nunquam imprudentibus imber obfuit.

virgil, georgics, i, v. 373.

ooking out through the windows of my house upon the sunset sky, i am often enabled to frame a weather report for the morrow; for, in his rising and his setting, the sun has a message to convey, sometimes written in type that is legible to all, sometimes in hieroglyphics that the ordinary observer may not decipher. yonder blazing fire in the west and warm orange afterglow tell me i may expect fair weather, just as the leaden cloud which screens the sinking sun apprises me of coming storm. but to offset one aspect of the plainly lettered sky, there are a score more difficult to read, while, at best, we are liable to err in our interpretations where the weather is concerned.

yet, trying as it often is, in this latitude especially, how could we dispense with its 47vagaries? sunshine, by all means! but we would scarcely appreciate the sun if it always shone, even could vegetation and humanity exist under unclouded skies.

were all the year one constant sunshine, wee

should have no flowres;

all would be drought and leanness; not a tree

would make us bowres.[3]

3. henry vaughn, silex scintillans.

it has been observed before now that we are always talking about the weather, always interested in it, always trying to foretell it, always grumbling at it, or delighted with it. without the changes of the weather the world would go all awry. there would be no more guessing or prognosticating. conversation must come to a standstill; if not to a full stop, at least to an awkward pause. when there is nothing else to talk about there is always the weather. it is the oil of conversation’s wheel. how many a pleasant acquaintance dates from a weather remark! simply as a conversational factor i have no doubt it has helped on innumerable marriages. but it is ever too hot or too cold, too damp or too dry, too cloudy or too sunshiny. if one can not openly anathematize his neighbor, he may damn the weather; faint, indeed, is its praise. with a bright sun shining, a purple haze on the hills, the thermometer at 4850°, and the atmosphere exhilarating as champagne, still the lament will arise that we are not enveloped with a blanket of snow. just the day for a walk, when one may start out dry-shod to inhale the stimulating air and bask in voluptuous sunlight! but the fickle weather-vane suddenly veers, and north wind and snow are exchanged for south wind and balm; the croakers have their turn.

there is reason to believe that the weather repeats itself in a general way at regular intervals of seven or ten years, more or less. statistics are said to confirm this statement, and it gives us reason to hope that when our records shall cover longer periods and shall be more carefully and fully compiled, we may obtain considerable insight into the weather programme for the coming year. that one extreme follows another is perhaps the surest and most valuable weather indicator we have. an inordinate degree of warmth is generally followed by a corresponding degree of cold; a period of extraordinary coolness by a contrasting period of heat. the amount of water and heat in the world is always the same, though to human observation the extremes of temperature are capriciously distributed. if it is passing cold here, it is passing warm somewhere else. if we get an overplus of wet this month we receive an 49overplus of dry next month, or some month after. nature will surely balance her ledger sooner or later; the difficulty is to tell when she will do it.

restless and impatient, man is continually seeking change. what could supply this inherent craving in the breast of mankind so happily as the weather? the old adage, “’tis an ill wind blows no man good,” is daily verified. this change to piercing cold means one hundred thousand tons more of coal for the furnaces of each of the great cities; this hot wave, one hundred thousand tons more of ice to their refrigerators. the mild winter that brings a scowl upon the dry-goods merchant’s face is a benison to the laborer; the east wind that puts out the inland furnace fires may blow the disabled vessel into port. blowing where it listeth, to some point of the compass the wind is kind.

if one could find no other occupation, one might busy himself in making observations of the weather. in the shifting vane and the restless clouds there is the attraction of perpetual change, elements we may not control nor yet fully understand—an omnipresent and omnipotent force. their wayward moods bring plenty or pestilence, as the vane chooses to veer, or the tangles gather in the cirri’s hair. all animal and vegetable life is dependent upon their inexorable 50decrees. the laws of the weather may not be altered. we may not increase the rainfall one inch or lower the temperature half a degree. the most we can do is to study its warnings, and, by reading the signs of the earth and sky, be prepared for what changes may be in store.

