her to abandon her purpose as in a soldier to run away under fire. She was not in the least grateful to Saint-Luc for offering her a means of retreat which he must know in his heart that she could not accept with honor, and it was in particularly icy accents that she replied at last- You remember what I told you in the beginning, M. de Saint-Luc. I have never deceived you. I never pretended that I should have chosen you for a husband if—if I had only had myself to think of; but I consented to marry you for the reasons which I mentioned at the time. What I said then I say still. Indeed I am more bound to you than I was; for you have been very kind to me; and I suppose that when you stopped the ponies, the other day, you saved my life-which most people would reckon a kindness. If you have changed your mind, and wish our engagement to come to an end, I shall be neither surprised nor offended; but for me, I am as content now as I was then. Saint-Luc sighed. Almost he felt inclined to give up the game. He was still under the influence of that discouraging impression of hopeless distance from Jeanne which had fallen upon him, in the drawing-room, before dinner, and. which her present bearing was little calculated to remove. Yet he could not quite bring himself to resign her. Some lingering rays of forlorn hope even now brightened the darkness of his prospects. Time, absence, wounds and medals-all these might prove allies; and moreover he still clung to the notion that, with women, love often follows. instead of preceding marriage-which, after all, is a generally received theory, and may possibly be not quite so absurd a one as it sounds.

He took time to think over all this; for Jeanne had paused in her walk to gather some of the heavy-scented white bells of a datura-shrub, and seemed in no hurry for her companion's reply. When he did speak, it was more in answer to his own thoughts than to her suggestion.

While there is a chance for me, I will hold to it, he said. "Let us remain as we are at least until the end of the war. Before then much may have happened. I may have been killed, for instance, which would settle everything."

Are you?"

"I am not sure. prepared to die.'

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So few people are

Do you mean that I am not? That is true enough, I dare say; but I am as prepared as I am ever likely to be. 1 cannot see beyond the grave.

Are you a sceptic then?" asked Jeanne, with bated breath, as who should say, Are you a murderer ?''

I have scarcely the right to call myself so. I neither believe nor disbelieve; I have never thought about religion at all, one way or the other, and seldom heard it mentioned, except as a pretty fable or allegory, supported chiefly by social necessities. If it be all true, 1 have no doubt allowances will be made for me.

"I shall pray for you," said Jeanne, gravely.

"Will you? Will you really do that?" cried Saint-Luc eagerly, attaching more importance, it is to be feared, to the act of intercession than to its possible results. "Then you will think of me sometimes when I am away?''

"I should pray for anybody who did not believe in God," answered Jeanne ; "and as for thinking of you, of course I should do that in any case. I never forget people. When do you mean to start ?"

"To-morrow, I think."

"Why not? My departure will afflict nobody, and my friend Lasalle sails at midday. Besides, I must not lose time if I am to take part in the battle of Chalons."

The battle of Chalons?"

"It will be there, or thereabouts, 1 fancy. At all events, I shall have to hurry in order to get to the regiment in time. Even as it is, I may be detained by useless formalities."

What will the Duchess say? I don't know how I am to tell her, murmured Jeanne, growing a little alarmed as the serious nature of the situation revealed itself to her.

"I will undertake that. What does it signify what she says? What does anything signify? Let us go in at once, and get it over. And now, as I shall not

see you alone again, I will say good-by." He took her passive hand, and, for the second time since their betrothal, pressed it to his lips; and she, withdrawing it presently, said, in her low, grave voice," Good-by."

This was all their leave-taking; and Jeanne, thinking it over afterwards, reproached herself for having let the poor fellow go without a single kind word to cheer him on his way. Even at the time her heart was a little softened towards

him; but she would not show it, being restrained by a foolish apprehension lest, at this supreme moment, encouragement might lead him into some less deferential expression of regard.

So they re-entered the house together; and the unsuspecting Duchess called out gayly, from her corner, "Well, young people, here you are at last! We were thinking of sending Léon out with a lantern to look for you." - Cornhill Magazine.

