A Simple, Graceful Emblem
Weather vanes are everywhere, and they come in a variety of designs. Among such are the gilded cannon over the armory, the hook-and-ladder over the headquarters of the fire brigade, and the trumpery motorcar over our neighbor's garage. When stables flourished, the simple gilded horse was a graceful emblem, too often spoiled by the addition of a buggy or sulky.
Weather vanes are everywhere,
and they come in a variety of designs. Among such are the gilded cannon over the armory, the hook-and-ladder over the headquarters of the fire brigade, and the trumpery motorcar over our neighbor's garage. When stables flourished, the simple gilded horse was a graceful emblem, too often spoiled by the addition of a buggy or sulky. Arrow vanes, varying greatly in details of ornamentation, are among the most pleasing designs, because they attempt to convey no particular idea beyond that of aiming straight at the wind's eye.
Among those we encounter in our ramble one fixes our attention by its uncompromising simplicity, its lack of gilding, and, especially, by its spread tail. On inquiry, we learn that the house surmounted by it is occupied by a dilettante meteorologist; to wit, the local volunteer observer of the Weather Bureau. His is a scientific weather vane; often called, by way of distinction, a "wind vane," or, if you prefer a more pretentious term, an "anemoscope." The spread tail gives it great steadiness. It does not gyrate about erratically, as do most vanes. It is most carefully mounted on ball or roller bearings; it is kept well oiled; and its location has been chosen with due regard to catching every breeze that blows, for it overtops the surrounding trees and buildings. Perhaps its axle is carried through the roof and fitted with a ceiling dial, so that its owner may observe the direction of the wind without going out of doors; or, again, it may be connected electrically with a pen that traces a continuous record of the wind's vagaries on a moving strip of paper.
The amateur weatherman's vane was the only strictly utilitarian one in the community until the equipment of the new airport made us familiar with the "wind cone" and the "landing tee." The former is a sleeve of light fabric, open at both ends, which, stands out horizontally and takes the shape of a truncated cone when inflated by the wind, but hangs limp in calm weather. The landing tee is a big vane, brightly lighted by night and having the general outline of an aeroplane. The pilot in the air learns from it which way the wind is blowing close to the ground and is thus enabled to head into the wind in landing.
We have reserved for the last a particularly graceful variety of vane, the most conspicuous example of which we find crowning a turret of yonder stately mansion on the hill. We note that, unlike the majority of weather vanes, this one conforms to the literal and original meaning of the word "vane," for it is a conventionalized flag or banner. It is perforated with figures showing the year in which the building was erected. Its ancestor of some centuries ago would have borne, instead, a painted or perforated coat-of-arms, and might have turned on a vertical rod held by a bird or beast sitting on a pedestal