there is a relief from the tyranny of hard fact in endeavoring to trace the meaning of these nimbus clouds or the prophecy of this moisture-laden breeze. what will the next change be; of what complexion will be the weather to come? i foretell it frequently through my walls of glass that enable me from within to read the horoscope of the sky. the signs exist, if we may but comprehend them. they publish every event and indicate every change. unvarying laws that may be understood by the intelligent observer control all atmospheric conditions, and particularly storms. by noting existing conditions the corollary is to be deduced. blasius’s laws, as stated in his volume, storms, are comprehensive, and whoever will take the pains to study them (for many portions of the volume call for hard study) may learn to foretell much about the weather, at least so far as relates to larger storms. many immediate changes are easy to foretell—from the moon’s warning halo and the prophesying cry of the hair-bird, to the toad’s prescient croak from 51the tree. from observation the farmer and mariner generally become weather-wise. out in the open air continually, they learn to interpret the signs, their vocations being more or less controlled by and dependent upon the weather. a habit of studying the weather brings one into closer relationship with nature. however superficial the knowledge, one must know something of nature in order to be a weather-prophet, that is, so far as prophesying from numerous well-known natural signs is concerned.

there are certain indices: the clouds no bigger than a man’s hand, that indicate what is coming in a weather way for a short time ahead. many of the old signs are reliable. from time out of mind a red sunset has been viewed as a precursor of fair weather, and a red sunrise the forerunner of storm. a bright-yellow sky at sunset uniformly denotes wind, a coppery or pale-yellow sunset, wet; and attentive observers do not need the testimony of admiral fitzroy to know that a dark, gloomy, blue sky is windy, and a light, bright, blue sky is fair. a high dawn indicates wind, a low dawn fine weather. a gray sky in the morning presages fine weather. if cumulus gathers in the north and rises, rain may be looked for before night. frequently the cumuli clouds—argosies serenely riding at anchor above the southern horizon—flash 52forth warnings that are never fulfilled; the lightning of heat, and not of storm. if stripes are seen to rise northward from the southern sky, a change may be anticipated from their quarter. without clouds there can be no storm.

one of the most beautiful cloud-formations, the mackerel-sky, is well known to be usually indicative of a change. oftentimes on the otherwise unclouded blue of the heavens delicate volutes or scrolls may be observed, like cobwebs spun upon the sky; these frequently portend a decided change within two days. if this form of cloud, more familiarly known as mares’-tails, curls down toward sunset, fair weather may be looked for; if up, it will most probably rain before dawn. frequently narrow bands or stripes extend from east to west or north to south over the entire aërial arch, the storm invariably coming from the direction pointed out by the clouds.

local signs go to show that in winter a dark-blue cloud over the lake foretells a thaw; when the lower portion, however, is dark and the upper portion gray, snow may be expected. a halo round the moon is a sure indication of rain, snow, or wind, and the larger the circle the nearer the storm. when the stars are more than usually bright and numerous, or when the hills and distant objects seem unusually 53sharp and near, i am certain of an approaching storm. “you all know the peculiar clearness which precedes rain,” observes ruskin, “when the distant hills are looking nigh. i take it on trust from the scientific people that there is then a quantity, almost to saturation, of aqueous vapor in the air, but it is aqueous vapor in a state which makes the air more transparent than it would be without it. what state of aqueous molecule is that, absolutely unreflective of light—perfectly transmissive of light, and showing at once the color of blue water and blue air on the distant hills?” distant sounds heard with unusual distinctness apprise me of rain. the aurora borealis, when very bright, is usually followed by a storm, and often intense cold. the rainbow after drought is a rain-sign.

natural signs, other than the handwriting on the sky, are innumerable, and, again, the old sign-posts point out the way. heavy dews indicate fair weather, while three consecutive white frosts, and often two, invariably bring rain or snow. before a snow-storm the weather usually moderates, while there is always an interval between the first drops and the downpour. if it rains before seven it will clear before eleven, is a wise saw. certain stones, which, when rain is in the near future, become damp and dark-looking, are excellent barometers. we have 54all of us noticed that fire frequently burns brighter and throws out more heat just before a storm, and is hotter during its continuance—an easterly storm, however, often being the exception.

the closing of the blossoms of numerous flowers during the day tells me it will rain; my flowers also give out a stronger odor previous to rain. the trefoils contract their leaves at the approach of a storm. the convolvulus and the pimpernel also fold their petals previous to rain, the latter flower being appropriately named the poor man’s weather-glass. when the chickweed’s blossom expands fully, no rain will occur for several hours; if it continue open, no rain will fall during the day. when it half conceals its flower the day is usually showery. when it entirely closes its white petals, steady rain will occur. “it is manifest,” observes bacon in sylva sylvarum, “that there are some flowers that have respect to the sunne in two kindes; the one by opening and shutting; and the other by bowing and inclining the head; it is found in the great flower of the sunne; in marigolds, wart-wort, mallow-flowers; and others.”

