neighborhood, becoming vacant, the living was offered to him, and he accepted it. This was in 1862. "A curious instance of the irony of fate,” says his biographer, "marked the close of William Barnes's teaching. The very week his last few scholars left him the lists came out in the Times, recording his pupil Tolbert's name at the head of the Indian Civil Service Examination, and forthwith the master was deluged with letters offering pupils."

Something of the idyllic beauty of Mere was renewed in the life at Came; but, instead of the dew of the morning, the mellow glow of the lengthening day was upon it. We cannot place William Barnes beside George Herbert or John Keble; but these later years had characteristics of their own they made manifest the genuine soul, the faith and charity, which no studies could supplant. Here is a glimpse of him on his village rounds:

Some

It was pleasant to see him starting out to visit his district, a leather bag slung round his shoulders over his flowing cassock. times the well-filled pockets of the cassock coat bobbed against the comely, stockinged legs-for they were apt to be full of sweets for the children- -or now and then a doll might be seen with its head peering out of the clerical pocket. Thus accoutred, he trod sturdily beneath the hawthorn-trees, and across the shadows of great elms in the park, and knocked with his stick at the cottage doors,

when he reached them. The housewives were

childhood, weakened the sense of responsibility in later life, and reduced things to a standard of mere money cheapness, which he thought involved cheapness of character." In the duties that fell to him he was not sparing. It is recorded of one Sunday, after he was eighty years of age, that, besides a walk of five or six miles from point to point, he "performed two full services, a wedding, a celebration, and a funeral service;" nor was this measure of labor, even at that age, altogether exceptional.

It is not to be supposed that those years were exempt from all the cares and vicissitudes which attend on the most of men, but their general tenor was peaceful. They quietly wove the many-tinted pattern of his thoughts. He followed still his recondite studies, spoke still his sympathies in homely verse. Friends were among the beguilers of his solitude. The babblement of grandchildren was his sweetest music. An artistic friend of one of his daughters, who spent a fortnight at his house, calls it "a poem, of which each day was a beautiful stanza." She ends a page or two of radiant recollections with the words: "He had a handsome presence and was a brave gentleman. He did many things in his gentlehood that a man of the world would never think of doing. I remember he would not allow the gate to be shut when I left." This simple-heartedness had all his life been manifest. Once he walked from Dorchester to Came with a poker, shovel, and tongs slung on his back above the customary bag. On his family remonstrating with him he simply said: "As I was coming myself it was not worth while to give the tradespeople the trouble of sending them over." Many a time when he wanted coals in his study he refrained from ringing the bell, He would leave his breakfast untasted, but would bring the scuttle down with a we are told, to visit a sick person. Weath-gentle, "Oh, Mary, would you be so kind er was never allowed to interfere with his as to give me some coals?" parochial duties. It was one of his sayings, "Oh! nonsense, how can the weather hurt us? We should be fit for nothing if we minded such trifles." Or, "Go out and rough it, then come home and enjoy a rest you will have earned it." He would talk with the cottagers on all points, religious and political. Says one of his neighbors: "He always saw the best side of individuals, but he was not so lenient or so hopeful about the times we live in. The increase of ready-made articles, and of contrivances to save trouble, did not commend themselves to him. He said it destroyed invention and self-reliance in

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always glad to see him, and poured out all their confidences, sure of comfort and sympathy. If he did not come on the usual day they met him with a half reproach next time, Ah, sir, we thought you had forgotten us." The children would creep nearer and nearer, peeping into those big pockets, from which "goodies were wont to come. I do not believe a child, however shy, was ever afraid of

our parson."

Old age does not wear the armor of youth. A driving, drenching, January storm brought him down at last. He recovered in part, but had lost the elasticity of his limbs. Pain and weakness made him prisoner the rest of his time. "A Glossary of the Dorset Language was his last work, and the proofs passed under his eye in these months of seclusion.* One chill evening in the autumn following, "as he was sitting in his easy-chair by the fire, with his fur-lined cloak and red cap,

In the Leisure Hour for 1884 will be found some

papers on "Dorset Folk," contributed by Mr. Barnes.

and his feet in a fur foot-muff," he asked | behind him. "My time is short," he said, his daughter to write down the following as a few evenings later he returned to his poem:

THE GEATE A-VALLEN TO.

IN the zunsheen of our summer,
Wi' the hay-time now a-come,
How busy wer' we out a-vield,
Wi' vew a-left at hwome,
When wagons rumbled out ov yard,
Red wheeled, wi' body blue,
And back behind 'em loudly slamm'd
The geäte a-vallen to.

Drough day sheen for how many years
The geäte ha' now a-swung,
Behind the veet o' vull-grown men,

And vootsteps of the young.
Drough years o' days it swung to us,
Behind each little shoe,

As we tripped lightly on avore
The geäte a-vallen to.