THE study of weather, always popular in the very widest sense, has, within these last few months, received a fresh impulse from the daily publications of the forecasts issued by the Meteorological Office. It is I must suppose sufficiently well understood that these forecasts are based on some scientific principle; and their very general truth may be accepted as tending to show that -within certain modest limits-the principle is a correct one: but what the principle is, or why the limits of its present application should be so narrow, are points which have not yet been fully realized. It is difficult to clear the mind with a jerk from the accumulated empiricism of past ages and yet this is necessary for the right understanding of the present state of scientific meteorology. I do not, of course, mean to say that all the observations, facts, and deductions of the past are wrong: very far indeed from it. Rightly interpreted, these are still most valuable: but they need a rigid interpretation and arrangement, a careful weeding, a ruthless thinning out, before they can be permitted to take a place in a scientific record. And this is a work of time and difficulty; for they are of very different kinds, and have been embodied in the folk-lore of every age and of every nation; some of them not unworthily, while others are simply the wild ravings of ignorance or superstition.

Of all these, those most in favor are based on more or less familiar astronomical phenomena, and especially on the changes or crossings of the moon. There is, perhaps, no people which has not associated the idea of a change in

the weather with the moon's changing phases; and the Sailing Directions issued by the Admiralty-as matter-offact and unromantic volumes as are in existence-do all, with more or less clearness, recognize the probability of such change at the full or new moon. The corresponding idea that disturbed weather may be expected about the times of the moon's crossing the equator is that which, some fifteen or twenty years ago, a Mr. Saxby rather pretentiously claimed as his own, and put forward as a new and scientific discovery. It is barely necessary to say that it was neither new nor scientific; that it was a mere matter of supposed observation or dogmatic assertion, the truth of which might be, and actually was, positively denied by many very capable authorities; and though I, myself, would not go quite so far as this, I am going to what, I believe, many meteorologists will consider an extreme length, when I say that it seems to me highly probable that there is some connection between the changes or crossings of the moon and changes or perturbations of the weather; but that as to what that connection is, what gives rise to it, whether it is one of cause or of mere agreement, and in what way it manifests itselfthese are things of which we are altogether ignorant, as to which we cannot pretend to speak.

A halo round the moon, the visibility of the whole disk at the time of new moon, or, as it is called, the old moon in the young moon's arms, and other similar appearances, are indications, for good or bad, of the state of the atmosphere: but beyond those which have

reference to such, most of the familiar sayings about the moon are utter nonsense; and whether there are two new moons in a calendar month, or only one; whether the new moon lies on her back, or on her face; and whether the moon changes on a Saturday, or Sunday, or any other day of the week, are accidents of detail which have no meteorological import whatever.

I am afraid the popular traditions as to the weather-influence of certain saints' days or church festivals must be included in the same category. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about them is that they still live, although nearly every year shows their worthlessness; that the weather of February has no definite relation to that of Candlemas, and the rain of July or August absolutely none to the state of the sky on St. Swithin's. But bearing in mind that these and similar traditions date back many hundred years, and-so far as they ever had any meaning-refer to points in the calendar a week or ten days later, it may be admitted, in favor of St. Swithin's claim, that when marked change from wet to dry, or from dry to wet, takes place towards the end of July, it is not unlikely to last the next month through.

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cycles of commercial prosperity or distress. So far as these might depend on years of plenty or of famine, on good or bad harvests, this would be virtually the same idea as the other but where they depend on the humanity, or the prudence, or the ambition of emperors and kings; on the enterprise and ability, or on the greed, the folly, or the dishonesty of merchants and speculators, it would lead to the theory that the sunspots and the weather and the temper or judgment of inankind are all related to each other, and that, in sober physical fact—

Till within the last few years, the idea of the planets having any relation to our weather would have been held up to ridicule; but the most modern opinion is that there is some such relation; though in what way, or to what extent, is undetermined. But as to the importance of the sun there is no doubt. That the heat of the sun is the first cause of all climatic difference and seasonal change has been well established; and more recently it has been maintained that the appearance or non-appearance of spots on the face of the sun has a direct connection with weather, and points out years of flood, or storm, or drought that the cycles of sun-spots and of weather coincide, and are to be referred to some common cause. How far this may be true, few would now undertake to say: but, strange as it may seem, few would venture to reject the idea altogether. More startling still is the idea, lately put forward by Professor Stanley Jevons, that the cycles of sun-spots agree with the

There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

We may conceive this possible; but at
present the idea is little more than
speculation, and has had its rise in this
past disastrous season of sun-spots, and
bad weather, and wars, and bankrupt-
cies, and perverted judgments.

