Newspaper Page Text
the northern critics, then, we leave tlie state
of the old world, well content to turn our faces
homewards.
Has lire South of this Western Hemisplicrc
less to boast of in her climate and scenery ?
We believe not. Tlie fervd sun of a southern
clime is over licr ; and its iidlucnce is seen in
the fcrvid imagination and ardour ot tooling of
her sons. Every variety of scenery is within
her borders. The upland lias her towering
cliffs—lwr romanlic glades — her dashing cas
cades—and tins awful sublimity of tier ever is
ting hills. While the lowland presents, in
vivid contrast, the bioid expanse ot level
country, with its interminable forests o! tower
ing pines, around which hangs ii.c grey moss
in gloomy and sorrowful embrace. To us
there ever scem al much of sublimity in these
scenes to which those of the upland present so
strong a contrast. Placed in the midst ol the
low country, we look around in vain for some
termination to the vast forests, and level sur
face, our view fastening upon tire dark moss
that hangs gloomily from the pines, and only
drawn away to fix in rapture upon the glories
of die setting sun. Did the scenery of the
South exist elseulierc, it eoul J never be» lotlieJ
with the beauty au<i brilliancy with winch a
southern sun invests it. There is a richness
in tli3 southern sky, that clothes every object
with peculiar brilliancy.
“ Soft skies of the South 1 how richly dres’.
Smile these wild scenes in your purpureal glow !”
llow beautiful is a southern sunset! Words
cannot describe it. We have watched it from
the ship’s deck ; we have drank in its inspiring
bcautv, in the vast plains of the lowland, and
have behold it clotiied with divine beauty, the
hills of the upland. It has every where been
the same object—grand, rich, and lieautiful.
The setting sun casts upon i portion of the sky
tlie glowing red ; to contrast, as it were, with
the rich and dazzling whiteness of the remain
ing portion.
Os the inspiration which this climate and
scenery have afforded, and still continue to
afford among us. we have spoken in a previ
ous article. Wc have spoken of the inspi
ration they have exhibited in the eloquent
strains of the Rutledges and Pinckneys of the
Revolution—in the polished pages of Grimke
and of that which they now exhibit in the pleas
ing strains of Charlton, Oilman, Wilde, and
Simms—and in the faithful scenes of Long
street. Wc might have spoken of tlie inspira
tion breathed forth in tlie glowing eloquence of
Henry—in the rich and delicate imagery of
Lee—the burning eloquence of Haync—the
energy of McDuffie—and the fire of Cal
houn. And we mav now speak of .Meeks, of
Butt, of Pendleton, of Wittich, ofTickner, and
the thousand of tlie young who are making
vocal the upland and 'he lowland of the South,
with their songs of living beauty. Enough
might soon be said, to show that the same
wildness of scenery, the same glowing heavens,
that have spoken so eloquently and Irenutifully
jn the Old Worl, will speak in the same strains
in the New. Tlie poet’s lines, addressed to a
Madonna, the production of an Italian artist,
would be as applicable to a production of our
own South:—
“ Fair vision ! thou'rt fr >m southern skies,
Born where the ro«e hath richest dies ;
To thee a southern heart hath given
That glow oflovp, that calm of heaven ;
And around the cast, thee ideal g'eatn,
The light that ts hut of a dream !”
These instances do, indeed, show that fer
tility and warmth of imagination, ardour of
feeling, and susceptibility to delicate impres
sions, the attributes of genius, arc possessed by
the sons of the South in the Western Hemis
phere. They show that the South of the New
with her sister clime of the Old World, may
justly claim to be consi lered the Home of
Genius.
Wc have before spoken ofcertain pcculi u i
ties, which, we think, mark the southern sec
tion of the Union as the centre of literary in
terest. We shall be pardoned for again re
verting to them. Her history is rich with
scenes of interest. The struggles of the fol
lowers of Smith—the melancholy fate of the
noble Pocahontas—and the adventures of the
Catholic follows of Lord Baltimore—present
to the pen of the historian excellent subjects
for his annals. With these, the privations and
severe labors of the Huguenot settlers of
Carolina—the harrassed course, and military
adventures of Oglethorpe—and the changes
and struggles of the settlers of the South-West
—afford rich materials for the annalist and
novelist. There is much interest, too, in the
fate of the aborigines. A melancholy interest
invests the story of those who long since dis
appeared from the presence of the white man ;
and of those who arc but now leaving our
borders. Have the peaceful Natchez found
a chronicler in an European ; and shall no
tribe claim a passing notice from an American?
