“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 larvæ 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