210 THE WEATHER. 



tions of the divine wisdom and power displayed in these 

 phenomena. 



If we, however, look at the circumstances, we shall, in 

 a degree, be able to understand the subject. Let us 

 suppose that the earth had been completed in its present 

 form and condition, but without an atmosphere. The 

 ocean lies calm and still : the fields and hills are moistened 

 with water, and consequently crowned with verdure and 

 fertility ; for we must suppose that at the time when the ' 

 creation is completed, there is a proper distribution of heat 

 and moisture for the commencement of those processes 

 which give to earth its beauty and fruitfulness. Foun- 

 tains therefore spring forth among the hills. Cataracts 

 descend from every precipice, brooks meander through 

 the valleys, and their united waters flow on in the majes- 

 tic river. In fine, the whole earth is, at the moment, 

 precisely what it is now, presenting every variety, from 

 the drenched meadow to the warm soil of the elevated 

 plain. 



But all is still. As we suppose no atmosphere, there 

 must be no breeze, and the whole creation must sleep in 

 apparent death. No bird can fly ; and if we suppose 

 that Providence has arranged it so that human life can 

 be preserved without the air, man would observe, as he 

 walked around, one universal silence and stillness, of 

 which no calm summer's evening can now give us any 

 conception. The ocean must present one broad, glassy 

 expanse, unruffled by any wave, unless the entrance of 

 some mighty river should send forth a few silent ripples. 

 No leaf would rustle or move ; not a blade of grass 

 would wave, and not a sound would arise from nature, or 

 animal, or man. The lion might strive in vain to roar, 

 and the lofty cataract would fall upon the rocks silently. 



But this dreadful calm would not be all. As the brooks 

 and streams could carry their waters unceasingly to the 

 ocean that great home of the waters there would be 

 no means of again supplying their fountains. The spring 

 from the hill side would soon be checked in its flow; 

 the cataract grow slender in its form, and at last cease to 

 fall ; the southern sloping hill would soon become 

 brown, and nature, from every elevated spot, would soon 

 call for water. But it must call in vain. Gravitation 



