COMMON SAYINGS RESPECTING THE WEATHER--SAINT SWITHIN'S-DAY--SIGNS OF RAIN
OR OF FAIR WEATHER DERIVED FROM THE APPEARANCE OF THE SUN--FROM THAT OF
THE MOON--FROM THE STARS--FROM THE SKY--FROM THE DISTINCTNESS OF
SOUNDS--FROM THE RISING OF SMOKE--FROM THE PECULIAR ACTIONS OF PLANTS AND
ANIMALS--PROGNOSTICS NOTICED BY SIR HUMPHREY DAVY--SIGNS OF RAIN
COLLECTED BY DR. JENNER--NORTH AMERICAN RAIN-MAKERS--INCIDENT RELATED BY
CATLIN--RAIN-DOCTORS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA--RAIN-DOCTORS OF
CEYLON--SUPERSTITIONS GIVING WAY TO THE TEACHING OF
MISSIONARIES--CONCLUSION.
There are many proverbial sayings among country people concerning the
state of the weather, which, having been derived from long observation,
have become axioms, and were designated by Bacon "the philosophy of the
people." These prognostics are being set aside by the more certain
lights of science, but there is no doubt that many natural objects may
indicate symptoms of change in the atmosphere before any actually takes
place in it to such an extent as to affect our senses. Some of these
prognostics are of a general character applying to all seasons, and there
are others which apply only to a particular season; but they may all be
derived from appearances of the heavenly bodies and of the sky, the state
of meteorological instruments, and the notions and habits of certain
plants and animals. The author of the "Journal of a Naturalist" has some
good observations on this subject. He says:--
"Old simplicities, tokens of winds and weather, and the plain
observances of human life, are everywhere waning fast to decay. Some
of them may have been fond conceits; but they accorded with the
ordinary manners of the common people, and marked times, seasons, and
things, with sufficient truth for those who had faith in them.
Little as we retain of these obsolete fancies, we have not quite
abandoned them all; and there are yet found among our peasants a few,
who mark the blooming of the large water-lily (_lilium candidum_),
and think that the number of its blossoms on a stem will indicate the
price of wheat by the bushel for the ensuing year, each blossom
equivalent to a shilling. We expect a sunny day too, when the
pimpernel (_anagallis arvensis_) fully expands its blossoms; a
dubious, or a moist one, when they are closed. In this belief,
however, we have the sanction of some antiquity to support us. Sir
F. Bacon records it; Gerarde notes it as a common opinion entertained
by country people above two centuries ago; and I must not withhold my
own faith in its veracity, but say that I believe this pretty little
flower to afford more certain indication of dryness or moisture in
the air than any of our hygrometers do. But if these be fallible
criterions, we will notice another that seldom deceives us. The
approach of a sleety snow-storm, following a deceitful gleam in
spring, is always announced to us by the loud untuneful voice of the
missel-thrush (_turdus viscivorus_) as it takes its stand on some
tall tree, like an enchanter calling up the gale. It seems to have
no song, no voice, but this harsh predictive note; and it in great
measure ceases with the storms of spring. We hear it occasionally in
autumn, but its voice is not then prognostic of any change of
weather. The missel-thrush is a wild and wary bird, keeping
generally in open fields and commons, heaths and unfrequented places,
feeding upon worms and insects. In severe weather it approaches our
plantations and shrubberies, to feed on the berry of the mistletoe,
the ivy, or the scarlet fruit of the holly or the yew; and, should
the redwing or the fieldfare presume to partake of these with it, we
are sure to hear its voice in clattering and contention with the
intruders, until it drives them from the place, though it watches and
attends, notwithstanding, to its own safety."
But before we notice more in detail the natural prognostics of the
weather, it is desirable to speak of a superstition which is widely
spread among all classes, in the town as well as in the country. The
superstition referred to, is that connected with St. Swithin's-day, and
is well expressed in a Scotch proverb:--
"Saint Swithin's-day, gif ye do rain,
For forty days it will remain;
Saint Swithin's-day, an ye be fair,
For forty days 'twill rain nae mair."