smoke rising straight in the air means fair weather. the odor of the mephitis is very pronounced before rain, owing to the heaviness of the atmosphere, which prevents 55odors from rising. spiders do not spin their webs out of doors before rain. previous to rain flies sting sharper, bees remain in their hives, or fly but short distances, and most animals and birds appear uneasy. “sheep,” the selborne rector states, “are observed to be very intent on grazing against stormy wet evenings.” one of the most reliable weather-signs in texas is said to be supplied by the ant. the ants bring their eggs up out of their nests, exposing them to the sun to be hatched. when they are observed carrying them in again hastily, though there be not a cloud in the sky, a storm is near at hand. swallows flying low near the ground or water is a rain-sign noted in the georgics, the birds following the flies and gnats which delight in a warm strata of air. aratus, the greek poet, in the prognostica, also cites the swallow’s flight low over the water as a rain-sign:

fast skim the swallows o’er the lucid lake

and with their breasts the rippling waters break.

previous to rain and just when it begins to rain, swallows fly swifter, doubtless to make the most of the insects while opportunity affords. wheeling and diving high in the sky, the swallow flies to tell me the day will be fair. chickens, it may be noticed, when steady rain sets in will continue 56searching for food after the rain has begun; if only a shower they will seek shelter before the rain begins. foxes bark, and wolves howl more frequently when wet weather is approaching. crows clamor louder before a change. frogs, geese, and crows were looked upon as weather-prophets by the ancients, the crow especially figuring frequently as a foreboder of storm. according to virgil, if they croak often, and with a hoarse voice it is a rain-sign:

tum cornix rauca pluviam vocat improba voce.

if they croak only three or four times, and with a shrill clear voice it is a fair weather-sign:

tum liquidas corvi presso ter guttere voces

aut quater ingeminant.

lucretius likewise introduces the crow as a weather-prophet:

... om’nous crows with various noise,

affright the farmers; and fill all the plain,

now calling for rough winds and now for rain.[4]

4. creeche’s translation.

the crow’s raucous voice also figures in aratus’s prognostics of a storm:

the aged crow on sable pinions borne,

upon the beetling promontory stands,

and tells the advancing storm to trembling lands;

or dips and dives within the river’s tide,

or, croaking hoarse, wheels round in circles dark and wide.[5]

5. milman’s translation.

57and chaucer, while following the majority of the poets in aspersing the crow, still makes him serve as a barometer:

ne nevir aftir swete noise shall ye make,

but evir crye ayenst tempest and rain....

all nature reads the coming signs. the migratory woodcock will desert the fall covers in advance of the storm, even though the weather promise fair. just before a storm, like its echo in advance, i have heard the canadian forest resounding on every side with the cry of the great horned owl—oh-hoo, oh-hoo! oh-hoo, oh-hoor-r-r-r! wild fowl are conscious of the change from afar. even the domestic goose and duck are unusually garrulous previous to a storm, voicing their pleasure at the prospect of approaching rain. i recall a case in point while trout-fishing, where geese proved excellent weather-prophets. the day in question, september 14, 1875, the last day of the open season in ontario, like the three or four preceding days, was warm, hazy, and delightful, with no perceptible omens to denote an approaching storm, save the graceful mares’-tails waving from the sky. but a large flock of geese, which appeared to dispute with the trout the possession of the pond, and which had frequently proved a source of annoyance while angling, were more than usually excited, screaming continually, 58and flying to and from the pond with loud gaggling. the sun descended behind the tamaracks with an angry frown, the moon became obscured by ominous clouds, the temperature fell suddenly, and a severe equinoctial storm set in.

birds, however, can not be implicitly relied upon as weather-prophets, especially as harbingers of spring. year after year, tempted by instinct and the tempered air, do the migratory birds take early flights to the northward. suddenly on some genial morning, the vanguards appear. a blue-bird’s, or song-sparrow’s dulcet warble falls upon the ear, and we welcome the return of spring. but season after season we have to record the disappearance of the birds again, and the recurrence of stormy weather. lured by the soft spring sunshine, and eager to revisit their northern homes, the birds, like human migrants to the south, frequently return too soon. not until i hear the first sweet song of the white-throated sparrow am i convinced that spring has come to stay.

how far the weather is influenced by the changes of the moon is a disputed question. m. de parville, a french meteorologist of note, has recently claimed that a long series of observations show that the moon which passes every month from one hemisphere to the other, influences the 59direction of the atmospheric currents; that the distance of the moon from the equator, or inclination of the moon’s path to the plane of the equator varies every year, passing from a maximum to a minimum limit, and that the meteorological character of a series of years appears to be mainly dependent upon the change of inclination when those extreme limits have been touched: the rainy years, the cold winters, and hot summers return periodically and coincide with certain declinations of the moon. in proof of his assertion, he presents a table tracing backward this connection between the rainy years and the moon’s declination.