In evenen time o' starry night

How mother zot at hwome,

And kept her blazing vire bright,
Till father should ha' come,
And how she quickened up and smiled,
And stirred the vire anew,
To hear the trampèn horses' steps
And geäte a-vallen to.

There's moonsheen now in nights o' fall
When leaves be brown vrom green,
When to the slammèn of the geäte

Our Jenny's ears be keen,
When the wold dog do wag his tail,
And Jean could tell to who,
As he do come in drough the geäte
The geäte a-vallèn to.

And oft do come a saddened hour

When there must goo away,

One well-beloved to our heart's core
Vor long, perhaps for aye.
And oh! it is a touchèn thing
The loven heart must rue,
To hear behind his last farewell
The geäte a-vallèn to.

The daughter to whom he dictated these lines narrates his most characteristic comment at the close. "Observe that word

own room, never again to go down-stairs. Yet it was not till the autumn of the following year that he was carried forth. We give the last scene in the words of his biographer.

EVERY School Board pupil who reads a shilling primer of physical geography knows that the monsoons are periodical winds which blow over the Indian Ocean at different seasons of the year; but very few, even among regular meteorologists are fully aware of the interesting but complex nature of the details of these phases of atmospheric circulation.

'geäte,' that is how King Alfred would have pronounced it, and how it was called in the Saxon Chronicle,' which tells us of King Edward, who was slain at Corfe's The two publications which are the subgeäte." After a pause he continued, "Ah!ject of this notice contain a vast amount if the court had not been moved to Lon of information and research connected don, then the speech of King Alfred-of with these winds. The charts of the Bay which our Dorset is the remnant - would have been the court language of to-day, and it would have been more like AngloSaxon than it is now."

Is there any other instance in literature of such a poem at eighty-six?

This one was an omen of departing days. He knew that soon "the gate" would fall

Weather Charts of the Bay of Bengal and adjacent Sea north of the Equator. Issued by the Meteorological Department of the Government of India. Calcutta, 1887.

On the Winds of the Arabian Sea and Northern Indian Ocean. By W. L. Dallas, late of the Meteorological Office, London. Published by the Meteorologi

cal Department of the Government of India. Calcutta, 1887.

ways by which the question could be settled.

that even with the saturated atmosphere | Bay of Bengal; but materials are at presof the Indian Ocean-air that contains ent wanting to form a definite conclusion nearly twelve grains of water in a cubic on the point at issue. There are two foot, as compared to about six grains in our own climate no great precipitation takes place without dynamical cooling. That is to say, unless the air is forced upwards by local obstacles, etc., and so cooled by expansion, no great rainfall can

occur.

A few sets of observations of cloudmotion on ships coming up the bay from southward, would almost infallibly give decisive results. If the upper clouds over the west winds, just north of the line, But the great question, about which come from the south or south-east, the there is still some doubt, is the precise surface wind has been drawn across the relation of the south-west monsoon to the equator; but if, on the contrary, the clouds south-east trade. Dové started the theory drive more and more from the north of that the south-east trade turns to south-west the higher they are, then the circulawest after crossing the equator, owing to tion over the Bay of Bengal is not fed the influence of the earth's rotation; and directly by currents which have crossed there can be little doubt that in the Ara- the line. bian Sea the trade-wind does sweep directly across the line and grow into the

monsoon.

A set of daily weather charts for the whole Indian Ocean would also clear away many doubts. When differences of pressBut in the Bay of Bengal, Mr. Blan-ure are small, and winds are variable, ford finds that the south-west monsoon is charts of mean monthly isobars, and of not linked up habitually with the south-resultant winds, are very delusive; for the east trade, though it is so occasionally; average relation of pressure, wind, and and he considers that the monsoon is weather, may be quite different from that drawn from a reservoir of air over the on any actual day. equatorial zone fed by the south-east The materials at present available point trades, but that it is not the south-east unmistakably to some connection between trade simply diverted from its ordinary

(1) The south-east trades are strong, but the winds are light and variable from the equator to 10° N., above which fresh winds are again developed. There is, then, some hitch in the sweep of the south-east current across the equator.

(2) The winds just north of the line are nearly from the west, while they flow from south-west at the top of the bay. Theoretically the wind should get more and more westerly the further north we go.

(3) The south-east trade is tolerably dry; the equatorial belt of westerly winds is very wet and squally; while the precipitation of the south-west monsoon is not very great out at sea.

the anomalous wind and weather in the southern portion of the bay and the local area of low pressure over southern India. It is very conceivable that the whole width of the south-east trade does not cross the equator with an unbroken front; but that for some reason or other a great local eddy may be developed in the bay of Bengal. No river ever flows regularly, but is broken up into ripples and backwaters; and though there are many differences between the flow of water and of air, still there are certain properties common to the motion of every fluid.