Such as it is, however, the leading principle of it is essentially the same as that of the old Astrology which undertook to foretell alike the affairs of men or the state of the weather. But this was altogether empirical: whatever its pretence, whatever labor was spent on it, its predictions could not stand the comparison with the events; it had no scientific basis, and in the advance of scientific inquiry it fell at once into disrepute. Readers of "Quentin Durward" will readily remember the importance which Louis XI. of France is said to have attached to the warnings of his astrologer; but they may possibly have overlooked the exceptional instance in . which common sense prevailed over superstition. The king-according to the story-had a mind to hunt one day, and being doubtful of the weather, inquired of his astrologer whether it would be fair. The sage answered with confidence in the affirmative. At the entrance of the forest the royal cortège was met by a charcoal-man, who expressed to some menials of the train his surprise that the king should have thought of hunting on a day which threatened tempest. The collier's prediction proved true. The king and his court were driven from their sport well drenched; and Louis, having heard what the col

How were you more accurate in foretelling the weather, my friend," said he, "than this learned man?" "I am an ignorant man, Sire," answered the collier, was never at school, and cannot read or write: but I have an astrologer of my own, who shall foretell weather with any of them. It is, with reverence, the ass who carries my charcoal, who always, when bad weather is approaching, points forward his ears, walks more slowly than usual, and tries to rub himself against walls; and it was from these signs that I foretold yesterday's storm." The king burst into a fit of laughing, dismissed the astrological biped, and assigned the collier a small pension to maintain the quadruped, swearing he would never in future trust to any other astrologer

than the charcoal man's ass.

Indications such as those here spoken of have been familiar to country-folk from the earliest times; for it is quite certain that the lower animals feel approaching changes of weather in a way which we can very imperfectly understand. Still, even among ourselves, there are many who are, to some extent, sensible of these changes, and the sensation is generally unpleasant. Old wounds are painful before rain; the head aches before thunder; or there is a feeling of uneasiness difficult to explain, but none the less real. So also with animals they career wildly about the field in restless excitement, they . scratch themselves in the hedges, they rub themselves against the wall, or their annoyance finds vocal expression, as in the agonizing yell of the aristocratic peacock, or the discordant hee-haw of the plebeian donkey. Such signs are not to be neglected by the careful student of weather, although they cannot be counted as strictly scientific. The evidence is of the nature of hearsay, and can only be accepted conditionally.

The indications of clouds are of a totally different character in the study of them-old as it is—we have the germ of a real science, the value of which is not likely to be underrated by any one who has lived in the country, and, even without paying any attention to it himself, has noticed the frequent truth of the predictions of some old farm laborer, a man "no scollard," but who has plodded about the fields with his eyes open. To attempt a verbal description of clouds is almost a hopeless task: to those who do not know clouds as clouds,

The very high, light, streaky, fibrous, white clouds, which are familiarly called "mares' tails,' or "goats' hair," are technically known as cirrus. The drift of the fibres of cirrus shows the upper wind plainly enough; their formation in a clear sky is very often a precursor of rain.

The high clouds-not so high as cirrus - in small, detached, rounded, white masses, like a flock of sheep lying down, or like the markings on a mackerel, are cirro-cumulus. A sky flecked with cirro-cumulus is commonly called a "mackerel sky." In some parts of the country, Bedfordshire for instance, these little rounded clouds are considered a sign of rain; they are said to be "packets of rain" soon to be opened. At sea they are considered rather as a sign of wind; and the nautical adage goes

