Climate Change Insanity Never Changes

People have been imagining that the climate is changing, exaggerating every weather event, getting widespread press coverage, and blaming it on man – for as long as there have been newspapers.

10 January 1871

IMAGINARY CHANGES OF CLIMATE.

THREE consecutive years of drought, while they have stimulated the inventive resources of practical agriculturists, have had the natural effect of calling forth a plentiful crop of speculation from weather prophets and projectors, and half-instructed meteorologists, and all the philosophic tribe of Laputa in general, to whom the periodical press now affords such fatal facilities.

We have often noticed that in the tabular statements of those compilers of weather records who write to the Times, useful and welcome as their communications are, every season is sure to be “extraordinary,” almost   every month one of the driest or wettest, or windiest, coldest or hottest, ever known. Much observation, which ought to correct a tendency to exaggerate, seems in some minds to have rather a tendency to increase it.  And many seem now to regard three dry hot years in succession as betokening some general change of climate, as if it was not perfectly certain, in the wide range of the table of what we call chances, that with our existing conditions of climate such a combination must every now and then recur. We know an ingenious theorist who would fain persuade us that a cycle of six hundred unfavorable years has   just reached its termination, and that English agriculturists, who left off making wine about A.D. 1250 because their grapes ceased to ripen,   will soon be making it again, and continue to do so for an equivalent number of centuries.  Others speculating quite as conjecturally and even more absurdly, seem to attribute the impending change of climate -of which they assume the reality -to the operation of men. 

10 Jan 1871 – IMAGINARY CHANGES OF CLIMATE. (Pall Mall Gazette.)

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About stevengoddard

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8 Responses to Climate Change Insanity Never Changes

  1. The Iconoclast says:

    Great find, Steven!

    I once expressed wonder at the utter modernity of the Shakespeare play “Measure for Measure”, in which a man, granted power, immediately begins to abuse it… lying, arbitrarily enforcing long-forgotten laws, sexually blackmailing a beautiful young novitiate… to which a friend replied “What, you think people have changed in 400 years?”

  2. gator69 says:

    Awesome find!

    “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”

  3. Dave in Canmore says:

    Wow a fascinating arcticle! Best line:

    “Much observation, which ought to correct a tendency to exaggerate, seems in some minds to have rather a tendency to increase it.”

    This more than any other observation describes the current state of weather reporting.

  4. Bob Tisdale says:

    Reblogged this on Bob Tisdale – Climate Observations and commented:
    Great find by Steve Goddard!!!

  5. tomwys says:

    “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” – George Santayana

    Thanks, Steve! Do you think we’ll eventually get it without repetition???

  6. Blade says:

    I agree with the others. What a gold nugget you located here!

  7. Rosco says:

    SAID HANRAHAN by John O’Brien
    “We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    In accents most forlorn,
    Outside the church, ere Mass began,
    One frosty Sunday morn.

    The congregation stood about,
    Coat-collars to the ears,
    And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
    As it had done for years.

    “It’s looking crook,” said Daniel Croke;
    “Bedad, it’s cruke, me lad,
    For never since the banks went broke
    Has seasons been so bad.”

    “It’s dry, all right,” said young O’Neil,
    With which astute remark
    He squatted down upon his heel
    And chewed a piece of bark.

    And so around the chorus ran
    “It’s keepin’ dry, no doubt.”
    “We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    “Before the year is out.”

    “The crops are done; ye’ll have your work
    To save one bag of grain;
    From here way out to Back-o’-Bourke
    They’re singin’ out for rain.

    “They’re singin’ out for rain,” he said,
    “And all the tanks are dry.”
    The congregation scratched its head,
    And gazed around the sky.

    “There won’t be grass, in any case,
    Enough to feed an ass;
    There’s not a blade on Casey’s place
    As I came down to Mass.”

    “If rain don’t come this month,” said Dan,
    And cleared his throat to speak –
    “We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    “If rain don’t come this week.”

    A heavy silence seemed to steal
    On all at this remark;
    And each man squatted on his heel,
    And chewed a piece of bark.

    “We want an inch of rain, we do,”
    O’Neil observed at last;
    But Croke “maintained” we wanted two
    To put the danger past.

    “If we don’t get three inches, man,
    Or four to break this drought,
    We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    “Before the year is out.”

    In God’s good time down came the rain;
    And all the afternoon
    On iron roof and window-pane
    It drummed a homely tune.

    And through the night it pattered still,
    And lightsome, gladsome elves
    On dripping spout and window-sill
    Kept talking to themselves.

    It pelted, pelted all day long,
    A-singing at its work,
    Till every heart took up the song
    Way out to Back-o’-Bourke.

    And every creek a banker ran,
    And dams filled overtop;
    “We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    “If this rain doesn’t stop.”

    And stop it did, in God’s good time;
    And spring came in to fold
    A mantle o’er the hills sublime
    Of green and pink and gold.

    And days went by on dancing feet,
    With harvest-hopes immense,
    And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
    Nid-nodding o’er the fence.

    And, oh, the smiles on every face,
    As happy lad and lass
    Through grass knee-deep on Casey’s place
    Went riding down to Mass.

    While round the church in clothes genteel
    Discoursed the men of mark,
    And each man squatted on his heel,
    And chewed his piece of bark.

    “There’ll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
    There will, without a doubt;
    We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
    “Before the year is out.”

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