There aie many traditions connected with the
various tribes of Indians, rich in romantic and
poetic interest. An instance of this is seen
in the record of a tribe who lived on the banks
the Mississippi, and always wept at the sight
of strangers. They believed,that their deceas
ed kindred w ire only absent on a journey, and
would return to them ; and, always looking
for them among strangers, they wc.pt ut their
constant disappointment.
“ We saw thee, stranger, and wept!
We looked for the youth of the sunny glance,
Whose step was the fleetest in chase or dance.
“ Where is he ?—thou'rt srekingsome distant coast
Oh ! ask of him, stranger! send back the lost.
Tell how wc sat in the gloom to pine,
And to watch for a step —but the step was thine."
Many other fictions of poetic interest there are
connected with the tribes that have disappear
ed from among us, but have found no chrotii
clcr.
There is one other peculiarity, the last to
which wc shall refer, that, we think, points out
to the South a position in the literary world,
that can be attained bv no other people. We
refer to tlie leisure anil independence that her
domestic institutions afford tier citizens. Let
ii» turn our attention where wc will, wc shall
find no people enjoying so large a portion of
ease. In the rest of tlie civih/i I world, the
mass of the people labor for the few ; or, if we
limy Ist allowed so to speak, tlie mass nre the
elaviwt of file few. lie e tls; nre i are mde
|»nd«lt«aod at ca-e ; for all menial labor* are
jits formed by the servant* of a different race .
Every where else tin re is but a small portion
of citizens possessed es leisure ; liere tlie peo
ple as a whole enjoy it. The people of the
South are planters. Merchants, and pro
fessional men, form a very small class. Thus
1 the great mass have secured to them a life ot
■ indcj'endcncc and case. This life of case, and
this common interest, operating with the
natural effects of tlie climate, have generated a
social spirit. This spirit is peculiarly favora
ble to tlx; growth of literature, leading ns it
does to the expression and circulation ot
thought. What results may v.c not expect
j from this social spirit, operating iu the noble
field presented by tlie ease and independence
of the people !
Tliev arc blind, indeed, to the signs of tlie
times, u ho do not sec in the people ol the South 1
an awakening to a sense of their pecu'iar ad
vantages, and a determination that these shall
no? remain unemployed.
Georgia boasts of an association of young,
ardent, and enthusiastic writers; who, know
{ing the literary resources of their state, and
, the South, are determined that every opj-or
t unity shall be employed to excite and foster a
literarv spirit. This association would gladly
embrace all in the whole South, who tool an
. interest in a subject of such vital importance.
But they will be content to gather strength at
home, until tlie right-hand of fellowship can be
j extended with dignity as well as cordiality,
j ft is no! alone as a single institution of impor
tance, that we hail with delight this association
of tlie young and enthusiastic. We hail it as
an oasis iu tlie desert, of this money-making
age. We hail it as the harbinger of tlie glo
rious morn, which we are sure is to dawn on
I the progress ofSouthern Literature. We hail
: it as a sign of the awakening of the people to
j a sense of their pre-eminent advantages ; and
’ as a token that they will not suffer these ad
vantages to remain unemployed. We hail it
as an indication that the time is approaching
when the genius of the South will Duild her a
temple on her own soil.
We look forward, then, with confident an-
Jicipation to tlie time when the South shall take
her place among the nations of the earth.
We anticipate the period when the social
spirit shall gather her people together in one
common literary bond ; when her past suffer
ings shall find eloquent chroniclers, and the
melancholy fate of her aborigines, sympathetic
annalists. Wc anticipate tlie time when the
South, by the power of her literature, shall re
pel the fierce assaults of ignorant fanatics ;
and when site shall thus stand forth too power
ful to be assailed. We look forward to the
period when the literary pilgrim shall bond
iiis steps to the southern section of this Re
public, with as ardent devotion as lie now di
rects them to the shrines of Greece and Italy.
This period is, indeed, approaching for her
people are awakened. We shall soon behold
lier take the place among the nations of the
oarth, that tlie genius of her sons, and her pe
culiar institutions point to her as hcr’s. We
shall tiien behold the South the acknowl
edged home of Literature.