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Mackerel sky and mares' tails Make ships carry low sails. Cirro-stratus, though still high, is somewhat lower than either of these others; it is the cloud of a moderately fine day; it may spread out as a sheet, and cover the greater part of the sky; or it may be broken up into large or small fragments, which often take curious or grotesque shapes. The cloud "in shape like a camel, 'backed like a weasel,' very like a whale,' was doubtless a bit of cirro-stratus. At a little distance, when their edge only is seen, they appear as lines, or sets of lines, streaky. If these streaks run north and south, they are said to be a sign of fine weather; but to portend rain if they run east and west; if they are very irregular and jagged, they make what one would commonly call "an angry-looking sky," their ideas about which the seafaring men of old have expressed in the couplet

If clouds look as if scratched by a hen, Stand by to lower your topsails then. Large rounded masses of cloud, irregularly heaped together, at no great height, are cumulus. Cumulus may be black or gray, or white, when the masses are called wool bags." If they grow

bigger rapidly-more especially before two or three o'clock in the afternoonsink lower, become more fleecy and irregular, and come up against the wind, they are a pretty sure sign of rain; if, on the other hand, they get smaller towards sunset, they are a sign of fair weather. This is a bit of the wisdom of the Shepherd of Banbury: "In summer or harvest, when the wind has been south for two or three days, and it grows very hot, and you see clouds rise with great white tops like towers, as if one were upon the top of another, and joined together with black on the nether side, there will be thunder and rain suddenly.'

The lowest cloud of all is the black rain cloud, or nimbus; on the horizon, and as it advances towards the observer, its front often resembles a very heavy cumulus, with rain falling from it, and with some cirrus above. When it has overspread the whole sky, it is usually so mixed up with, or concealed by, falling rain, that it generally assumes dark uniforin appearance.

a

Now the study of clouds in their different shapes, and colors, and behavior, gives us undoubtedly a scientific basis-so far as it goes-for weather knowledge; and, at present, it is by it alone that we can tell of changes in the upper regions of the atmosphere. But

of itself it is not enough. The movements and forms of clouds, though the most apparent of weather indications, are not only by themselves insufficient and often misleading, but the warning which they give does not, as a rule, precede the threatened change by more than an hour or two. What everybody asks for is a great deal more than that. If only in arranging for a picnic, or a garden party, it is desirable to know the night before what the weather is to be; to the farmer or the man of business it is often of the greatest importance; to the fisherman or the coasting trader, it may easily prove a matter of life or death. It is from this very serious point of view that the Meteorological Office under the Board of Trade has long considered it, and has devoted a large proportion of its work to the improvement and extension of those storm warnings" which, about ten years ago, it began to issue to our coast population.

Of

These warnings originated, as is well. known, in the devoted industry of Admiral Fitzroy; but the attempt, at first, was rather premature, and their correctness was very doubtful; they were consequently discontinued, after the Admiral's death, for some years, and when recommenced were on a more modest footing; simply, warnings that a gale, or bad weather, might be expected. With experience, these were further developed; the office began to warn for direction of wind, as well as for force; and were able with increasing certainty to fix the limits of time and area. warnings such as these, complete forecasts were the natural outcome; the study of weather and weather-changes on the coast necessarily led to the study of them inland, and to a careful inquiry into the connection between rain, wind, and cloud, as well as their relation to the fluctuations of those all-important meteorological instruments, the thermometer and barometer. All this has been going on for years; and now, after several months' private rehearsal, the Council have felt justified in issuing those daily forecasts which are published in many of the morning and evening papers. But they are strictly "forecasts;' a name on which a certain amount of stress has been laid, as showing that they are cast or calculated from known data; that there is about them nothing of the nature of prediction or prophecy, as vulgarly understood; no charlatanry or hocus-pocus, but that all is plain and above board.

In attempting to describe the method in which these forecasts are made, and the basis on which they rest, I am compelled to introduce a few words on the causes to which some of the phenomena may be theoretically referred; in doing so, I wish to avoid any discussion which would be here out of place, and will only say that of the rival theories, some part of each is probably true; so that if I speak almost exclusively of one, it is rather for the sake of that clearness which a little restrained dogmatism may give.

It is, then, familiarly known that a stream of any kind, when interrupted, tends to form whirls or eddies: the same is indeed true of any mobile body : a ballet dancer, for instance, as she