(A Fragment.)
IN the year 1831 no less than from fifteen to twenty thousand people were destroyed in Bala-sore district, India, by the tempests of October. The ships on the coast were some of them thrown upon the shore by the breaking in of the sea, and afterward left dry. Almost everything, animal and vegetable, was swept away by the wild tornadoes to inevitable destruction. In vain were banks and ancient boundaries opposed to the wide-spreading waters, urged on by the tremendous whirlwind which raged. Oh, how sweet would then have been a covert from the tempest!
The next year’s storm, equally dreadful, destroyed every house in the town: not one escaped without injury. The judge’s house, though the strongest and best, withstood not the terrible hurricane. “Men’s hearts failing for fear, the sea and the waves thereof roaring.”
Next to water and food, there is nothing like shade. How it refreshes the weary pilgrim! Seldom do we find in Orissa such a shade as the “shadow of a great rock;” the deep shade of a venerable tree, whose tough branches have borne storms of a century, afford nevertheless an inviting retreat from the broiling influence of the sun. This passage always recurs to my mind when sitting in the much desired recess. Often whilst sitting under some shade, surrounded by the naked barbarians of these deep jungles, I thought myself as happy as any man could be. Let those who know the power and blessedness of the heavenly Rock repose in its shadow, secure from any tempest.