August*/, Ga., March 1 Shi).
ORIGIN OF FEMALE NAMES.
We shall liave the pleasure, in this paper, of
informing those of our fair friends who bear
names derived from the German tongue, and
others in modern use, what is the signification
of their various appellations; a piece of infor
mation, which, unless specially given to philo
logical studies, they are not likely to acquire.
Tuosc over whom the words Adelaide or Ad
eline have been pronounced at the fount, are,
etymologically speaking, princesses, such be
ing the interpretation of these German terms.
They are beautiful names. If the preceding
names be of regal si rain, Alice or Alicia is of
the peerage, signifying noble; and a sweet
name it is, for tlie bride of baron or burgess.
Amelia changed.ii to Emily or Amy, is of
French origin, and has then eaningof beloved.
Amy Robsart rises at once to tlie mind in its
search for individuals who have graced these
appellations. It would be almost a relief to
the feelings to think the sad story of Amy Rob
sart a fiction, but almost all our historians ad
mit that her death was occasioned by a fall
from a staircase, the result of a cruel plot on
tlie part of her ambitious husband. Julius
Mickle’s ballad, beginning thus beautifully—
“ The dews of summer night did fall,
The moon, sweet regent of die sky.
Silver’d the walls of Cumnor hall,
And many an oak that grew thereby,"
amply shows the general belief that the people
dwelling in tlie neighborhood of the scene of
tlie tragedy. So that Amy is justly to be held
as a name hallowed by beauty and misfortune.
Blanche is one of the loveliest of female
names. It is from the French, and signifies
icltile or fair, which is also the meaning of Bi
anca, the Italian form of Blanche. It would
be decidedly a pleasure to the ear to have such
a name as Blanche in more common use, and
we would beg to hint to fair womankind that
it is a matter of no light importance to tl em to
bear agreeable names of this sort. Men may
not absolutely marry on the bare score of
name, yet it must be no trifling pleasure to
have it in one’s power to sound such a name
as Blanche in chamber or lobby of one’s wed
ded home, when any matter required the joint
conjugal consideration. Bridget is one of the
few Irish names in use among us. It signi
fies />right or sliin'iig light, and is a very de
cent name of the Deborah order, applicable
withhnuch propriety to good old housekeepers
or buxom dairy-maids. Charlotte is the femi
nine of Charles, and has the same meaning ns
that formerly mentioned, valiant-spirited, or
prevailing, which last character is applicable,
! we have no doubt, to many fair Charlottes,
i wedded and unwedded. Charlotte Corday, a
j; young Judith, who freed her country from a
I 1 worse than lloloferues, did no dishonor to this
name. Caroline, also, is u feminine form of
the word Charles, or ra her of its Latinised
jl shape, Carolus, and has the same signification,
of course, as Charlotte. Both of these arc
common female names, and are not undeserv
ing of being so. Edith and Eleanor are from
tla; Saxon, and signifying respectively happy
and ( 11 (.fruitful . The original form of Edith
was Eadilh or Bade, and a version of the name
i.i nly the same as the latter of these, was the
baptismal apj cllution of Byron’s child,
‘‘.Mu, '.i dtu Mir ut my hotm- mid lnuri."
TIIE SOUTHERN POST.
Emma is generally understood to be from
tlie German word signifying a nurse, or a good
nurse. Ibuna was tlie form in which the name
was borne by Clmrlcmagne’s daughter, a lady
who distinguished herself by a reniaikable
proof of affection for her lover, Eginbard, the
, emperor’s secretary. This attached pair not
daring to meet openly, on account of tlie com
parative meanness of the lover’s rank, held their
interviews in the princess’s apartments. While!
tliey were there together one night, a fall of
snow came on, and left the ground covered.
I'nis was only found out by the lovers when
they were about to part, and caused them great
alarm. Eginbard had to cross a courtyard,
and his footsteps in the snow would have be
trayed iiis visit. In this dilemma, the princess
imma took h.er lover on her back, and carried
him across the court, knowing that her own
footsteps would excite neitlier remark nor sus
picion. But it chanced that Charlemagne had
i risen from-his couch that night, and opened
his window, which overlooked tlie same court,
and which permitted him to see, by the moon
light, live stratagem to which love had driven
Ins daughter. The emperor at once admired
: her conduct, and was enraged at the whole cir
cumstance, but he suppressed his ire until
sometime afterwards, when he laid the matter
before his council, and asked t’ eir advice.—
Opi lions were divided on the point, and Char
lemagne adopted the lenient course. He gave
the hand of Imma to her lover. Such is the
story of the first person in history whom we
find to hear the name of Imma or Emma.
