IS IT GOING TO RAIN? 87 



consolate and the hive-bee comes home empty ; when 

 the earth gapes and all nature looks widowed, and 

 deserted, and heart-broken, in such a time, what 

 thing that has life does not sympathize and suffer 

 with the general distress ? 



The drought of the summer and early fall of 1876 

 was one of those severe stresses of weather that make 

 the oldest inhabitant search his memory for a par- 

 allel. For nearly three months there was no rain to 

 wet the ground. Large forest-trees withered and cast 

 their leaves. In spots, the mountains looked as if 

 they had been scorched by fire. The salt sea-water 

 came up the Hudson ninety miles, when ordinarily 

 it scarcely comes forty. Toward the last, the capacity 

 of the atmosphere to absorb and dissipate the smoke 

 was exhausted, and innumerable fires in forests and 

 peat-swamps made the days and the weeks not 

 blue, but a dirty yellowish-white. There was not 

 enough moisture in the air to take the sting out of 

 the smoke, and it smarted the nose. The sun was 

 red and dim even at midday, and at his rising and 

 setting he was as harmless to the eye as a crimson 

 shield or a painted moon. The meteorological con- 

 ditions seemed the farthest possible remove from 

 those that produce rain, or even dew. Every sign 

 was negatived. Some malevolent spirit seemed abroad 

 in the air, that rendered abortive every effort of the 

 gentler divinities to send succor. The clouds would 

 gather back in the mountains, the thunder would 

 growl, the tall masses would rise up and advance 



