for the East Indies, in order to take the benefit of these winds for crossing the line; and it has been found by experience that those who had set sail five months before were not in the least farther advanced in their voyage than those who waited for the favourable wind. During the winter of Nova Zembla and the other arctic countries a north wind reigns almost continually. In the Cape de Verde islands a south wind prevails during the month of July. At the Cape of Good Hope a northwest wind blows during the month of September. There are also regular winds, produced by various causes, upon land. The ancient Greeks were the first who observed a constant breeze, produced by the melting of the snows in some high countries. This was perceived in Greece, Thrace, Macedonia, and the Egean Sea. The same kinds of winds are now remarked in the kingdom of Congou and the most southern parts of Africa. The flux and reflux of the sea also produces some regular winds that serve the purposes of trade; and in general it may be observed, that wherever there is a strong current of water there is a current of air that seems to attend it. Besides these winds that are found to blow in one direction, there are, as was said before, others that blow for certain months of the year one way, and the rest of the year the contrary way; these are called the "Mon soons," from a famous pilot of that name, who first used them in navigation with success. In all that part of the ocean which lies between Africa and India, the east winds begin in the month of January, and continue till about the commencement of June. In the month of August or September the contrary direction takes place; and the west winds prevail for three or four months. The interval between these winds-that is to say, from the end of June to the beginning of August—there is no fixed wind; but the sea is usually tossed by violent tempests proceeding from the north. These winds are always subject to their greatest variations as they approach the land; so that on one side the great peninsula of India the coasts are for near half the year harrassed by violent hurricanes and northern tempests; while on the opposite side, and all along the coasts of Coromandel, these dreadful tempests are wholly unknown. At Java and Ceylon, a west wind begins to reign in the month of September; but at fifteen degrees of south latitude this wind is found to be lost, and the great general tradewind from the east is perceived to prevail. On the contrary, at Cochin, in China, the west wind begins in March; so that these Monsoons prevail at different seasons throughout the Indies. The mariner takes one part of the year to go from Java to the Moluccas; another from Cochin to Molucca; another from Molucca to China; and still another to direct him from China to Japan. There are winds, also, that may be considered as peculiar to certain coasts; for example, the south wind is almost constant upon the coasts of Chili and Peru; western winds almost constantly prevail on the coast of Terre Magellanica, and in the environs of the Straits le Maire. On the coasts of Malabar north and north-west winds prevail continually; along the coast of Guinea the north-west wind is also very frequent; and, at a distance from the coasts, the north-east is always found prevailing. From the beginning of November to the end of December a west wind prevails on the coasts of Japan; and during the whole winter no ships can leave the port of Cochin on account of the impetuosity of the winds that set upon the coast. These blow with such vehemence that the ports are entirely choked up with sand, and even boats are not able to enter. However, the east winds that prevail for the half of the year clear the mouths of their harbours from the accumulations of the preceding winter, and set the confined ships at liberty. At the Straits of Babelmandel there is a south wind that periodically returns, and which is always followed by a north-east. Beside winds thus peculiar to certain coasts, there are others found to prevail on all the coasts in warm climates, which during the one part of the day blow from the shore, and during another part of it blow from the sea. The sea-breeze in those countries, as Dampier observes, commonly arises in the morning, about nine o'clock, proceeding slowly in a fine small black curl upon the surface of the water, and making its way to refresh the shore. It is gentle at first, but increases gradually till twelve o'clock, then insensibly sinks away, and is totally hushed at five. Upon its ceasing the landbreeze begins to take its turn, which increases gradually till twelve at night, and is succeeded in the morning by the sea-breeze again. Without doubt, nothing could be more fortunate for the inhabitants of the warm countries where those breezes blow than this alternate refreshment, which they feel at those seasons when it is most wanted. The heat on some coasts would be insupportable were it not for such a supply of air, when the sun has rarified all that which lay more immediately under the coast. The sea-breeze temperates the heat of the sun by day, and the land-breeze corrects the malignity of the dews and vapours by night. Where these breezes, therefore, prevail (and they are very common) the inhabitants enjoy a share of health and happiness unknown to those that live much farther up the country, or such as live in similar latitudes without this advantage. The cause of these obviously seems to arise from the rarefication of the air by the sun, as their duration continues with its appearance and alters when it goes down-the sun, it is observed, equally diffusing his beams upon land