Frances is a very agreeable name, the femi
nine of Francis, and has the like meaning of
frank or free. Gertrude, also from the Ger
man, signifies all truth. Gertrude must evei
be associate I in our minds with the image of
young, gentle, beauteous, trusting woman, be
cause such w'as the character of tier of Wyo
ming, who was
“The love of Pennsylvania’s shore.”
Harriet and Henrietta, since Henry, tlie cor
responding male name, signifies rich lord, may
be held to signify rich lady, a meaning not un
worthy of the names. Magdalene is from the
Syriack, (some say Hebrew.) and lias the st rise
otimagnificent. Around this name, circum
stances, that oblivion cannot touch,have thrown
sail yet sweet recollections. Its more com
mon Ibrin is Mudc/ina or Madeline, than which
nothing can lie more pleasant to the ear or eye.
Melicent or Millicent is a name sweet as ho
ney, and honey-sweet is indeed its interpreta
tion in the French tongue. Even in the con
tracted state of Milly, there is a degree of mel
lifluousness about this term. Rosabellc might
be adopted into familiar family use with much
propriety. It is immediately from the Italian
Rosabella, which signifies a fair rose. Tahi.
lha is a name which was not once uncommon
in Britain, but somehow or other it has been
assigned over from the human to tlie feline
race. Tablny is a cat, and nothing but a cat.
Tlie term is from the Syriack, and .signifies a
roe, a very different animal, indeed, from puss.
! The famous sitter of Matthew Bramble, in
jSmollet’s Humphrey Clinker, did much to
; make okl maids sharers with puss, in tlie use
of Tabitlia in all time coming. In the same
novel occurs the name of Winifred, which
signifies winning peace. The famous count
ess of Nitlisdale, w ! >o contrived the escape of
her doomed husband from the Tower of Lon
don. was a Winefrcd, and a bright honor to the
name. A sainted lady of Wales, however,
was a much more wunderful Winefrcd. Hear,
the illustrious Pennant on this subject.
“ In tlie seventh century there lived a virgin ’
of the name of Wencfrede, of noble parents,
and neice to St. Beutio. Bcuno, after build
ing a church and founding a convent in Car
narvon, visited bis relations in Flintshire, and,
obtaining from liis brother-in-law, a little spot
at the foot of a hill where he resided, erected
on it a church, and took under his care liis
niece Weuefrede. After a time, a neighbor-;
ing prince of the name ofCradocm, was struck
with her beauty, and at all events, determined!
;to possess her. He made known his passion
to the lady, who, affected with horror, attempt
led to escape. Tlie wretch,enraged at the dis
appointment, instantly pursued her, drew out 5
his sabre, and cut off’ Iter head. Cradocus re
ceived, on the spot, the reward of his crime;
j he fell down dead, and the earth swallowed up
| liis impious corpse.”
“ The severed head of Wenefrede,’’ contin
ues the legend, “ took its way down the bill,
and stopped near the church. The valley,
which, from its uncommon dryness, heretofore
received the name of Sych nant, indicative in
Welsh, of that circumstance, now lost its name.
A spring of uncommon size burst from the
place where the head rested. The moss on its
sides diffused a fragrant smell. Her blood
spotied the stones, which, like the flowers of
Adonis, annually commemorate the fact, by i
assuming colors unknown to them at other
times. St. Bueno took up the head of his
niece, carried it to lier corpse, and, offering up
hi i devotions, joined it nicely to the body,
which instantly re-united. The place was vi
sible only by a slender white line encircling her
neck, in memory of a miracle far surpassing
that worked by St. Dionysius, who marched,
many miles after decapitation, with his head*
in his hands. St. Wenefrede survived her de
collation fifteen years.”
The honor n which the heioine of this le
gend was held, is testified by the remains of a
j beautiful polygonal well, covered with a rich
arch, and supported by pillars, which still exist j
on the spot where the miraculous stream gush
ed foith. The ruins of a beautiful chapel of
Gothic architecture are also visible there. The
whole legend is carved on the well. Such is
the true history of the most famous of the
Winifreds.
