Henderson says, "I may, perhaps, mention here, that apples are said to 'shrump up' in Devonshire if picked when the moon is waning." [331] A writer of miscellaneous literature tells us that "it has been demonstrated that moonlight has the power, per se, of awakening the sensitive plant, and consequently that it possesses an influence of some kind on vegetation. It is true that the influence is very feeble, compared with that of the sun; but the action is established, and the question remains, what is the practical value of the fact? 'It will immediately,' says Professor Lindley, 'occur to the reader that possibly the screens which are drawn down over hothouses at night, to prevent loss of heat by radiation, may produce some unappreciated injury by cutting off the rays of the moon, which nature intended to fall upon plants as much as the rays of the sun." [332] The same author says elsewhere, "Columella, Cato, Vitruvius, and Pliny, all had their notions of the advantages of cutting timber at certain ages of the moon; a piece of mummery which is still preserved in the royal ordonnances of France to the conservators of the forests, who are directed to fell oaks only 'in the wane of the moon' and 'when the wind is at north.'" [333] Of trees, astrologers affirm that the moon rules the palm tree (which the ancients say "sends forth a twig every time the moon rises") and all plants, trees, and herbs that are juicy and full of sap. [334]
"A description of the New Netherlands, written about 1650, remarks that the savages of that land 'ascribe great influence to the moon over crops.' This venerable superstition, common to all races, still lingers among our own farmers, many of whom continue to observe 'the signs of the moon' in sowing grain, setting out trees, cutting timber, and other rural avocations." [335] What is here said of the new world applies also to the old; for in England a current expression in Huntingdonshire is "a dark Christmas sends a fine harvest": dark meaning moonless.
Of the lunar influence upon the tides, old John Lilly writes: "There is nothing thought more admirable, or commendable in the sea, than the ebbing and flowing; and shall the moone, from whom the sea taketh this virtue, be accounted fickle for encreasing and decreasing?" [336] Another writer of the sixteenth century says, "The moone is founde, by plaine experience, to beare her greatest stroke uppon the seas, likewise in all things that are moiste, and by consequence in the braines of man." [337] Dennys tells us that "the influence exerted by the moon on tides is recognised by the Chinese." [338] What some record in prose, others repeat in rhyme. The following is one kind of poetry.
"Moone changed, keepes closet, three daies as a Queene,
Er she in hir prime, will of any be scene:
If great she appereth, it showreth out,
If small she appereth, it signifieth drout.
At change or at full, come it late, or else soone,
Maine sea is at highest, at midnight and noone,
But yet in the creekes, it is later high flood:
Through farnesse of running, by reason as good." [339]
Indirectly, through the influence upon the tides, the moon is concerned in human mortality.
"Tyde flowing is feared, for many a thing,
Great danger to such as be sick it doth bring.
Sea eb, by long ebbing, some respit doth give,
And sendeth good comfort, to such as shal live." [340]
Henderson says, "It is a common belief along the east coast of England, from Northumberland to Kent, that deaths mostly occur during the falling of the tide." [341] Every reader of the inimitable Dickens will be reminded here of the death of poor old Barkis.
"'He's a-going out with the tide,' said Mr. Peggotty to me, behind his hand.
"My eyes were dim, and so were Mr. Peggotty's; but I repeated in a whisper, 'With the tide?'
"'People can't die, along the coast,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'except when the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nigh in-not properly born, till flood. He's a-going out with the tide. It's ebb at half-arter three, slack water half an hour. If he lives till it turns, he'll hold his own till past the flood, and go out with the next tide.'