and mingling with them, would descend and again divide; one half, as before, flowing towards the equator, and the other, as a south-west in the northern hemisphere, and as a north-west wind in the southern, make their way to the poles. These courses would they preserve and maintain, with mathematical precision, as they would encounter no obstacles or causes to divert or restrain them. Obedient to law, uni formity of surface would induce uniform motion, and they would exhibit the same regularity and order in pursuing their circuits, as is found in the undisturbed ways of the planetary system. This feature in the winds presents us with another contrast between the ancient world and ours.

Rain.-Although our author does not expressly inform us how the winds blew, yet he does, in his comprehensive method, impart to us that knowledge with precision, when communicating another remarkable and inseparably connected phenomenon, pertaining to the Adamland. This great continent, he informs us, was not dependent upon rains for its moisture, but upon "mists that went up from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground." It was a rainless country, yet abundantly nourished, throughout its whole surface, by the genial influences of mists, fogs and dews.

A proposition so novel may prove startling and incredible to many, and especially to those who conceive that the order of things immediately surrounding themselves must prevail throughout universal space; and even the man of some scientific attainment may, at first blush, feel sceptical as to the possibility of a world existing without rain. Yet it will re

quire but little reflection on the part of the one, and but little additional information on the part of the other, to secure universal assent to the simplicity and certainty of the truth thus revealed by the sacred writer.

The Greeks fabled the existence of Æolus, a god to whose whimsical temper was entrusted the charge of the winds. We know, however, that these, as all other physical things, are obedient to nature's laws, and that each portion of the earth has its Eolus to direct them in their ways. The mountains are the storm kings of earth, and regulate the temper of winds and the measure of its rains; and it is to the conflicts between these contending monarchs, that all our atmospheric changes are due.

The air has been aptly termed the great mediator between the land and the sea, and between the different parts of the earth's surface. Does the earth become too hot, the winds rush from the sea to cool it; does the heat oppress the sea, the mediator hastens to its relief. No sooner does one part of the earth become surcharged with heat, than the winged messenger comes to take off its surplus, and bear it to another, standing in need of its comfort. The labor of the winds is engaged in equalizing the temperature of the earth's surface, and maintaining an equilibrium between its own parts. Were there no mountains, its natural impulse would lead it to follow the sun, between the tropics, in its course from east to west, and gather the heat as fast as generated, and transport and diffuse it over the extra-tropical regions even to the poles. Its tendency is first to seek the heated regions and get warmed, and then fly to the colder zones to cool itself. This it essays to do now,

between our calm belts, as attested by the regular trade winds, but its purposes are frustrated by ever recurring mountains. The rains tell what causes the aberration of the winds, from their most natural course from the equator to the poles; and, if we ask of them, they point to the mountains.

The air, as well as water, is endowed with most wonderful and remarkable properties. Heat it and it becomes lighter, and ascends exactly to that height where the density of the air is equal to its own. It will go no higher than its measure of heat will carry it; and, if it is forced to cross high mountains, it must first attain the requisite degree of heat to enable it to do so. If a high mountain stands in its path, it must linger upon the earth's surface until it becomes hot enough to overcome the ascent before it.

The air also possesses the capacity of dissolving water, as water does salt or sugar; and, in exact proportion with its heat, does this capacity increase until it is saturated, or as full as it can hold. Reversing this order, as its temperature is lowered, so by regular measure does it squeeze out its water, until it becomes perfectly dry.

As we ascend above the surface of the earth, the atmosphere, by a steady gradation of one degree for every 350 feet of elevation, becomes colder, and at certain elevations reaches the regions of perpetual snow. This snow line at the equator is highest, being there fixed at 15,207 feet above the level of the sea, yet descends progressively towards the poles, being 3,818 feet in latitude 60, and 1,016 feet in latitude 75, and reaches the earth's surface about the 80th parallel.

Mountains exist in every continent, differing both in latitude and in height; and, therefore, exert different chilling powers upon the winds, and take from them more or less moisture, according to their elevavation and position.

Our rains all come from the ocean, and the winds bring them to us. When they reach the land with their treasures, which they wish to distribute evenly, as mists and dews, over the face of the whole earth, they are robbed by the mountains, and forced to give up to waste, what was destined for general diffusion. Some portions receive but little, others more than they need; some are drenched to excess, whilst others suffer with want. Instead of regularity and order in the course of the winds and the distribution of rains, the whole atmospheric phenomena are involved in utter confusion. That this is all due to mountain chains and plateaus, the science of meteorology discloses, and, by way of illustration, we cite a few facts:

The great trade winds that sweep the Pacific ocean, no sooner reach the land than they are confronted by the elevated Lupata chain of mountains, that skirt the eastern coast of Africa. Forced to ascend, they reach an elevation which chills and condenses the vapors they have gathered, and their store is exhausted. After crossing the mountains, dry and cold, they are more disposed to demand than to give moisture; and the sandy deserts in their train affirm that the coast has selfishly enjoyed what was necessary and destined for the entire continent. Winging their way across the Atlantic, they reach the shores of South America with superabundant supplies. The

humble mountains in the East offer but little obstruction to their passage, and moderate rains are given for the liberty. Yet loaded, they cross the broad pampas on their way to the Pacific, and when nearly in sight of the ocean, find the snow-capped Andes across their path, to whose chilled heights they are compelled to surrender all their treasures. Innumerable rivers, oftentimes excessively flooded, irrigate the continent, east of the Cordilleras; whilst Peru, just beyond, with the broad main in view, gets not a drop. The atmosphere of South America is so thoroughly saturated with moisture, that, without rain at all, her vegetable world feels no thirst, but with broadly expanded leaves takes its drink directly from the air. Were the Andes, however, upon the eastern, instead of the western coast, then indeed we should find her all Peru, or the counterpart of Africa.

In North America, the great rivers-the Mississippi, Missouri, St. Lawrence, and others-are indebted to the lofty summits of the Rocky Mountains, for wringing from the winds the waters they bear; and their constant volumes attest the immense amount of fluid thus transported from the sea, entirely across the continent, to the very verge of the land. In Oregon, the southwest winds prevail throughout the year, and their vapors are condensed upon the mountain sides. Its rains are monthly; but for three months they fall continuously, and in that time measure a depth of thirty inches.

In winter and spring, the south-west winds come to California, loaded with the vapors of the Pacific, and the mountains convert them into rain. This is the wet season, west of the chain, but the dry on the