We have reached the close of our list, or ra
ther lists, and yet we find that some names, not
| unworthy of being noticed, have been omitted,
chiefly because they do not belong to any of
the bcforcmcntioncd divisions, being in part, at
least, the creation of fancy. Shnkspearc and
11 other great poets, seem to have been as sue
| ccssful in the invention of names, as on other
i points to which they applied their imagination.
We do not know that Rosalind was of Slink
i * pea re’s invent'on, but, whether it was so or
not, it sounds in our ears as one of the verv I
i sweetest of names, and we would humbly re
commend its general adoption.
“ Fi»>m die enet to western I ml,
No jewel i* like llucalim) ’’
The first part of tlie name is evidently from
the Latin rosa, a rose, like Rosamunda, but the
find is most probably a termination appended
for mere euphony. Sbakspeare’s Viola, too
i(a violet,) is worthy of all acceptation. The
nnme, under the form of Violet, is not uncom
mon among us. And then Miranda, which
, signifies to he admired, as is expressed hi the
exclamation of Prince Ferdinand, when lie
first hears it,
“ Admired Miranda ! indeed the lop of admiration!”
Perdita, which signifies the lod, or a found
■ hug, is no whit interior to the preceding ; and
the same may be said of Cordelia, which has
the meaning of cordial, or hearty. But of ali
Shukspeare’s names, one, which he in all pro
bability invented, and wh'ch has no meaning
, that w e are aware of, is perhaps the most Ireau
titul. This is Imogen. Why should appella
tions like these lie unused, while the changes
are rung upon a limited number of names of
far inti rior beauty, till absolute confusion is
created in families and nations ? Why should
Earinc of Ben Jonson, with the meaning of
spring or vernal, or why should the
“ Heavenly Una wiili her milk-white lamb”
of Spenser, which signifies the only one, be
laid aside and forgotten ? Let the ancient
stores be drawn upon, and let us have the
pleasure of at least uttering a musical sound
every time we speak to each other. We say
this, half jestingly, half-seriously; jestingly, be
cause we fear that others may be disposed to
look upon the matter in a jesting light' and,
seriously, because wc really think that too lit
tle care is usually exercised in the selection of
names, and because to pass by beautiful names
for others every way inferior, seems to us some
thing like wearing coarse garments when fine
ones are at our command. The long lists
which we have now gone over put it at least
in the power of those who feci desirous of so
doing, to exert a choice in this matter, for the
benefit of their yet nameless posterity.
Edinburgh Journal.
From the National Gazette.
THE RAIN ntODUCINS THEORY.
Messrs. Editors: —Knowing tlie difficulty
if not the impossibility, of making tlie subject
j intelligible in a short newspaper article, it is
with reluctance that 1 am now induced, after
much solicitation from my friends both near
and remote, to give a very brief summary of
tlie reasons and facts which have led me to
! desire that an experiment should he made to
see whether rain may be produced artificially
in time of drought .
The documents which I have collected on
this subject if they do not prove that the ex
periment will succeed, do at least prove that it
ought to be tried ; this 1 trust will most satis
factorily appear when they shall be published
entire. Iu the meantime it has become ne
cessary to present to the public something on
the subject, lest longer silence might be con
strued into an abandonment of the project.
First —lt is know'll by experiment that if air
should be expanded into double the volume
by diminished pressure, it would be cooled
about ninety degrees of Fahre ihelt.
Second —l have shown by experiment that
if air at the common dew point in the Summer
season in time of drought, seventy-one degrees
should go up in a column to a height sufficient
to expand it by diminished pressure into double
the volume, it would condense into water or
visible cloud, by the cold of expansion, more
than one-half of its vopour—a quantity suffi
cient lo produce nearly three inches of rain.
Third —lt is known by chemical principles,
that the caloric of elasticity given during tlie
condensation of this vapour, would he equal to
about 30,000 tons ofauthracite coal, burnt on
ouch square mile over which the cloud exten
ded.
