“Lo! in the burning west the craggy nape Of a proud Ararat! and thereupon, The Ark, her melancholy voyage done. Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion’s shape, There combats a huge crocodile--agape, A golden spear to swallow! and that brown And mossy grove, so near yon blazing town, Stirs and recedes--destruction to escape, Yet all is harmless--as the Elysian shades Where spirits dwell in undisturbed repose, Silently disappear and quickly fades, Meek Nature’s evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of Earth.” And naught can present so sombre and terrifying an aspect as those phantoms of the air, when mailed with the lightning and flying with the storm. Yet, upon the cloud the welfare of the human race is dependent, as much as upon any other force in nature: for rain or drouth, famine or plenty, snow or flood, all follow in its path. More than once has rain or storm decided the destiny of nations. Far different might our own lot have been, if that bitter storm of Christmas night, 1777, had not given Washington an opportunity of surprising the carousing Hessians in Trenton, and so reviving the drooping spirits of his countrymen. Hardly would he have escaped, but that the sudden frost hardened the ground and enabled him to steal away by night with his artillery, leaving the chafing Cornwallis the privilege of attacking the deserted camp on the Assanpink in the morning. It was a winter storm that enabled the bold Vermonters to surprise the frowning fortress on the upper Hudson. Napoleon could invade Russia, and drive the Cossack pell-mell before him; no mortal power could control the elements; and his splendid hosts melted away like snow in the breath of the icy storm; and once more the Cossack sang to his steed: “Now fiercely neigh, my gallant gray; thy breast is broad and ample. Thy hoofs shall prance o’er the fields of France and the pride of her heroes trample.” Again the “Man of Destiny” was conquered by the elements. “There was a sound of revelry by night” as the dread combat of Waterloo prepared. The plan of the “Genius of War” was superb. But all his contests were problems of artillery. “The Lord is on the side of the strongest battalions and heaviest artillery"--bold manner of saying that “when one seeks for the reason of the successes of great generals, one is surprised to find that they did everything necessary to insure them.” But he who would insure success must have the clouds at his beck. That night it rained. The mud crippled his artillery and left the contest to the rifle and bayonet. Waterloo was lost. A shower of rain changed the face of Europe--the history of the world.