“Now, what is that?” said he.

“The eastern outlying edge of a N. E. storm, approaching from the W. S. W. It is now raining from 150 to 200 miles to the westward of the eastern extremity of those bars of cirrus-condensation; perhaps more, perhaps less; and under those bars of condensation the wind is attracted, and is blowing from the N. E. toward the body of the storm, and where the condensation is sufficiently dense to drop rain. That dense portion will reach here, and it will rain from twelve to fifteen hours hence. As we pass along the shore, and run under that out-lying advance cirrus-condensation, we shall see that the vessels in the Sound have the wind from the N. E., freshening, but we shall continue to have this light and scarcely-perceptible air from the northward for a time—the N. E. wind always setting in toward an approaching storm, out on the Sound, much sooner than upon the land.”

As we approached the storm, and the storm us, the evidence of denser condensation at the west, and of wind from the east, blowing toward it, became more apparent. The fore and aft vessels were running “up Sound” with “sheet out and boom off,” before a fresh N. E. breeze, and my friend was astonished.

“I must understand this,” said he; “how is it?”

“All very simple. The page of nature spread out above us is intelligible to him who will attentively study it. The laws which produce the impressions and changes upon that page, are few and comprehensible. Although there is great variety, even upon the limited portion which is bounded by our horizon, there is also substantial uniformity; and, although the changes are always extensive, often covering an area of one thousand miles or more, and our vision can not extend in any direction more than from thirty to fifty, yet those changes are always, to a considerable extent, intelligible, and may often be foreseen.”

“Has meteorology made such progress?”

“By no means. It has, indeed, been raised to the dignity of a science, and professorships endowed for its advancement. Some books have been written, and many theories broached in relation to it; and innumerable observations of the states of the barometer and thermometer, of the clouds, and the quantity of fallen rain, and the direction and force of the wind—made and recorded simultaneously in different countries—have been published and compared; and a great many important facts established, and tables of ‘means’ constructed, and just inferences drawn, yet the few and simple arrangements upon which all the phenomena depend, and their philosophy, have not yet been clearly elicited or understood.”

“Have not the ‘American Association for the Advancement of Science’ arrived at some definite and sound conclusion upon the subject?”

“No; it has been with them, for many years, an interesting subject for papers and debate. Some very valuable articles, upon particular topics, or branches of the subject, have been read and published. But the Cyclonologists, as they term themselves, and who seem to think the great question is, ‘Are storms whirlwinds?’ appear with new editions and phases of their favorite views as regularly as the annual meeting recurs; and, though they have not convinced, they seem to have silenced their opponents. The only conclusion, however, judging from their debates, to which the Association appear to have come with any considerable unanimity, is, that they are yet without sufficient authentic observations and well-established facts, to authorize the adoption of the Huttonian, Daltonian, Gyratory, or Aspiratory, or any of the other numerous theories which abound. And they are right. The subject is mystified by these theories and speculations of the study, founded on barometrical and thermometrical records, and the direction and force of the surface winds.

“The qualities of heat were among the earlier discoveries of science, and all the phenomena of the weather were forthwith attributed to its influence. Hastily-formed and erroneous views of its power, and the manner of its action in particular localities, and under particular circumstances, have retained the credence accorded to them when first announced, although subsequent discoveries have shown their fallacy; some new theory of modification having been invented to reconcile the discrepancies as soon as they appeared. Perhaps it is not too much to say (however it may seem to one not thoroughly acquainted with the subject, who does not know that the primary and secondary modifying hypotheses found in Kämtz, may be counted by hundreds) that there is not remaining in any other science, and possibly in all others, an equal amount of false and absurd theory, and of forced and unnatural grouping of admitted facts to sustain it, as in meteorology as at present taught and received. Astronomy, as a science, is almost perfected—the nature, and size, and orbits, of the distant worlds around us are known—while constant changes and alternating atmospheric conditions, which all occur within less than six miles of us, affecting all our important interests, and obvious to our senses, although much talked off, and made the objects of many theories, are but little understood.”

“How, then, did you acquire the information you seem to possess?”

“By studying ‘the countenance of the sky,’ for in no other way has such information ever been, or can it ever be, acquired. By a long-continued, daily, and sometimes hourly observation of the clouds and currents of the atmosphere, in connection with such reports of the then state of the weather elsewhere, as have fallen under my notice, and the effect of its changes upon the animal creation—for very much can be learned from them. Yonder flock of black ducks that sit on that inshore rock, above the tide—the wildest and most suspicious of all their tribe—although the air is calm about them, know well that a storm is at hand. They probably both see and feel it. As twilight approaches they will fly away inland, forty or fifty miles perhaps, and settle among the lilies or grass which surround some fresh-water pond, certain of remaining while the storm lasts, and for one day at least, out of danger, and undisturbed. Many a time, in my boyhood, have I heard, in the stillness of evening, the whistling of their wings, as they swept up the Connecticut valley, to seek, on the borders of the coves, and in the creeks of the meadows, a concealed and safe feeding-place during a coming storm. And many a time in the autumn, after they had all passed down for the season, when the indications of an approaching storm were clearly visible at nightfall, have I waited for them to return, on the eastern margin of a bend in the cove, on the eastern side of a creek, to shoot them, though invisible, by shooting across the head of the wake, which they made upon the water in alighting, and from which the few remaining rays of twilight that came from the western sky were reflected.

“But I am far from being singular in this. That page is more extensively read than is generally supposed. Many plain, unassuming men—farmers, shipmasters, and others within the circle of my acquaintance—know more, practically, of the weather than the most learned closet-theorist, or the most indefatigable recorder of its changes. Every one, by studying the page of nature above him, as he would the page of any other science, and testing, by observation, the numerous theories invented to account for the varied phenomena, may learn much, very much, that will be useful and interesting to him, and which he can never learn from books, or instruments, or theories alone.”

“Well,” said my friend, “I am too far advanced in life,