This superstition originated with Swithin, or Swithum, bishop of
Winchester, who died in the year 868. He desired that he might be buried
in the open churchyard, "where the drops of rain might wet his grave;"
"thinking," says Bishop Hall, "that no vault was so good to cover his
grave as that of heaven." But when Swithin was canonized the monks
resolved to remove his body into the choir of the church. According to
tradition, this was to have been done on the 15th of July; but it rained
so violently for forty days that the design was abandoned. Mr. Howard
remarks, that the tradition is so far valuable, as it proves that the
summers in the southern part of our island were subject, a thousand years
ago, to occasional heavy rains, in the same way as at present. This
accurate observer has endeavoured to ascertain how far the popular notion
is borne out by the fact. In 1807 and 1808, it rained on St.
Swithin's-day, and a dry season followed. In 1818 and 1819, it was dry
on the 15th, and a very dry season followed. The other summers,
occurring between 1807 and 1819, seem to show, "that in a majority of our
summers, a showery period which, with some latitude as to time and local
circumstances, may be admitted to constitute daily rain for forty days,
does come on about the time indicated by the tradition of St. Swithin."
But in these calculations, it is necessary to bear in mind that the
change of style has very much interfered with St. Swithin. With the day
allowed in the closing year of the last century, St. Swithin's day is how
thirteen days earlier in the calendar than it would have been by the old
style. Thus the true St. Swithin's-day, according to the tradition, is
about the 28th of July, and not the 15th, as set down in the present
calendar. There must, therefore, be a considerable difference as to the
rains and this day.
We now proceed to collect a number of prognostics connected with the
appearances of the heavenly bodies and of the sky; they are the result of
long experience, but at the same time it is necessary to caution our
readers against attaching much importance to them.
When the sun rises red, wind and rain may be expected during the day; but
when he rises unclouded, attended by a scorching heat, cloudiness and
perhaps rain will ensue before mid-day. When he rises clouded, with a
few grey clouds, they will soon dissipate, and a fine day will follow.
When his light is dim, vapour exists in the upper regions of the air, and
may be expected to descend shortly after in the form of dense clouds.
When his light, after rain, is of a transparent watery hue, rain will
soon fall again. When his direct rays have a scorching and weakening
effect on the body throughout the greater part of the day, the next day
will be cloudy, and perhaps rainy. When the sun is more or less obscured
by a thicker or thinner cirro-stratus cloud, and when he is said to be
_wading_ in the cloud, rain may come--if the cloud indicates rain it will
come. A halo surrounding the disc of the sun is almost always sure to
precede rain. A red sunset without clouds indicates a doubt of fair
weather; but a fine day may be expected after a red sunset in clouds. A
watery sunset, diverging rays of light, either direct from the sun or
from behind a cloud, is indicative of rain. After a dull black sunset
rain may be expected.
It is a common saying among country people,--
"An evening red, or a morning grey,
Doth betoken a bonnie day;
In an evening grey and a morning red,
Put on your hat, or yell weet your head."
There are not many prognostics connected with the appearances of the
moon. The changes of the moon produce greater effects than at any other
period. With a clear silvery aspect fair weather may be expected. A
pale moon always indicates rain, and a red one wind. Seeing the "old
moon in the new one's arms," is a sign of stormy weather. Seeing the new
moon very young, "like the paring of a nail," also indicates wet; but
when the horns of the new moon are blunt, they indicate rain, and fair
weather when sharp. It is truly said:
"In the wane of the moon,
A cloudy morning bodes a fair afternoon."
And also
'New moon's mist
Never dies of thirst.'
Halos and coronae are oftener seen about the moon than the sun, and they
indicate rain.
The stars appearing dim indicate rain. Very few stars seen at one time,
when there is no frost, indicate a similar result.
When the sky is of deeply-coloured blue, it indicates rain. If distant
objects appear very distinct and near through the air, it indicates rain.
When the air feels oppressive to walk in, rain will follow; when it feels
light and pleasant, fair weather will continue.
When distant sounds are distinctly heard through the air in a calm day,
such as the tolling of bells, barking of dogs, talking of people,
waterfalls, or rapids over mill-dams, the air is loaded with vapour, and
rain may be expected. The sea is often heard to roar, and loudest at
night, as also the noise of a city, when a cloud is seen suspended a very
short way above head.