in the european magazine, vol. 60, p. 24, a table is given which has been ascribed to the astronomer herschel. it is constructed upon a philosophical consideration of the attraction of the sun and moon in their several positions respecting the earth, suggesting to the observer what kind of weather will most probably follow the moon’s entrance into any of her quarters. briefly summarized, the nearer the time of the moon’s entrance, at full and change or quarters, is to midnight (that is within two hours before and after midnight), the more fair the weather is in summer, but the nearer to noon, the less fair. also, the moon’s entrance, at full, change, and quarters, during six of the afternoon hours, viz.: from 60four to ten, may be followed by fair weather; but this is mostly dependent on the wind. the same entrance during all the hours after midnight, except the two first, is unfavorable to fair weather.

it may be of interest to cite bacon’s rules for prognosticating the weather, from the appearances of the moon:

1. if the new moon does not appear till the fourth day, it prognosticates a troubled air for the whole month.

2. if the moon either at her first appearance or within a few days after, has her lower horn obscured and dusky, it denotes foul weather before the full; but, if she be discovered about the middle, storms are to be expected about the full; and, if her upper horn be affected, about the wane.

3. when on her fourth day the moon appears pure and spotless, her horns unblunted and neither flat nor quite erect, but between both, it promises fair weather for the greatest part of the month.

4. an erect moon is generally threatening and unfavorable, but particularly denotes wind; though if she appears with short and blunted horns, rain is rather to be expected.

the influence of the moon on the weather was one of the cardinal beliefs, not only of the ancients, but of our forefathers, and the old gardeners and orchardists believed 61implicitly in its effect on most operations connected with husbandry, regulating these operations with the greatest exactitude, according to the various phases of the planet. harvard, in his treatise on the art of propagating plants, referring to the proper time for grafting, declares, “the grafts must alwaies be gathered in the old of the moone.” lawson, in his new orchard and garden, advises as the best time to remove sets, “immediately after the fall of the leaf, in or about the change of the moon;” and the best time for “graffing” as “in the last part of february or march, or beginning with april, when the sun with his heat begins to make the sap stir more rankly about the change of the moon, before you see any great apparancie of leaf or flowers; but only knots and buds, and before they be proud, though it be sooner.”

very frequent references to the moon’s influence with respect to forestry and its operations occur in evelyn’s sylva. in felling timber, he charges the forester to “observe the moons increase” (chap. iii, 13). and again, “the fittest time of the moon for the pruning is (as of graffing) when the sap is ready to stir (not proudly stirring) and so to cover the wound” (chap. xxix, 6.) the old lunar rules for felling trees are thus given by evelyn (chap. xxx, 26): “fell in the decrease, or four days 62after conjunction of the two great luminaries; some of the last quarter of it; or (as pliny) in the very article of the change, if possible; which hapning (saith he) in the last day of the winter solstice, that timber will prove immortal: at least should it be from the twentieth to the thirtieth day, according to columella: cato four dayes after the full, as far better for the growth: but all viminious trees silente lunâ; such as sallies, birch, poplar, etc. vegetius for ship timber, from the fifteenth to the twenty-fifth, the moon as before; but never during the increase, trees being then most abounding with moisture, which is the only source of putrefaction: and yet ’tis affirm’d upon unquestionable experience, that timber cut at any season of the year, in the old moon, or last quarter, when the wind blows westerly; proves as sound, and good as at any other period whatsoever; nay, all the whole summer long, as in any month of the year.”

few of our large storms are of local origin; they are hatched for the most part on the plains east of the rocky mountains, and thence move eastward, deflecting slightly to the north during winter. in europe, the meteorologists assert, storms are more nearly round than in america, where they are of a more irregular oval form, varying in size from the diameter of a few miles to 63those that surge from the gulf to beyond the lakes.

but blasius for storms! the supreme authority, the aristotle of the clouds and air-currents. when all our ordinary signs fail, we have only to turn to the hanover professor to read and learn.

unquestionably, nevertheless, the most infallible of weather rules is that there is no rule. so far as ordinary signs go, there is nothing more true than that all signs may fail during a protracted drought, or continuous rainy weather. vainly then the peacock screams, or the sun emerges from a dripping sky. at best the weather is a hoiden, and, perhaps, loves a frown better than a dimple. the rain may come and the rain may go, persistently following the course of a lake or river, favoring this locality and slighting that; deluging one county to leave the adjoining one parched with thirst. for it is true of the weather and other things besides; it never smiles but it laughs, it never rains but it pours.