as are many others, to commence such observations, and you must publish.”

I demurred, and he insisted.

“It is difficult to spare the time; and I can not neglect my profession,” I urged.

“Where there is a will there is a way,” he replied.

“It is difficult to make one’s self understood without many illustrations.”

“Very well, they are easily obtained.”

“But they cost money, and it is said ‘science will not pay its way’ like fiction and humbug.”

“That,” said he, “is a libel—such science will. Every one is interested in the weather—all talk about it—and thousands would carefully observe it, if they could be correctly guided in their observations.”

“I may get into unpleasant controversy.”

“Suppose you do; you can yield your position if wrong, and maintain it if right, and magna est veritas.”

“But I may be mistaken in some of the views to which it will be necessary to advert, if I attempt to systematize the subject.”

“Be it so—your mistakes may lead others to the discovery of the truth. Besides, the weather is common property, and every one has a right to theorize about it, or to talk about it, as they please—even to call a stormy day a pleasant one, or make any other mistaken remark concerning it; and every other person is entitled to a like latitude of reply. And further,” said he, with some emphasis, “no important observation, in relation to a subject of such interest, should be lost; and, if you have observed one new fact, or drawn one new and just inference from those which have been observed by others; and especially if, from observation and reading, you can deduce from the phenomena an intelligible, observable, general system, it is not only your right, but duty, to make it known. Such a knowledge of the true system is greatly desired by every considerate man.”

To my friend’s last argument I was compelled to yield. I could make no reply consistent with the great principles of fraternity, which I shall ever recognize. The promise was given. My friend went on his way, and I went to the daguerreotypist to procure a copy of the then appearance of the sky, as the first step toward its fulfillment. The fulfillment of that promise, reader, you will find in the following work. It was commenced as an article for a magazine, but it has grown on my hands to a volume. Justice could not well be done to the subject in less space. It has been written during occasional and distant intervals of relaxation from professional avocations, or during convalescence from sickness, and it is, for these reasons, somewhat imperfect in style and arrangement. But I have no time to rewrite. There is much in it which will be old to those who read journals of science, but new to those who do not. There is more which will be new to all classes of readers, and may, perhaps, be deemed heretical and revolutionary by conservative meteorologists; yet I feel assured that the work is a step in the right direction—that it contains a substantially accurate exposition of the Philosophy of the Weather, and valuable suggestions for the practical observer.

I have inserted my name in the title-page, contrary to my original intention, and at the suggestion of others; for I have no scientific reputation which will aid the publisher to sell a copy. Nor do I desire to acquire such reputation. It can never form any part of my “capital in life.” Nor has it influenced me at all in preparing the work. I have aimed to fulfill a promise, too hastily given, perhaps—to put on record the observations I have made, and the inferences I have drawn from those of others—to induce and assist further observations, and, if possible, of a general and connected character—and to impress those who may read what I have written with the belief, that they will derive a degree of pleasure from a daily familiarity with, and intelligent understanding of, the “countenance of the sky,” not exceeded by that which any other science can afford them.

I have examined, with entire freedom and fearlessness (but I trust in a manner which will not be deemed censurable or in bad taste) the theories and supposed erroneous views of others, for, in my judgment, the advancement of the science requires it. Says Sir George Harvey, in his able article on Meteorology, written for the Encyclopædia Metropolitana:

The admissions contained in this paragraph, in relation to the comparative uselessness of instruments and theories, and the value of practical observation, are both in a good measure true. And the time has come, or should speedily come, when “pride of opinion,” and “esprit du corps,” among theorists and philosophers, should neither be indulged in, nor respected; and when their theories should be freely discussed, and rigidly tested by the observations of practical men. Such measure, therefore, as I have meted, I invite in return. Let whatever I have advanced, that is new, or adopted that is old, be as rigidly tested, and as freely discussed. Let the errors, if there be any—and doubtless there are—be detected and exposed. Let the TRUTH be sought by all; and meteorology, as a PRACTICAL SCIENCE, advance to that full measure of perfection and usefulness, of which it is unquestionably susceptible.

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