If smoke rise perpendicularly upwards from chimneys in calm weather, fair
weather may be expected to continue; but if it fall toward and roll along
the ground, not being easily dispersed, rain will ensue.
Many of the above prognostics, as well as some of those relating to
animals, are thus noticed by Sir Humphrey Davy, in his "Salmonia, or Days
of Fly-fishing." The conversation is between Halieus, a fly-fisher;
Poietes, a poet; Physicus, a man of science; and Ornither, a sportsman.
"_Poiet_. I hope we shall have another good day to-morrow, for the
clouds are red in the west.
_Phys_. I have no doubt of it; for the red has a tint of purple.
_Hal_. Do you know why this tint portends fine weather?
_Phys_. The air, when dry, I believe, refracts more red or heating
rays; and as dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are again
reflected in the horizon. I have generally observed a coppery or
yellow sun-set to foretell rain; but, as an indication of wet weather
approaching, nothing is more certain than a halo round the moon,
which is produced by the precipitated water; and the larger the
circle, the nearer the clouds, and consequently the more ready to
fall.
_Hal_. I have often observed that the old proverb is correct--
'A rainbow in the morning is the shepherd's warning;
A rainbow at night is the shepherd's delight'
Can you explain this omen?
_Phys_. A rainbow can only occur when the clouds containing or
depositing the rain are opposite the sun,--and in the evening the
rainbow is in the east, and in the morning in the west. As,
therefore, our heavy rains in this climate are usually brought by the
westerly wind, a rainbow in the west indicates that the bad weather
is on the road, by the wind, to us; whereas, the rainbow in the east
proves that the rain in these clouds is passing from us.
_Poiet_. I have often observed that when the swallows fly high, fine
weather is to be expected or continued; but when they fly low, and
close to the ground, rain is almost surely approaching. Can you
account for this?
_Hal_. Swallows follow the flies and gnats, and flies and gnats
usually delight in warm strata of air; and as warm air is lighter,
and usually moister than cold air, when the warm strata of air are
high, there is less chance of moisture being thrown down from them by
the mixture with cold air; but when the warm and moist air is close
to the surface, it is almost certain that, as the cold air flows down
into it, a deposition of water will take place.
_Poiet_. I have often seen sea-gulls assemble on the land, and have
almost always observed that very stormy and rainy weather was
approaching. I conclude that these animals, sensible of a current of
air approaching from the ocean, retire to the land to shelter
themselves from the storm.
_Orn_. No such thing. The storm is their element, and the little
petrel enjoys the heaviest gale; because, living on the smaller
sea-insects, he is sure to find his food in the spray of a heavy
wave; and you may see him flitting above the edge of the highest
surge. I believe that the reason of this migration of sea-gulls, and
other sea-birds, to the land, is their security of finding food; and
they may be observed, at this time, feeding greedily on the
earth-worms and larvae driven out of the ground by severe floods; and
the fish on which they prey in fine weather in the sea, leave the
surface, and go deeper in storms. The search after food, as we have
agreed on a former occasion, is the principal cause why animals
change their places. The different tribes of the wading birds always
migrate when rain is about to take place; and I remember once, in
Italy, having been long waiting, in the end of March, for the arrival
of the double snipe in the Campagna of Rome, a great flight appeared
on the 3rd of April, and the day after heavy rain set in, which
greatly interfered with my sport. The vulture, upon the same
principle, follows armies; and I have no doubt that the augury of the
ancients was a good deal founded upon the observation of the
instincts of birds. There are many superstitions of the vulgar owing
to the same source. For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to
see single magpies,--but _two_ may always be regarded as a favourable
omen; and the reason is, that in cold and stormy weather one magpie
alone leaves the nest in search of food, the other remaining sitting
upon the eggs or the young ones; but when two go out together, it is
only when the weather is warm and mild, and favourable for fishing.
_Poiet_. The singular connexions of causes and effects to which you
have just referred, makes superstition less to be wondered at,
particularly amongst the vulgar; and when two facts, naturally
unconnected, have been accidentally coincident, it is not singular
that this coincidence should have been observed and registered, and
that omens of the most absurd kind should be trusted in. In the west
of England, half a century ago, a particular hollow noise on the
sea-coast was referred to a spirit or goblin, called Bucca, and was
supposed to foretell a shipwreck. The philosopher knows that sound
travels much faster than currents in the air; and the sound always
foretold the approach of a very heavy storm, which seldom takes place
on that wild and rocky coast without a shipwreck on some part of its
extensive shores, surrounded by the Atlantic."