Very few English meterologists care much for theoretical discussions of air motion; but the Indian workers use mathematics freely in their investigations. Mr. Dallas calculates the flow of a current of air from 10° S. latitude to 10° N., according to the formula given by Mohn and Though these facts undoubtedly indi- Gulberg. He takes a gradient directed cate some irregularity in the flow of the N. 30° E., across the Arabian Sea, and south-east trade across the line, still we are notes the difference both of force and constrained to think that the south-west direction between the observed and calcumonsoon is still part of the same system. lated winds. No doubt there is a certain If the monsoon was independent of the accordance between the results so obtrade, there must be a belt of high press-tained; but still there are errors, which, ure between the two; and of this there is taken with other things, suggest that the absolutely no trace. theory is still imperfect.

We must therefore look to some explanation other than the conception of an independent circulatory system over the

According to the formula a modification of Ferrel's theory - when air flows northwards down a gradient, the angle be

as it

tween the wind and the gradient should | sorrow. She had also the strongest disdecrease as we approach the equator, dis- like to the view, not uncommon appear altogether on the line, and then would seem that death removes all seals gradually increase as we proceed further of secrecy, that private letters may be read north. But in practice the trade keeps by the world, and private affairs revealed steadily in the south-east from about 20° so soon as the voice which would have S. almost to the equator, then turns rather protested is hushed forever. Bearing her suddenly to south-west, and the monsoon wishes on the subject in mind, the writer advances steadily in that direction from only now speaks when, other notices havabout 5° to 20° Ñ. In the opposite mon- ing already appeared, some of the nearest soon, the north-east winds run steadily relatives and friends desire that some furfrom about 20° N. down to the line, and ther slight account of Mrs. Procter should then turn rapidly to north-west. be placed on record by one who had the honor to know her well.

It is well known in our own latitudes that, though the wind rotates in contrary Anne Benson Procter was born at York directions round cyclones and anticy on September 11, 1799. Her father, Mr. clones, the sweep of the wind is usually Skepper, was a Yorkshire squire of small less than the curvature of the isobars landed property, but descended and derivwould suggest. For instance, if an anti-ing his name from the German Scheffer, cyclone lies to the north of Great Britain, the partner of Fust, the earliest printer. all the winds will often be from about Her mother was a Miss Benson, of the north-east instead of sweeping gradually from north-east through east to south-east. This and many other similar observations point to a north-east and south-west set of the winds all over the northern hemisphere, which has not yet been accounted for by any theory.

In conclusion, we may remark how thoroughly the author has discussed the subjects of his memoirs; though some will doubtless differ considerably from him in the theoretical portion of his work. India presents a field for research unique from that in any other part of the world; and those who are acquainted with the magnificent equipment, order, routine, and system of inspection inaugurated by Mr. Blanford, will feel confident that every year will add to our knowledge of a region that presents the most fascinating prob. lems to the student of atmospheric dynamics. RALPH ABERCROMBY.

From The Academy.

ANNE BENSON PROCTER.

OUR readers may not unnaturally have expected to see in the Academy some obituary notice of a lady so well known as Mrs. Procter, who, if not literary herself, has been closely connected with almost every eminent man and woman of letters since the beginning of the century. The present paper was not at once written in deference to the wishes of the dead, who often expressed to the writer her feeling that obituary notices were too hurried and ill-considered, and that in most cases silence was the fitting form of respect and

same county, and aunt of the present Archbishop of Canterbury. Mrs. Skepper, early left a widow, married Mr. Basil Montagu, Q.C., the well-known reformer of the bankruptcy laws and editor of Bacon. Though he had been married twice before, he was still a young man, occupying a good social and literary position, and able to introduce his brilliant young wife to a circle in which she took a prominent part. Mr. Montagu was fourteen when Dr. Johnson, whom he knew, died; he was the intimate associate of Godwin, Coleridge, Wordsworth; he watched by Mary Wollstonecraft's deathbed; Sir James Mackintosh helped to steady those liberal principles which were growing somewhat wild under Godwin's influence; his home was the haunt not only of Londoners like Charles Lamb, but of young men from the country before they grew famous, if only they had promise in them, like Edward Irving and Carlyle.

Thus from her early childhood Anne Skepper was surrounded by liberal and literary influences which moulded her strong, bright nature. The word liberal is used, however, only to designate her independent, vigorous thought; for in politics Mrs. Procter was, and remained, a high Tory, a Church and State woman of the old school, accepting in these later years the principles of the Primrose League, and wearing its badge with pleasure. Her recollections of those early days were most interesting; but she was so full of life to the last, and so in touch with all that was around her, that the talk about them was quite unlike ordinary senile memories; Lamb and Godwin might have passed from us but yesterday. Not long