Fourth —l have shown by experiment [see
Saturday
caloric of elasticity would prevent the air from
cooling only about half as much as it would
if it had no vapour in it, or about 45 degress
at tlie height assumed which would cause tlie
air in the cloud to be, at that height, about 45
degrees warmer than tlie air on the outside of
the cloud at tlie same height. I have shown
from these principles, [see Journal of the
Franklin Institute for 1830,] that the barome
ter would fall under the cloud thus formed,
in favorable circumstances a quantity as great
as it is known to full sometimes under the
middle of a dense and lofty cloud, and that
consequently the air would rush in on all sides
towards the centre of the cloud and upwards in
the middle, and thus continue the condensation
of the vapour and the formation of cloud and
the generation of rain. [See also Journal of
the Franklin Institute for September and Oc
tober, 1838, and for January, February and
March, and subsequent, 1839.]
Fisth —I have shown also in the volumes
quoted above, that the air moves inwards on
all sides towards the centre of the space or re
gion where a great rain is falling, and of course
upwards, after it comes in under the cloud,
which is so much lighter than the surrounding
air; at least, that it does so in all storms which
have been investigated, which now amount to
sixteen, besides several tornadoes, in all of
which the trees were thrown with their tops
inwards.
From tlie principles here established by ex
periment, and afterwards confirmed by obser
vation, it follows, that if a large body of air is
made to ascend in a column, a large cloud will
be generated, and that the cloud will contain
in itself a self sustaining power, which may
move from the place over which it was form
ed, and cause the air over which it passes to
rise up into it, and thus form more cloud and
rain, until the rain may become general; for
many storms which commence in the West
Indies, very narrow, are known to move from
the place of beginning several thousand miles
widening out and increasing in size, until thev
become many hundred miles wide. [.See
Bed field and Reid, and the reports of Joint
Committee.]”
If these principles nre just, it will follow,
w hen the air is in a favorable state that the
bursting out of a volcano ought to produce
rain ; and such is known to be the fact ; and
I have abundant documents in my possession
to prove it.
.So tinder verv favorable circumstances tlie
| bursting out of great fires ought to produce
I ruin ; und I have luuiy facts in my possession
rendering it highly probable, if not certain,
that great rains have sometimes been produced
by great fires.
It is a general opinion in parts of the coun
try where great fires frequently take place that
those fires produced ram. Now this opinion
could hardly have originated witliout some
circumstances besides mere coincidence atten
ding them, such as related in the following ac
count: Mi. Dobrezliofler, a missionary to
Paraguay, speaking of the tall grass and bul
rushes on fire, says —“ I myself have seen
clouds and lightning produced from the smoke,
as it is flying off like a whirlwind; so that the
Indians are not to blame for setting fire to the
plains in order to produce rain, they having
( learnt that the thicker smoke turns into clouds
■ which pour forth water.” (Account of the
Abiphones, volume 3d, page 150.)
Mr. Lapice of Louisiana, informed Dr. S.
Calhoun of this city, “that the conflagration of
the long grass in the prairies of that State
covers every thing with its cinders for miles
around,and that rain follows it shortly, accord
ing to immemorial observation in that coun
try.”
“Very extensive fires in Nova Scotia, in
the woods are so generally followed by heavy
floods of rain, that there is some reason to
believe that the enormous pillars of smoke
have some share in producing them.”—(Mag.
Nat. Hist, for Dec. 1835.
The had philosophy of supposing that
smoke was turned into cloud and produced j
rain does not weaken the evidence of tlie main
fact.
If the principal is correct, that clouds are
formed by up moving colums of air, wo should
expect to find, in favorable states of the air,
that clouds would form over large cities and
manufacturing towns where much fuel is burnt;
and so we find it to he.
Extract of a letter to me, from Benjamm
.Matthias of Philadelphia—“ In the course of
last winter while in England, l visited Man
chester four or five times, and on each day it
rained. Several of the inhabitants assured me
that it rains in Manchester more or less every
day in tlie year.”
Extract from Ed. Mammatt’s Collection of
Facts concerning Ashby Coal Field, 4to.
London, 1830.
“ When the air is apparently stagnant in the
valley of the Thames and surrounding coun
try, a strong current is found to sot in on every
side of London, along the streets leading from
the country, in the morning. This current is
no doubt occasioned by the rarefaction in the
high chimnies, over so many thousand fires
just kindled, and must he the cause of the intro
duction of fresh air to an immense extent,
which would not otherwise flow. This rare
faction produces other phenomena, among
which, when the atmosphere is in a light state
and clouds are passing at a height which docs
not allow them to condense and full iu rain,
these accumulate in passing over London, and
either remain as a dense fog, or drop in small
rain till day long, scarcely clearing once ; the
country tit a little distance having very little
rain.”