and sea, the land, being a more solid body than the water, receives a greater quantity of heat, and reflects it more strongly. Being thus, therefore, heated to a greater degree than the waters, it of consequence drives the air from land out to sea; but, its influence being removed, the air returns to fill up the former vacuity. Such is the usual method of accounting for this phenomenon; but unfortunately the sea and land breezes are visitants that come at all hours. On the coasts of Malabar, the land-breezes begin at midnight and continue till noon; then the sea-breezes take their turn, and continue till midnight. While again, at Congou, the landbreezes begin at five and continue till nine the following day. But if the cause of these be so inscrutable-which are, as we see, tolerably regular in their visitations-what shall we say to the winds of our own climate, that are continually shifting and incapable of rest? Some general causes may be assigned, which nothing but particular experience can apply. And in the first place it may be observed, that clouds and heat-in short, whatever increases the density or the elasticity of the air in any one place will produce a wind there; for the increased activity of the air thus pressing powerfully on the parts of it that are adjacent will drive them forward, and thus go on in a current till the whole comes to an equality. In this manner, as a denser air produces a wind on one hand, so will any accident that contributes to lighten the air produce it on the other; for a lighter may be considered as a vacuity into which the neighbouring air will rush; and hence it happens, that when the barometer marks a peculiar lightness in the air it is no wonder that it foretells a storm. The winds upon large waters are generally more regular than those upon land The wind at sea generally blows with an even, steady gale; the wind on land puffs by intervals, increasing its strength, and remitting it without any apparent cause. This in a great measure may be owing to the many mountains, towers, or trees that it meets in its way, all contributing either to turn it from its course or interrupt its passage. The east wind blows more constantly than any other; and for an obvious reason-all other winds are in some measure deviations from it, and may partly owe their origin thereto. It is generally, likewise, the most powerful-and for the same reason. There are often double currents of the air: while the wind blows one way we frequently see the clouds move another. This is generally the case before thunder; for it is well known that the thunder-cloud always moves against the wind. The cause of this surprising appear ance has hitherto remained a secret. From hence we may conclude that weathercocks only inform us of that current of the air which is near the surface of the earth, but are often erroneous with regard to the upper regions; in fact Derham has often found them erroneous. Winds are generally more powerful on elevated situations than on the plain, because their progress is interrupted by fewer obstacles. In proportion as we ascend the heights of a mountain, the violence of the weather seems to increase until we have got above the region of storms, where all is usually calm and serene. Sometimes, however, the storms rise even to the tops of the highest mountains-as we learn from those who have been on the Andes, and as we are convinced by the deep snows that crown even the highest. Winds blowing from the sea are generally moister and more attended with rains than those which blow over extensive tracts of land; for the sea gives off more vapours to the air, and these are rolled forward upon land by the wind's blowing from thence. For this reason our easterly winds that blow from the continent are dry in comparison to those from the surface of the ocean, with which we are surrounded on every quarter. In general, the winds are more boisterous in spring and autumn than at other seasons; for that being the time of high tides, the sea may communicate a part of its motions to the winds. The sun and moon, also, which then have a greater effect upon the waters, may probably have some influence upon the winds; for, there being a great body of air surrounding the globe, which, if condensed into water, would cover it to the depth of thirty-two feet, it is evident that the sun and moon will, to a proportionable degree, affect the atmosphere, and make it a tide of air. This tide will be scarce perceivable; but without doubt it actually exists, and may contribute to increase the vernal and autumnal storms which are then known to prevail. Upon narrowing the passage through which the air is driven, both the density and the swiftness of the wind is increased; for as currents of water flow with greater force and rapidity by narrowing their channels, so also will a current of air driven through a contracted space grow more violent and irresistible. Hence we find those dreadful storms that prevail in the defiles of mountains, where the wind, pushing from behind through a narrow channel, at once increases in speed and density, levelling or tearing up every obstacle that rises to obstruct its passage. Winds reflected from the sides of mountains and towers are often found to be more forceful than those in direct progression. This we frequently perceive near lofty buildings, such as churches or steeples, where winds are generally known to prevail, and are much more powerful than at some distance. The air in this case, by striking against the sides of the building, acquires additional density, and therefore blows with more force. These differing degrees of density which the air is