Dr. Jenner has collected in the following amusing lines a large number of
the natural prognostics of rain. They are said to have been addressed to
a lady, who asked the Doctor if he thought it would rain to-morrow.
"The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low;
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep:
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in halos hid her head:
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For, see! a rainbow spans the sky:
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel;
Hark! how the chairs and tables crack;
Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are seeming nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine,--
The busy flies disturb the kine.
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings;
The cricket, too, how loud it sings:
Puss on the hearth with velvet paws,
Sits smoothing o'er her whisker'd jaws.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies:
The sheep were seen at early light
Cropping the meads with eager bite.
Though June, the air is cold and chill;
The mellow blackbird's voice is still.
The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illum'd the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Hopping, and crawling o'er the green.
The frog has lost his yellow vest,
And in a dingy suit is dressed.
The leech, disturb'd, is newly risen,
Quite to the summit of his prison.
The whirling winds the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
My dog, so alter'd in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight!
They imitate the gliding kite,
Or seem precipitate to fall,
As if they felt the piercing ball:--
'Twill surely rain,--I see with sorrow,
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow."
Uncivilized nations often entertain the absurd notion that certain
individuals can command the rain whenever they please. Much honour is
shown to persons supposed to possess this power, for they are considered
as having some mysterious intercourse with heaven. Catlin gives a
striking instance of this superstition as it exists among the Mandans of
North America. These people raise a great deal of corn; but their
harvests are sometimes destroyed by long-continued drought. When
threatened with this calamity, the women (who have the care of the
patches of corn) implore their lords to intercede for rain; and
accordingly the chiefs and doctors assemble to deliberate on the case.
When they have decided that it is necessary to produce rain, they wisely
delay the matter for as many days as possible; and it is not until
further urged by the complaints and entreaties of the women, that they
begin to take the usual steps for accomplishing their purpose. At length
they assemble in the council-house with all their apparatus about
them--with abundance of wild sage and aromatic herbs, to burn before the
"Great Spirit." On these occasions the lodge is closed to all except the
doctors and some ten or fifteen young men, the latter being the persons
to whom the honour of making it rain, or the disgrace of having failed in
the attempt, is to belong.
After having witnessed the conjurations of the doctors inside the lodge,
these young men are called up by lot, one at a time, to spend a day on
the top of the lodge, and to see how far their efforts will avail in
producing rain; at the same time the smoke of the burning herbs ascends
through a hole in the roof. On one of these occasions, when all the
charms were in operation, and when three young men had spent each his day
on the lodge in ineffectual efforts to bring rain, and the fourth was
engaged alternately addressing the crowd of villagers and the spirits of
the air, but in vain, it so happened that the steam-boat "Yellow Stone,"
made her first trip up the Missouri river, and about noon approached the
village of the Mandans. Catlin was a passenger on this boat; and helped
to fire a salute of twenty guns of twelve pounds calibre, when they first
came in sight of the village, which was at some three or four miles
distance. These guns introduced a new sound into the country, which the
Mandans naturally enough supposed to be thunder. "The young man upon the
lodge, who turned it to good account, was gathering fame in rounds of
applause, which were repeated and echoed through the whole village; all
eyes were centred upon him--chiefs envied him--mothers' hearts were
beating high, whilst they were decorating and leading up their fair
daughters to offer him in marriage on his signal success. The
medicine-men had left the lodge, and came out to bestow upon him the
envied title of 'medicine-man,' or 'doctor,' which he had so deservedly
won--wreaths were prepared to decorate his brows, and eagle's plumes and
calumets were in readiness for him--his enemies wore on their faces a
silent gloom and hatred; and his old sweethearts who had cast him off,
gazed intensely upon him, as they glowed with the burning fever of
repentance. During all this excitement, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee (or the white
buffalo's hair) kept his position, assuming the most commanding and
threatening attitudes; brandishing his shield in the direction of the
thunder, although there was not a cloud to be seen, until he (poor
fellow) being elevated above the rest of the village, espied, to his
inexpressible amazement, the steamboat ploughing its way up the windings
of the river below, puffing her steam from her pipes, and sending forth
the thunder from a twelve-pounder on her deck. 'The white Buffalo's
hair' stood motionless, and turned pale; he looked awhile, and turned to
the chief and to the multitude, and addressed them with a trembling
lip--'My friends, we will get no rain!--there are, you see, no clouds;
but my medicine is great--I have brought a _thunder-boat_! look and see
it! the thunder you hear is out of her mouth, and the lightning which you
see is on the waters!'
