and the thunder, the more distant the storm."

Julia's mamma proceeded, "I heard a poor woman once say she thought God was angry with the people, and had sent a storm to punish them. That is, however, a very ignorant way of talking. Storms are a blessing, and we ought to be thankful for them; and though we know they sometimes do hurt, and a few lives are lost, yet how few compared with what might be expected! Out of seven hundred and fifty thousand persons who died in the space of thirty years in London, there were only two killed by lightning. Probably if there were no storms, the air would be so impure, that men and other living creatures would perish by millions. Let us, my dear, lift up our hearts in gratitude to the Almighty, who, though he sometimes shows us his grandeur and his glory in this manner, yet always displays more of mercy than of judgment. After all, God has more glory and greatness than he shows to us; what, then, will be the manifestations of them, when in another world we see him face to face! Yet what we shall behold of him there will fill us with delight, and not terror, as I heard you singing the other day, my dear—

The rain had nearly ceased, and the storm was gone. Julia and her mamma were glad to prepare for going home. As soon as they entered the field leading to their home, Julia remarked how refreshed every thing appeared. "Yes," said her mamma, "nature never appears more lovely than after a Thunder-storm. The herbage of the field is revived, and what before was fading is refreshed. All animals seem to rejoice; birds are coming from their shelter, and are singing delightfully, though it is nearly their time for rest; and the cattle share in the general pleasure. See those two lambs, how prettily they are playing!"