found to posses sufficiently show that the force of the winds do not depend upon their velocity alone; so that those instruments called "anemometers," which are made to measure the velocityof the wind, will by no means give us certain information of the force of the storm. In order to estimate this with exactness we ought to know its density; which also these are not calculated to discover. For this reason we often see storms with very powerful effects that do not seem to show any great speed; and, on the contrary, we see these wind mea surers go round with great swiftness, when scarce any damage has followed from the storm. Such is the nature and the inconstancy of the irregular winds with which we are best acquainted. But their effects are much more formidable in those climates near the tropics, where they are often found to break in upon the steady course of the trade-winds, and to mark their passage with destruction. With us the tempest is but rarely known, and its ravages are registered as an uncommon calamity; but in the countries that lie between the tropics, and for a good space beyond them, its visits are frequent and its effects anticipated. In these regions the winds vary their terrors; sometimes involving all things in a suffocating heat; sometimes mixing all the elements of fire, air, earth, and water together; sometimes, with a momentary swiftness, passing over the face of the country, and destroying all things in their passage; and sometimes raising whole sandy deserts in one country, to deposit them upon some other. We have little reason, therefore, to envy these climates the luxuriance of their soil or the brightness of their skies. Our own muddy atmosphere, that wraps us round in obscurity, though it fails to guild our prospects with sunshine or our groves with fruitage, nevertheless answers the calls of industry. They may boast of a plentiful but precarious harvest; while with us, the labourer toils in a certain expectation of a moderate but a happy return. In Egypt-a kingdom so noted for its fertility and the brightness of its atmosphere- during summer, the south winds are so hot that they almost stop respiraration; besides which, they are charged with such quantities of sand that they sometimes darken the air as with a thick cloud. These sands are so fine, and driven with such violence, that they penetrate everywhere, even into chests, be they shut ever so closely. If these winds happen to continue for any length of time they produce epidemic diseases, and are often followed by a great mortality. It is also found to rain but very seldom in that country; however, the want of showers is richly compensated by the copiousness of their dews, which greatly tend to promote vegetation. In Persia, the winter begins in November and continues till March. The cold at that time is intense enough to congeal the water; and snow falls in abundance upon their mountains. During the months of March and April, winds arise that blow with great force, and seem to usher in the heats of summer. These return again in autumn with some violence, without, however, producing any dreadful effects. But during their summer all along the coasts of the Persian Gulph a very dangerous wind prevails which the natives call the "Sameyel," still more dreadful and burning than that of Egypt, and attended with instant and fatal effects. This terrible blast, which was, perhaps, the pestilence of the ancients, instantly kills all those that it involves in its passage What its malignity consists in none can tell, as none have ever survived its effects to give information. It frequently, as I am told, assumes a visible form, and darts, in a kind of bluish vapour, along the surface of the country. The natives, not only of Persia but of Arabia, talk of its effects with terror; and their poets have not failed to heighten them with the assistance of imagination. They have described it as under the conduct of a minister of vengeance, who governs its terrors, and raises or depresses it as he thinks proper. These deadly winds are also known along the coasts of India, at Necapatan, Masulipatan, and Petapoli. But, luckily for mankind, the shortness of their duration di minishes the injuries that might ensue from their malignity. The Cape of Good Hope, as well as many islands in the West Indies, are famous for their hurricanes, and that extraordinary kind of cloud which is said to produce them. This cloud, which is the forerunner of an approaching hurricane, appears, when first seen, like a small black spot on the verge of the horizon, and is called by sailors the "bull's eye," from being seen so minute at a vast distance. All this time a perfect calm reigns over the sea and land, while the cloud grows gradually broader as it approaches. At length, coming to the place where its fury is to fall, it invests the whole horizon with darkness. During all the time of its approach a hollow murmur is heard in the cavities of the mountains; and beasts and animals, sensible of its approach, are seen running over the fields to seek for shelter. Nothing can be more terrible than its violence when it begins. The houses in those countries, which are made of timber the better to resist its fury, bend to the blast like osiers, and again recover their rectitude. The sun which but a moment before blazed with meridian splendour, is totally shut out, and a midnight darkness prevails, except that the air is incessantly illuminated with gleams of lightning, by which one can easily see to read. The rain falls at the same time in torrents; and its descent has been resembled to what pours from the spouts of our houses after a violent