"At this intelligence, the whole village flew to the tops of their
wigwams, or to the bank of the river, from whence the steamer was in full
view, and ploughing along to their utter dismay and confusion. In this
promiscuous throng, chiefs, doctors, women, children, and dogs, were
mingled, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee having descended from his high place to mingle
with the frightened throng. Dismayed at the approach of so strange and
unaccountable an object, the Mandans stood their ground but a few
moments; when, by an order of the chiefs, all hands were ensconced within
the piquets of their village, and all the warriors armed for desperate
self-defence. A few moments brought the boat in front of the village,
and all was still and quiet as death; not a Mandan was to be seen upon
the banks. The steamer was moored, and three or four of the chiefs soon
after walked boldly down the bank, and on to her deck, with a spear in
one hand, and a calumet, or pipe of peace in the other. The moment they
stepped on board, they met (to their great surprise and joy) their old
friend Major Sanford, their agent, which circumstance put an instant end
to all their fears."
It was long, however, before the rain-maker could be persuaded to come
forward, or to listen to the assurance that his medicine had nothing
whatever to do with the arrival of the ship. Unwilling to lose the fame
of having produced such a phenomenon, he continued to assert that he knew
of its coming, and by his magic had caused it to approach. But he was
little regarded in the universal bustle and gossip which was going on
respecting the mysteries of the "thunder-boat."
Meanwhile the day passed on, and towards evening a cloud began to rise
above the horizon. Wak-a-dah-ha-hee no sooner observed this, than, with
shield on his arm and bow in hand, he was again upon the lodge.
"Stiffened and braced to the last sinew, he stood with his face and his
shield presented to the cloud, and his bow drawn. He drew the eyes of
the whole village upon him, as he vaunted forth his superhuman powers;
and at the same time commanded the cloud to come nearer, that he might
draw down its contents upon their heads and the corn-fields of the
Mandans. In this wise he stood, waving his shield over his head,
stamping his foot, and frowning as he drew his bow and threatened the
heavens, commanding it to rain--his bow was bent, and the arrow drawn to
its head, was sent to the cloud, {210} and he exclaimed, 'My friends, it
is done! Wak-a-dah-ha-hee's arrow has entered that black cloud, and the
Mandans will be wet with the water of the skies!' His predictions were
true--in a few moments the cloud was over the village, and the rain fell
in torrents. He stood for some time wielding his weapons, and boasting
of the efficacy of his _medicine_ to those who had been about him, but
were now driven to the shelter of their wigwams; and descended from his
high place (in which he had been perfectly drenched) prepared to receive
the honours and homage that were due to one so potent in his mysteries;
and to receive the style and title of _medicine-man_." Catlin further
informs us, that when the Mandans undertake to make it rain, they always
succeed, for their ceremonies never stop until rain begins to fall: and
also, that he who has once made it rain never attempts it again; his
medicine is undoubted--and on future occasions of the kind he stands
aloof, giving an opportunity to other young men who are ambitious to
signalize themselves in the same way.
A superstition similar to that of the Mandans prevails also among the
Caffers of Southern Africa, and among the natives of Ceylon. The Caffer
chiefs, attended by their warriors, proceed with much ceremony, and laden
with presents, to the dwelling of the rain-doctor, where a grand feast is
held while certain charms are in process. The impostor at length
dismisses his guests with a variety of instructions, on the due
observance of which the success of their application is to depend. These
instructions are generally of the most trifling kind: they are to travel
home in perfect silence; or they are not to look back; or they are to
compel every one they meet to turn back and go home with them. Should
rain happen to fall, the credit is given to the rain-doctor; but should
the drought continue, the fault is laid upon the failure of the
applicants to fulfil these instructions with sufficient exactness.
