т THE REIGN OF RAIN. IT may be said of Rain as truly as of Fire, that it is a good servant, but a bad master. For some weeks past we have been under its relentless dominion, with a result to ourselves anything rather than agreeable. What we especially resent and feel to be a peculiar hardship, is the wretched monotony of such a condition of climate as has of late prevailed. When heavy rain is accompanied by high winds, the effect, if not comfortable, is at least picturesque. Nature in a passion is, under all circumstances, a magnificent spectacle. No man, not hopelessly insensible to the charms of the sublime and beautiful, can view without admiration the grand disarray of the ocean when wind and wave are in desperate conflict, the rack of rain-charged clouds in a tempestuous sky, the impetuous torrent of a mountain stream, or the writhing of giant trees in the grasp of the winter blast. These are splendid sights, only to be surpassed by the matchless exhibition of a lady angry with her husband. Storms of all descriptions are delightful to hear and to behold. It is fine to listen to the thunder rolling, finer still to see the lightning flashing, the very sense of danger giving greater zest to enjoyment. The rattling of hail-stones upon the roof of a green house is melodious to a refined ear; so, too, is the rustling of autumnal breezes through a forest; so, likewise is the clamor of a loving tongue when you come home late at night. The toppling of a chimneypot about your head speaks eloquently of atmospheric disturbance, and has an enchanting sound. There are few things lovelier to gaze upon than a snow-storm, more particularly in a desolate landscape, say, for example, upon Salisbury Plain; and the general picturesqueness of the scene is incalculably enhanced by the presence of a sweep or a Methodist parson right in the middle of the vast expanse, the dark costume of either gentleman telling against the dazzling whiteness all round with an exquisite contrast of color. In these and all kindred spectacles there is a certain dramatic sentiment which makes us oblivious of personal discomfort, in our ardent recognition of the appeal to our poetic sympathies. But there is nothing either dramatic or picturesque, nothing either to interest or excite us, in one unvarying down-pour of rain, falling morning, noon, and night for weeks together, out of leaden skies, upon the soddened earth below. Not a zephyr blows: not a leaf stirs: not a cloud is to be seen: the brave over-hanging firmament is a dome of brown vapors : and down comes the rain, the weary, dreary rain, in a dismal deluge, blotting and blearing everything, and destroying all distinction between flood and field. The effect upon the spirits is little less than heart-breaking. The only comfort is to know that the most inveterate of grumblers can no longer assert that the weather in England is “unsettled." Settled indeed it is, with a vengeance; and unless it soon mend, it will "settle" us as well. The poets have much to answer for in having bestowed such panegyrics upon Rain. It is all very well for Shakespeare to sing the praises of Mercy, which droppeth like the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath, but Mercy coming in inundations comparable to the torrents with which we have been of late afflicted would be a very questionable favor. Milton talks of ladies whose eyes "rain influence," but that "influence" must be somewhat perilous which bears resemblance to the rain of the present summer. Spencer in his "Fate of the Butterflies," envies Jupiter his prerogatives as Pluvius," and seems to think that to "rain in th' aire" is indeed a celestial privilege : 66 66 "What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be Lord of all the Workes of Nature; To rain in th' aire from earth to lightest skie, To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature?" Delight with libertie were indeed an enviable lot, but what chance of "libertie" have we under the reign of Rain? Mr. Abraham Cowley was not without warrant for his melodious utterances, when he declared that, "The thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks, and gapes for drink again; The verse is charming, and the Bacchanalian inference is not to be resisted, but beyond that point the analogy may not be carried. Man is not a hollyhock, nor is woman a geranium, and neither the one nor the other is any the better for the drenching rains that give beauty and brightness to either flower. A hollyhock need not fear rheumatism; and geraniums, not having noses, do not catch cold in them, as is the unhappy habit of human beings. When sunshine has succeeded shower, a garden looks all the gladder for copious rains; but to tell me that a street has a happier expression while being deluged with rain for days, or it may be weeks together, is to affront my understanding. The premonitory symptoms of rain are dolorous in the extreme, and foretell all too truly the discomfort that is approaching : 66 "Careful observers may foretell the hour (By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower; You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine; Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage." Of the truth of these reflections we Londoners have had ample experience during the present month. As for London herself—" Imperial Augusta," as she was wont to be designated-what could be more miserable, what more rueful and disconsolate than her general aspect and expression? Look where we might, we saw objects equally provocative of pity and ridicule. It makes one's heart bleed to think of the policemen. Those hard helmets of theirs look like inverted colanders, and their skimpy" little capes seem fashioned for the express purpose of conducting the rain in copious rivulets over their dear knees and down the whole length of their delightful legs. Why are not the "Bobbies" permitted to wear Ulsters," or why are they not decked out in long-skirted dressing-gowns? Soaking with rain, as they are, how should these noble fellows be in a fitting condition to carry on the war with itinerant " costers," or to punch the heads of the public? To require such achievements from men drenched to the skin, and shivering all over like dogs in wet sacks, were to over-tax the mettle of the most heroic natures. The omnibus 66 conductors are in still more piteous plight, for whereas the "Peeler" may stand up for a while under a doorway, or dive on the sly down an area or into a pot-house, the conductor has no such resource. Mounted upon his monkey-board, and often miserably clad, he must abide as best as he may the pelting of the rain, and need not hope for one shred of shelter. His case is all the more dreadful to think of, that there is really no intelligible reason why he should be exposed to any such hardship. No rational cause has ever yet been assigned, or is, indeed capable of assignation, why the London conductors should not, like their colleagues of the Continental and American cities, be provided with a canopy of some sort to protect them from the weather. When dogs shall have been furnished with an adequate number of hospitals and asylums, and when cats shall have been supplied with "homes" of sufficient luxury, it will perhaps occur to the benevolent to bestow a thought upon their fellow-creatures-the martyrs of the omnibuses and tram-cars. Very woeful and full to overflowing with sorrow and solicitude is the destiny of the London postman, who, wearing a cape still "skimpier" than that of the policeman, has to trudge through the streets all day long till 10 o'clock at night, amid torrents of rain, distributing as he goes letters well-nigh as humid as himself. He is in the main a civil, well-conducted fellow, and deserves greater consideration than is usually shown to him. But these are not the only sufferers during the reign of rain. All classes of citizens suffer, though of course in various ways and different degrees. The visitation falls, as usual, with bitterest pressure upon the poor, whose scanty raiment affords but inadequate defence against the inclemency of a British sum |