shower. These hurricanes are not less offensive to the sense of smell also; and never come without leaving the most noisome stench behind them. If the seamen also lay by their wet clothes for twenty-four hours, they are all found swarming with little white maggots that were brought with the hurricane. Our first mariners when they visited these regions were ignorant of its effects and the signs of its approach; their ships, therefore, were dashed to the bottom at the first onset, and numberless were the wrecks which the hurricane occasioned. But at present, being forewarned of its approach, they strip their masts of all their sails, and thus patiently abide its fury. These hurricanes are common in all the tropical climates. On the coasts of Guinea they have frequently three or four in a day, which thus shut out the heavens for a little space; and when past, leave all again in former splendour. They chiefly prevail on the coast in the intervals of the trade-winds, the approach of which clears the air of its meteors, and gives these mortal showers that little degree of wholesomeness which they possess. They chiefly obtain the during the months of April and May; they are known at Loango from January to April; on the opposite coast of Africa the hurricane season begins in May; and, in general, whenever a trade-wind begins to cease, these irregular tempests are found to exert their fury. All this is terrible; but there is a tempest known in those climates more formidable than any we have hitherto been describing, which is called by the Spaniards a Tornado." As the former was seen arriving from one part of the heavens and making a line of destruction, so the winds in this seem to blow from every quarter, and settle upon one destined place with such fury that nothing can resist their vehemence. When they have all met in their central spot, then the whirlwind begins with circular rapidity. The sphere every moment widens as it continues to turn, and catches every object that lies within its attraction. This, also, like the former, is preceded by a flattering calm; the air is everywhere hushed, and the sea is as smooth as polished glass: how ever, as its effects are more dreadful than those of the ordinary hurricane, the mariner tries all the power of his skill to avoid it; which, if he fails of doing, there is the greatest danger of his going to the bottom. All along the coasts of Guinea, beginning about two degrees north of the line, and so downward, lengthwise, for about a thousand miles and as many broad, the ocean is unnavigable upon account of these tornadoes. In this torpid region there reigns unceasing tornadoes or continual calms; among which, whatever ship is so unhappy as to fall it is totally deprived of all power of escaping. In this dreadful repose of all the elements, the solitary vessel is obliged to continue without a single breeze to assist the mariner's wisnes, except those whirlwinds, which only serve to increase his calamnity. At present, therefore, this part of the ocean is totally avoided; and, although they may be much gold along the coasts of that part of Africa to tempt Avarice, yet there is something much more dreadful than the sabled dragon of antiquity to guard the treasure. As the internal parts of that country are totally unknown to travellers from their burning sands and extensive deserts, so here we find a vast tract of ocean lying off its shores equally unvisited by the mariner. But of all those terrible tempests that deform the face of Nature and repress human presumption, the sandy tempests of Arabia and Africa are the most terrible, and strike the imagination most strongly. To conceive a proper idea of these, we are by no means to suppose them resembling those whirlwinds of dust that we sometimes see scattering in our air, and sprinkling their contents upon our roads or meadows. The sand-storm of Africa exhibits a very different appearance. As the sand of which the whirlwind is composed is excessively fine, and almost resembles the parts of water, its motion entirely resembles that of a fluid; and the whole plain seems to float onward like a slow inundation. The body of sand thus rolling is deep enough to bury houses and palaces in its bosom: travellers who are crossing those extensive deserts perceive its approach at a distance, and in general have time to avoid it or turn out of its way, as it generally extends but to a moderate breadth. However, when it is extremely rapid or very extensive, as sometimes is the case, no swiftness, no art can avail; nothing then remains but to meet death with fortitude. and submit to be buried alive with resignation. It is happy for us of Britain that we have no such calamity to fear; for from this even some parts of Europe are not entirely free. We have an account given us, in the History of the French Academy, of a miserable town in France that is constantly in danger of being buried under a similar inundation; with which I will take leave to close this chapter. "In the neighbourhood of St. Paul de Leon, in Lower Brittany, there lies a tract of country along the sea-side, which before the year 1666 was inhabited, but now lies deserted, by reason of the sands which cover it, to the height of twenty feet; and which every year advance more and more inland, and gain ground continually. From the time mentioned above, the sand has buried more than six leagues of the country inward; and it is now but half a league from the town of St. Paul; so that in all appearance the inhabitants must be obliged to abandon it entirely. In the country that has been overwhelmed there are still to be seen the tops of some steeples peeping through