Major Forbes gives an account of an old rain-doctor in Ceylon, who had
plied a lucrative trade for many years, and at length wished to retire
from business. But the people were highly incensed at the idea of losing
his services, especially as a most distressing drought was at that time
the scourge of the land. So persuaded were they of his powers, that they
all agreed, that when required to do so by a whole village, he should be
compelled to furnish rain in sufficient quantities; and that if he was
insensible to rewards, he should be tormented with thorns or beaten into
compliance. In vain did the poor old impostor at length declare the
truth, and assure the people that he had no power whatever to make it
rain. They treated his words with disdain, and dragged their victim from
village to village, inflicting stripes at every halt. Even the chief of
the district had determined on having rain by force, if fair means should
fail, and ordered the rain-doctor to be taken to the village where rain
was most required. On his way thither he was so fortunate as to meet
with Major Forbes, who took him under his protection, and probably saved
his life, though not without some difficulty, for it so happened that a
few slight showers fell near his own village, while all the rest of the
neighbourhood was suffering the extremity of drought.
Melancholy indeed is the condition of these poor people; in utter
ignorance of the source of all the providential mercies bestowed upon
them, and, therefore, made the dupes and credulous followers of knaves
and impostors of every kind!
In some cases, however, the missionaries have happily succeeded in
opening the eyes of the deluded people to the cheat which is practised on
them. One of the most intelligent of the Caffers of Southern Africa,
having been led to suspect the integrity of the rain-maker, visited Mr.
Shaw, and told him of his determination to have the question set at rest,
whether or no the rain-maker could produce rain. He had summoned the
rain-maker to meet Mr. Shaw in an open plain, when all the Caffers of the
surrounding kraals were to be present to decide the affair. Accordingly,
at the appointed time and place, thousands of Caffers from the
neighbouring country assembled in their war-dresses. Mr. Shaw, being
confronted with a celebrated rain-maker, declared publicly that God alone
gave rain; and then offered to present the rain-maker with a team of oxen
if he should succeed in making it rain within a certain specified time.
This was agreed to; the rain-maker began his ceremonies, which are said
to have been well calculated to impose upon an ignorant and superstitious
people. The time having expired without any signs of rain, the chief who
had called together the meeting asked the rain-maker why he had so long
imposed upon them? The rain-maker complained that he had not been paid
well enough for his rain; and appealed to all present, whether rain had
not always been produced when he had been properly paid. Mr. Shaw then
pointed out some half-famished cattle belonging to the rain-maker, which
were seen on a neighbouring hill starving for want of pasturage, and
remarked, that if he really possessed his boasted skill, he would not
have neglected his own interests. To this the rain-maker cleverly
replied, "I never found a difficulty in making rain until _he_ (pointing
to Mr. Shaw) came among us; but now, no sooner do I collect the clouds,
and the rain is about to fall, than immediately there begins a sound of
_ting_, _ting_, _ting_, (alluding to the chapel-bell,) which puts the
clouds to flight, and prevents the rain from descending on your land."
Mr. Shaw was not able to tell what effect this ingenious excuse had upon
the majority of the Caffers, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that
the intelligent chief, who consulted him on the subject, never _bought_
any more rain.
Already Published in this Series.
I.--THE SNOW STORM.
II.--THE FROZEN STREAM.
III.--THE RAIN CLOUD.
Shortly will be Published.
IV.--THE DEW DROP.
V.--THE THUNDER STORM.
VI.--THE TEMPEST.
Footnotes:
{18} Physico-Theology by the Rev. Wm. Derham.
{55} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 36.
{85} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 74.
{133} This plan was brought before the notice of the British Association
for the advancement of Science in the year 1840.
{155} Harvey's Meteorology, in the Encyclopaedia Metropolitana.
{181} One of the stones which fell at L'Aigle, on being analysed by
Thenard, gave--
Silica 46 per cent.
Magnesia 10
Iron 45
Nickel 2
Sulphur 5
{210} See Frontispiece to this Chapter, p. 190.