The had philosophy of supposing the air so
light oil these occasions as to let the clouds
on passing sink down in it over London, does
not invalidate the evidence of tlie principal
fret.
From these remarkable facts alone 1 think
it will be acknowledged that there is some
connecti m between great fires and rams other
than mere coincidence, even if that connection
remained a mystery. Humboldt acknowl
edged this in the case of volcanoes when he
speaks of the mysterious connection between
Volcanoes and rain, and says that when a vol
cano hursts out in .South America in a dry
season, it sometimes changes it to a rainy one.
But now when it is demonstrated by the most
decisive evidence, the evidence of experiment
tint air in ascending into the atmosphere in a
column, as it must do over a great fire, will
cool by diminished pressure, so much that it
will begin to condense its vapour inlo cloud as
soon as it shall rise about as many hundred
yards as the temperature of the air is above
the dew point in degress of Fahrenheit, it
amounts to a very high probability that great
fires have sometimes produced rain. That
great fires and even volcanoes should not al
ways pioduce rain is manifest from tlie cir
cumstances that as they break out accidentally,
they may sometimes occur when the state of
the atmosphere is unfavorable and even ad
verse to rain. First if they should break out
when there is a current ofaii, either near the
surface of the earth or at a considerable dis
tance above, of some strength, the up moving
column would be swept by it, out of the per
pendicular, before a cloud of great density
could be formed, and thus rain would be pre
vented.
Second, they might break out when the clew
point was too low to produce rain at all; and
there may sometimes be an upper stratum of
air, containing so much caloric that its specific
levity would prevent the upmoving column
from rising into it far enough to cause rain.
These three things I conceive are the only
circumstances which prevent great fires from
producing rain at all times when they occur,
The first two can be ascertained without much
difficulty by means of small balloons and the
dew point—the last in the present state of
science cannot always be known,and a failure
on that ac -ount must be risked by the experi
menter. ThD risk I am willing to run, if
Congress or the State Legislature will promise
a sufficient reward in case of success.
It has been objected to my project that I
propose too much, and that it is utterly ab
surd to expect to make rain in time of i
drought when there is such a scarcity of va- j
por in the air.
Now this objection is founded on an entire'
ignorance of the fact arising from a want of
due consideration. For there is generally
more vapour in the time of summer dr< light, i
than at any other time, as 1 know by experi- j
ments constantly made almost every day for!
these 'ast ten years ; and this is reasonable in j
itself, for the vapour is rising into the air and
increasing every day of dry weather, prepar
ing for another rain. A quiet state of the
ntmosj here is also more likely to occur, to!
great heights, in time of droughts than at any
other time, for immediately after rains there
are sure to ho cross current* of air, produced
by the inward inolioi of tlio air at the lower!
part of the cloud, and an outward motion in
lie upper part, which require some time after
'he rain to come to rest.
If I have succeeded in showing that there is
he least ground to hope that an attempt to
produce rain, might sometimes succeed under
favorable circumstances,and that those favorn
ble circumstances are more likely to occur in
time of drought than at any other time, then it
follows that the experiment is a highly interes
ting one, and ought to be immediately tried.
If it should be successful, who can tell the"
mighty results which may follow in its train.
I have many reasons and facts which induce
me to (relieve that if a very large cloud isonce
generated, the rain will become general, or at
least spread over a wide extent of territory •
and who can tell, a priori, that this will
i.ie case, when it is now known than an irn
mense steam power is let loose in the forma,
tion ofsuch cloud, a power which can be cal.
culated with as much accuracy as that of the
steam engine itself, and in part on the same
principles.
Gentlemen have made their puns on this
project, and had their laugh, and I am soitv
to see by letters which I have received that my
friends and relations at a distance are much
troubled at these innocent laughs; but let them
he consoled ; I have laughed too, well know,
ing that those who laughed the most heartily
would be the most willing to encourage the
experiment, as soon as t!iuy discovered
they had nothing to laugh at. Asa proof
that I was right in this anticipation, I may
Ire permitted to say that I have lately re
reeived a letter from a highly distinguished
member of tlie American Legislature, who
laughed as lieartily as any one when my peti
tion was presented there, containing many
kind expressions, and promising me hv way of
amends for his levity, “ to avail himself of the
earliest opportunity of being better informed
on tlie subject of my philosophy.” Such con
duct as this is all I want; I fear not the strict-
'est scrutiny.
