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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