the sand, and many chimneys that still remain above this sandy ocean. The inhabitants, however, had sufficient time to escape; but being deprived of their little all they had no other resource but begging for their subsistance. This calamity chiefly owes its advancement to a north or an east wind, raising the sand, which is extremely fine, in such great quantities and with such velocity, that M. Deslands, who gave the account, says, that while he was walking near the place during a moderate breeze of wind, he was obliged from time to time to shake the sand from his clothes and his hat, on which it was lodged in great quantities, and made them too heavy to be easily borne. Still further, when the wind was violent, it drove the sand across a little arm of the sea, into the town of Roscoff, and covered the streets of that place two feet deep; so that they have been obliged to carry it off in It may also be observed, that there are several particles of iron mixed with the sand, which are readily affected by the loadstone. The part of the coast that furnishes these sands is a tract of about four leagues in length, and is upon a level with the sea at high-water. The shore lies in such a mannner as to leave its sands subject only to the north and east winds, that bear them carts. farther up the shore. It is easy to conceive how the same sand that has at one time been borne a short way inland, may, by some succeeding and stronger blast, be carried up much higher; and thus the whole may continue advancing forward, deluging the plain, and totally destroying its fertility. At the same time the sea, from whence this deluge of sand proceeds, may furnish it in inexhaustible quantities. This unhappy country, thus overwhelmed in so singular a manner, may well justify what the ancients and the moderns have reported concerning those tempests of sand in Africa, that are said to destroy villages, and even armies, in their bosom." experiment, that if water and air be enclosed together, instead of the air's acting as a menstruum upon the water, the water will act as a menstruum upon the air, and take it all up. We know, also, that of two bodies that which is most fluid and penetrating is most likely to be the menstruum of the other; but water is more fluid and penetrating than air, and therefore the most likely of the two to be the menstruum. We know that all bodies are more speedily acted upon the more their parts are brought into contact with the menstruum that dissolves them; but water enclosed with compressed air is not the more diminished thereby. In short, we know that cold, which diminishes the force of other menstruums, is often found to promote evaporation. In this variety of opinion and uncertainty of conjecture, I cannot avoid thinking that a theory of evaporation may be formed upon very simple and obvious principles, and OF METEORS, AND SUCH APPEARANCES AS RESULT FROM embarrassed, as far as I can conceive, with very few CHAP. XXL A COMBINATION OF THE ELEMENTS. In proportion as the substances of Nature are more compounded and combined, their appearances become more inexplicable and amazing. The properties of water have been very nearly ascertained. Many of the qualities of air, earth, and fire have been discovered and estimated; but when these come to be united by Nature, they often produce a result which no artificial combina tions can imitate; and we stand surprised that, although we are possessed of all those substances which Nature makes use of, she shows herself a much more various operator than the most skilful chymist ever appeared to be. Every cloud that moves and every shower that falls serves to mortify the philosopher's pride, and to show him hidden qualities in air and water that he finds it difficult to explain. Dews, hail, snow, and thunder are not less difficult for being more common. Indeed, when we reflect on the manner in which Nature performs any one of these operations our wonder increases. To see water (which is heavier than air) rising in air, and then falling in a form so very different from that in which it rose; to see the same fluid at one time descending in the form of hail-at another, in that of snow; to see two clouds, by dashing against each other, producing an electrical fire which no watery composition that we know of can effect;-these, I say, serve sufficiently to excite our wonder; and still the more, in proportion as the objects are ever pressing on our curiosity. Much, however, has been written concerning the manner in which Nature operates in these productions-as nothing is so ungrateful to mankind as hopeless ignorance. And first, with regard to the manner in which water evaporates and rises to form clouds, much has been advanced and many theories devised. All water, say some, has a quantity of air mixed with it; and the heat of the sun darting down, disengages the particles of the air from the grosser fluid: the sun's rays, being reflected back from the water, carry back with them those bubbles of air and water, which, being lighter than the condensed air, will ascend till they meet with a more rarified air; and they will then stand suspended. Experience, however, proves nothing of all this. Particles of air or fire are not thus known to ascend with a thin coat of water; in fact, we know the little particles of steam are solid drops of water. But besides this, water is known to evaporate more powerfully in the severest frost than when the air is moderately warm. Dr. Hamilton, therefore, of the University of Dublin, rejecting this theory, has endeavoured to establish another. According to him, as aqua-fortis is a menstruum that dissolves iron and