The springs and wells that have dried and receded a short distance from their usual level from lack of moisture in the air that penetrates the surface, quickly feel a returning moist condition and are drawn by the same influence upward as the water climbs up through the damp sponge. The atmosphere performs the same duty as the sponge, and this answers why the springs and wells resume running before a drop of rain has fallen, and which, when it comes in copious quantities, still adds to the general effect of making a stronger draft on the fountains below. Another question proper to ask scientists is this: If the rainfall affects springs and lakes, how is it that the analysis of mineral springs in all quarters of the globe is not affected by every change of season? How can the waters of Saratoga, Carlsbad, Waukeska, Kissengen or of any other such spring be relied on for uniform assays? How can this great variety of springs come in such near proximity to each other and possess such distinctive curative properties as at Saratoga, for example? Within a radius of two or three miles are springs, one of which is a cathartic, another a diuretic, another emetic, another tonic, and so on, no two alike, but retain their individuality through all times, wet or dry? They are affected only in amount of flow by the same atmospheric conditions of either dryness or moisture, as just described. When the atmosphere is heavily charged with moisture, it becomes a mammoth sponge, and this condition of air, evidently, is what precipitates thunder showers in the summer. As all the hills and mountains are the result of water upheavals, they are for this reason the reservoirs of water for watering the Earth, and therefore quicker to respond to atmospheric conditions than the plains. It is almost without exception that thunder showers form their nucleus on the heads of mountains and the tops of hills. After a shower let us see the condition and results. The face of Nature smiles after its refreshing wash; every tree and plant has drunk its foliage full of new life; the air’s sultriness has changed to freshness. All animated life seems to take a fresh lease, and as the clouds roll away and the quickly swollen streams rush to the rivers, lakes and oceans, it seems as if almost a deluge had passed by. The remarks, “What a lovely shower!” “What a much needed rain!” “What lots of good it will do!” etc., pass between neighbors. Farmer Smith comes along and says, in reply to the shower being such a cracker, that he went into his garden to set out cabbage plants, and down little over an inch the ground was dry as powder; that while this will do lots of good to grass, and “sich,” it wants a good soaker to get down to the bottom of the potato hills. Such is the history of most of our copious showers that flood everything for half an hour, but not a drop reaches the roots of forest trees of any depth, or does anything more than to temporarily wet and freshen the surface.