There are, Caecina says, three kinds of lightning--the counselling, 1 the authoritative, and what is called the ordinary. The counselling occurs before an event, but after the design is formed. When something is simmering in one’s mind, the lightning stroke either urges it or deters from it. The authoritative one succeeds an event, indicating its outcome as good or ill fortune. In the ordinary case, people 2 are busied neither with action nor design when the lightning suddenly occurs. The flash conveys either threat, promise, or warning. The last form is indeed called admonitory: I am disposed to think it is identical with the counselling mentioned above. One who warns at the same time counsels. Yet there is a distinction between them. Therefore they are put in different classes. The one applies suasion or dissuasion, the other is restricted to warning how to avoid an impending danger; as, for example, fire, or deception from 3 neighbours, or a plot by slaves. Besides, I can perceive another difference between the two kinds: if one has a design, then the lightning that occurs counsels; but if one has no such design, it warns. Each situation has its own peculiar features. In deliberation advice is appropriate, but a warning comes unsought. XL On the face of it, one’s comment on this view would be that these 1 are so many kinds of prognostications and not of lightning. Of the latter the kinds are the boring, the splitting, and the scorching. The first has a subtle flame, which from its unalloyed purity can win escape through the tiniest aperture. The second, which scatters to the winds what it strikes, is massed fire with an admixture of condensed tempestuous wind. So the first kind escapes again by the opening by which it entered. The second spreads wide the effects of its violence, it bursts what it strikes, and does not perforate it. The third kind mentioned, the scorching, has much earthiness in its composition, 2 and contains fire rather than flame. It therefore leaves deep scars of fire, which will be branded in what it has struck. No lightning, it is true, that comes to earth is fireless, but this kind is distinctively called fiery, because it imprints the marks of fire so manifestly, by either scorching or staining. It scorches in three different ways, that is, it either breathes on its object, so to speak, inflicting slight injury, or burns it right up, or sets it on fire. All those are methods of what I have called scorching, differing, however, in character and degree. Whatever is, for example, burnt up is necessarily scorched as well. But [the converse is not equally true], everything 3 that is scorched is not necessarily burnt up. And so with what is set on fire; it is not necessarily consumed, the fire may merely have scorched it in passing. Everybody knows that things may be scorched without breaking out into fire, but that nothing can break out into fire without being scorched.