keeps it mixed in the fluid-as aqua-regia is a menstruum that dissolves gold—or as water dissolves salts to a certain quantity,—so air is a menstruum that corrodes and dissolves a certain quantity of water, and keeps it suspended above. But however ingenious this may be, it can hardly be admitted; as we know, by Mariotte's objections. We know that a repelling power prevails in Nature not less than an attractive one. This repulsion prevails strongly between the body of fire and that of water. If I plunge the end of a red hot bar of iron into a vessel of water, the fluid rises, and large drops of it fly up in all manner of directions, every part bubbling and steaming untill the iron be cold. Why may we not for a moment compare the rays of the sun, darted directly upon the surface of the water, to so many bars of red hot iron; each bar, indeed, infinitely small, but not the less powerful? In this case, whenever a ray of fire darts, the water, from its repulsive quality, will be driven on all sides; and, of consequence, as in the case of the bar of iron, a part of it will rise. The parts thus rising, however, will be extremely small; as the ray that darts is extremely so. The assemblage of the rays darting upon the water in this manner will cause it to rise in a light thin steam above the surface; and as the parts of this steam are extremely minute, they will be lighter than air, and consequently float upon it. There is no need for supposing them bubbles of water filled with fire; for any substance, even gold itself, will float on air if its parts be made small enough—or, in other words, if its surface be sufficiently increased. This water, thus disengaged from the general mass, will be farther attenuated and broken by the reflected rays, and, consequently, more adapted for ascending. From this plain account every appearance in evaporation may be easily deduced. The quantity of heat increases evaporation, because it raises a greater quantity of steam. The quantity of wind increases evaporation; for, by waving the surface to the water, it thus exposes a greater surface to the evaporating rays. A dry frost in some measure assists the quantity of evaporation, as the quantity of rays are found to be no way diminished thereby. Moist weather alone prevents evaporation; for the rays being absorbed, refracted, and broken by the intervening moisture before they arrive at the surface, cannot produce the effect; and the vapour will rise in a small proportion. Thus far we have accounted for the ascent of vapours; but to account for their falling again is attended with rather more difficulty. We have already observed that the particles of vapour, disengaged from the surface of the water, will be broken and attenuated in their ascent by the reflected, and even the direct, rays that happen to strike upon their minute surfaces. They will therefore continue to ascend till they rise above the operation of the reflected rays, which reaches but to a certain height above the surface of the earth. Being arrived at this region, which is cold for want of reflected heat, they will be condensed, and suspended in the form of clouds. Some vapours that ascend to great heights will be frozen into snow; others, that are condensed lower down, will put on the appearance of a mist, which we find the clouds to be when we ascend among them, as they hang H along the sides of a mountain. These clouds of snow and rain, being blown about by winds, are either entirely scattered and dispersed above, or they are still more condensed by motion, like a snow-ball, that grows more large and solid as it continues to roll. At last, therefore, they will become too weighty for the air which first raised them to sustain; and they will descend with their excess of weight, either in snow or rain. But as they will fall precipitately when they begin to descend, the air in some measure will resist the falling; for, as the descending fluid gathers velocity in its precipitation, the air will increase its resistance to it, and the water will therefore be thus broken into rain-as we see that water which falls from the tops of houses, though it begins in a spout, separates into drops before it has got to the bottom. Were it not for this happy interposition of the air between us and the water falling from a considerable height above us, a drop of rain might fall with dangerous force, and a hailstone might strike us with fatal rapidity. In this manner evaporation is produced by day; but when the sun goes down, a part of that vapour which his rays had excited, being no longer broken and attenuated by the reflecting rays, it will become heavier than the air, even before it has reached the clouds; and it will therefore fall back in dews, which differ only from rain in descending before they have had time to condense into a visible form. Hail, the Cartesians say, is a frozen cloud, half melted, and frozen again in its descent. A hoar-frost is but a frozen dew. Lightning we know to be an electrical flash produced by the opposition of two clouds; and thunder to be found proceeding from the same, continued by an echo reverberated among them. It would be to very little purpose to attempt explaining exactly how these wonders are effected: we have as yet but little insight into the manner in which these meteors are found to operate upon each other; and, therefore, we must be contented with a detail rather of their effects than their causes. us. In our own gentle climate, where Nature wears the mildest and kindest aspect, every meteor seems to befriend With us, rains fall in refreshing showers, to enliven our fields and to paint the landscape with a more