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Show PROVIDENCE. The thunder storm of last night was particularly demonstrative in the little village of Providence. About 11 p. m. we were awakened by a sudden lull in the wind that swept from the canyon, and by that peculiar stillness that always precedes some violent commotion. The quiet for a few moments was painful, one could almost feel the approach of some frightful danger; the atmosphere was close, warm and oppressive, when, on a sudden, there burst such a terrific clap of thunder over the house, as made it rock like a cradle and brought us up in bed half dead with fright. This was the signal for a general action of the belligerent powers of upper air and during the next thirty minutes the roaring and bellowing was fearful as the conflicting forces advanced and retreated. During this time, however, "Nature's tear drops" began to fall; a sigh or two was heard in the shade trees, and soon the voice of the rain above was heard as it fell in warm delicious sheets. For an hour or two we lay listening to the storm as it "sobbed itself to sleep;" and as it did so, and clam and cool and quiet took the place of noise and confusion, the beautiful lines of Moore in "Lalla Rookle" occurred to our mind: "How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone. When wailing winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquility,-Fresh as if day again were born, Again upon the lap of morn!" The ride from Providence this morning, was delightful. The dusty roads had disappeared, and in their place was a cool solid bottom, upon which the horse's hoofs clattered merrily. The fields were greener and brighter, and the singing of the birds more sweet and joyous than for many a day. |