If I should be encouraged to go on with tlie
experiment, I mean to have a large mass of
combustibles prepared ready for use,and when
I have found all the circumstances mentioned
I before, favorable in a time of drought I would
•set fire to the circumference in various places
at once. Soon afor the fire commences, I
will expect to sec clouds begin to form, about
as many hundred yards high as the tempera,
ture of the air is above the dew-point in de
grees of Fahrenheit. I will expect to see this
cloud rapidly increase in size—if its top is not
swept off" by a current of air at a considerable
distance above the earth—until it becomes so
lofty as to rain. I shall expect the cloud to
move enstwardly, increasing iu width as it ad.
j vances, and the next day I shall expect the re
gion to the south of whore the rain fell, to lie
; visited by rain, for a reason explained in my
writings.
But it is in vain to anticipate all the results
which will follow, for nothing but the experi
ment itself can demonstrate them. If the
j experiments when repeatedly tried should fail
• it would he in vain for me to say I would not
: he mortified, hut I will not incur any disgrace
■ —unless it is disgraceful to desire to sec a
j great experiment made which all t e knowl
edge we have on the subject, leads us to hope
I will be crowned with success.
I have made this very brief though neccs
surily imperfect statement of my reasons for
wishing to see tlie experiment-tried, which cun
alone decide the question, to comply with the
earnest and repeated solicitations of my
fiicnds; I will now in conclusion suv a void
for myself.
Tiie present state of the science of Meteo
rology renders it highly important to know in
what direction and with what velocity summer
rains travel over the surface of the earth.
What is their shape—round or oblong—and
if oblong, in what direction tlieir transverse
diameter lies, and whether they move side
foremost or end foremost or obliquely. Now
I request gentlemen throughout the United
States, who leel interested in this subject, to
keep a journal of all rains, from the beginning
of June till tlie end of September ; noting
their beginnings and endings, the force and di
rection, of the winds and also of the clouds, and
send the account (published in some paper) as
[early in October as convenient, to William
Hamilton, Esq., Actuary of tho Franklin Insti
tute, Pniladelphia.
Finally, if any gentleman intends to clear
from twenty to fifty acres of woodland this
spring, or early in tiic summer, in the western
or north-western parts of Pennsylvania, will be
pleased to inform me of the fact as soon as
| convenient.
Journals of the weather also for the 16tli,
17th and 18th of Marc'n, 1838, kept in various
parts of Virginia and North Carolina, are
much desired ; and if gentlemen can even tell
me how the trees are thrown down indicating *
direction of the wind, the information will be
highly valuable, and should not be withheld il
nothing is known or recollected.
I am gentlemen, yours respectfully.
JAMES P. ESPY.
Philadelphia, April 2nd, 1839.
INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION AMONG THE
ATRICAL PERFORMERS.
The audience at the National Theatre were
lately electrified by a scene, which offered a cu
rious instance of the effect of imaginary woes
in producing a display of actual passion and
distress. \Ve allude to Miss Sheriff’s person
ation of Clari, in John Howard Payne’s pathe
tic drama of “The Maid of Milan.” In the
last scene of the play, the penitent Clari, who
has been seduced from her humble but happy
home, by Vivaldi, a proud voung nobleman,
returns, and seeks her parents. She first en
counters her mother, to whom she is soon re
conciled. But the father, who is of sterner
stuir, spurns her from his path. It was in the
midst of this terrible imprecation upon b‘ 3
child, that Miss Sheriff, ns Clari, rapt by the
cunning of the scene, and by a sensitive ima
gination, tell into violent hysterics, and utter
ed the most piercing shrieks. The curtain was
immediately dropped upon tho scene, the ef
fect of which, upon the audience, w'as tb*
which might have been naturally awakened by
an actual occurrence of nil intensely tragic na
ture. Many instances, of a similar kind, have
been mentioned. Mrs. Klonmn, a few woe 3
since, in Philadelphia, was agitated ill a