vivid beauty. Snows cover the earth to preserve its tender vegetables from the inclemency of the departing winter. The balmy dews descend so imperceptibly as in no way injures the constitution. Even thunder itself is seldom injurious; and it is often wished by the husbandman to clear the air, and to kill numberless insects that are noxious to vegetation. Hail is the most injurious meteor that is known in our climate; but it seldom visits us with violence, and then its fury is but transient. One of the most dreadful storms we hear of was that at Hertfordshire, in the year 1697. It began by thunder and lightning, which continued for some hours, when suddenly a black cloud came forward, against the wind, and marked its passage with devastation. The hailstones which it poured down, being measured, were found to be many of them fourteen inches round, and consequently as large as a bowling-green ball. Wherever it came every plantation fell before it; it tore up the ground, split great oaks and other trees without number; the fields of rye were cut down as if levelled with a scythe; wheat, oats, and barley suffered the same damage. The inhabitants found but a precarious shelter even in their houses, their tiles and windows being broke by the violence of the hailstones, which, by the force with which they came, seemed to have descended from a great height. The birds in this universal wreck vainly tried to escape by flight; pigeons, crows, and rooks, and many more of the smaller and feebler kinds, were brought down. An unhappy young man, who had not time to take shelter, was killed; one of his eyes was struck out of his head, and his body was all over black with the bruises: another had just time to escape, but not without the most imminent danger, his body being bruised all over. But what is most extraordinary, all this fell within the compass of a mile. Mezeray, in his History of France, tells us of a shower of hail much more terrible, which happened in the year 1510, when the French monarch invaded Italy. There was for a time a horrid darkness, thicker than that of midnight, which continued till the terrors of mankind were changed to still more terrible objects, by thunder and lightning breaking the gloom, and bringing on such a shower of hail as no history of human calamities could equal. These hailstones were of a bluish colour; and some of them weighed not less than a hundred pounds. A noisome vapour of sulphur attended the storm. All the birds and beasts of the country were entirely des troyed. Numbers of the human race suffered the same fate. But what is still more extroardinary, the fishes found no protection from their native element, but were equal sufferers in the general calamity. These, however, are terrors that are seldom exerted in our mild climates. They only serve to mark the page of history with wonder; and stand as admonitions to mankind of the various stores of punishment in the hands of the Deity, which His power can treasure up, and His mercy can suspend. In the temperate zones, therefore, meteors are rarely found thus terrible; but between the tropics and near the poles they assume very dreadful and various appearances. In those inclement regions where Cold and Heat exert their chief power, meteors seem peculiarly to have fixed their residence. They are seen there in a thousand terrifying forms astonishing to Europeans, yet disregarded by the natives from their frequency. The wonders of air, fire, and water are there combined to produce the most tremendous effects; and to sport with the labours and apprehensions of mankind. Lightnings, that flash without noise; hurricanes, that tear up the earth; clouds, that all at once pour down their contents, and produce an instant deluge; mock suns; northern lights, that illuminate half the hemisphere; circular rainbows; haloes; fleeting balls of fire; clouds reflecting back the images of things on earth, like mirrors; and waterspouts, that burst from the sea to join with the mists that hang immediately above them. These are but a part of the phenomena that are common in those countries, and from many of which our own climate is in a great measure exempted. The meteors of the torrid zone are different from those that are found near the polar circles; and it may readily be supposed that in those countries where the sun exerts the greatest force in raising vapours of all kinds, there should be the greatest quantity of meteors. Upon the approach of the winter months, as they are called under the line, which usually begin about May, the sky, from a fiery brightness, begins to be overcast, and the whole horizon seems wrapt in a muddy cloud. Mists and vapours still continue to rise; and the air, which so lately before was clear and elastic, now becomes humid, obscure, and stifling: the fogs become so thick, that the light of the sun seems in a manner excluded; nor would its presence be known but for the intense and suffocating heat of its beams, which dart through the gloom, and, instead of dissipating, only serve to increase the mist After this preparation there follows an almost continual succession of thunder, rain, and tempests. During this dreadful season the streets of cities flow like rivers, and the whole country wears the appearance of an ocean. The inhabitants often make use of this opportunity to lay in a stock of fresh water for the rest of the year-as the same cause which pours down the deluge at one season denies the kindly shower at another. The thunder which attends the fall of these rains is much more terrible than that we are generally acquainted with. With us the flash is seen at some distance, and the noise |