Signs of a severe Winter--The Little Auk or Auklet--The
Gadwall--Falcons being trained by the Prussians to intercept
the Paris Carrier Pigeons--Ballooning--The King of Prussia's
Piety--John Forster--Solar Eclipse of 22d December 1870--The
Government and the Eclipse--Large Solar Spots--Visible to the
naked eye--Rev. Dr. Cumming--November Meteors.
It must have been in view of some such scene [November 1870] as the
early morning presents to the eye at present that Horace began his
celebrated ode to Augustus--
"Jam satis terris nivis, atque diræ
Grandinis misit Pater"--
Enough, enough of snow and direful hail! Or if you prefer the wintry
scene in the ninth Ode--
"Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus
Sylvæ laborantes: gelûque
Flumina constiterint acuto?"
Which our countryman Theodore Martin thus renders--
"Look out, my Thaliarchus, round!
Soracte's crest is white with snow,
The drooping branches sweep the ground,
And, fast in icy fetters bound,
The streams have ceased to flow."
The snow-clad Soracte itself could not wear a colder or wintrier aspect
than does our own Ben Nevis at this moment. We have, in truth, had a
great deal of sleet and snow and rattling hail showers of late, with
bitterly cold winds and frost enough to induce one to don his warmest
habiliments when venturing abroad, and thoroughly to appreciate the
comforts of a bright and blazing fire within doors. Winter, in short,
has fairly set in; and we must just battle with its inclemencies
as best we may until a more genial season has come round. And an
unusually inclement and severe winter is this likely to prove. Our
lochs and estuaries are swarming with Arctic sea-fowl, that already
venture quite close to the shore, and seek their food in the most
sheltered bays, a sure sign that much cold weather, with heavy
gales from the north and north-west, cannot be far away. Among these
web-footed visitors from the far north we have observed two that are
extremely rare on our part of the west coast, even in the severest
winters. One of these is the ratch or auklet (Alca alle, Linn.),
a very pretty little black and white diver, the smallest bird of
the genus with which we are acquainted, a little more rotund in form
and of a robuster frame than the well-known dipper of our streams,
but otherwise very like it. Another is the gadwall (Anas strepera),
a species of duck very rare in our north-western waters--a very
pretty little duck, with a remarkably loud and harsh voice, so loud
that on a calm frosty day it reaches you over a sea surface distance
of several miles. We have only identified the latter at a distance
by the aid of a powerful binocular. It is not a difficult bird to
recognise, however, on account of its distinct markings, and we are
as confident that we have repeatedly seen it during the present month
as if we had it in our cabinet. And talking of birds, what does the
reader think the Prussians are up to now? Annoyed at the ballooning and
pigeon-carrying by means of which beleaguered Paris manages to keep up
communication with the outer world, the Germans are training falcons
to be employed in coursing and capturing such carrier pigeons as may
be observed passing over their outposts and siege works. Such at least
is one item in the last batch of news notes from Versailles. If the
Prussians really mean this, all we can say is that it is "a fine idea,
but impracticable," as Hannibal said of Maharbal's suggestion to push
on to the capture of the Capitol after the battle of Cannæ. In the
first place it is allowed on all hands that a few months at most,
probably a few weeks, must decide the fate of Paris one way or
other, while a hawk, to be employed as proposed, requires years of
carefullest training ere it can be depended upon as an aerial cruiser
in any way subject to human control, nor, even if it were otherwise,
could a sufficient number of falcons for the purpose be procured in
Europe or elsewhere. Such an attempt at an aerial blockade must prove
a failure. Even from a well-trained hawk, under the most favourable
circumstances, a carrier pigeon ought to be able in nine cases out of
ten to make good its escape by reason of the velocity and altitude
of its flight. Depend upon it that in all time to come ballooning
and pigeon carrying will be employed by a besieged city, as Paris
employs them now; and while gas can be had to inflate a balloon, and
a carrier-pigeon is available, there is nothing that a besieging force
can do to prevent the constant voyaging of such aerial messengers. One
result of this war will be that carrier pigeons will be bred in larger
numbers, and more highly valued than ever--carrier pigeon dovecots in
each city at the public expense--while aerial navigation by means of
balloons, having lost much of its terrors, will more and more become
a common and every-day mode of locomotion. There is an "Aeronautical
Society" in England, which boasts the names of many distinguished men
on its roll of members, but which, nevertheless, couldn't in twenty
years have done so much for aerial navigation as the Franco-Prussian
war has done in little more than a month. Most people, by the way,
have been disgusted with the King of Prussia's repeated appeals for
Divine aid and pretended recognition of Divine guidance, while wading
at the head of his forces knee-deep in a mare magnum of bloodshed and
carnage from the Rhine to the Seine. One anecdote, apropos of a king's
pretended piety and close alliance with the Divine powers in all his
undertakings, we have not seen quoted. It is this: some person once
calling on John Forster, took occasion to remark that the Emperor
Alexander (of Russia) was a very pious man. "Very pious, indeed,"
observed Forster, with tremendous sarcasm, "Very pious, indeed;
I am credibly informed that he said grace ere he swallowed Poland!"
Preparations on a large scale are being made on the Continent and in
America for observing the great solar eclipse of the 22d December,
with a care and precision never known in the examination of a similar
phenomenon. Never before, indeed, could a solar eclipse be observed
and analysed in its every phase as this one will be. Aided by the
spectroscope, polariscope, photometer, and photograph, with the most
powerful telescopes, and meteorological and magnetic instruments of
the utmost delicacy and exactness, it will be strange, indeed, if
our knowledge of the chemistry and constitution of the great central
orb is not very largely increased on this occasion. In our country
the eclipse will be a partial one only. At the moment of maximum
obscuration, supposing the sun to consist of twelve digits, about nine
digits, or three-fourths of the disc, will be occulted. According to
Edinburgh mean time the eclipse will begin at 10 h. 54 m. morning;
maximum observation, 0 h. 8 m. afternoon; and of eclipse, 1 h. 22
m. afternoon. A glass of very moderate powers is sufficient for
observing such partial eclipses. Partial though this eclipse is,
however, no phenomenon of the kind of equal magnitude will be seen
again in our country till August 1887, when the eclipse will be very
nearly, though not quite, total.
Never, perhaps, has the solar disc been so constantly and so largely
crowded with maculæ, or "spots," as during the present year. Some of
these spots have recently been very large. On the 9th of the present
month, for instance, there was an immense circular spot as nearly
as possible on the centre of the solar disc, like a bull's-eye in a
bright target of living light, which a little before sunset was plainly
visible to the naked eye. It was the evening of the Fort-William market
day, and we drew the attention of several people returning from the
fair to the unusual phenomenon. One jolly old fellow, who had probably
been largely patronising the "tents" on the market stance throughout
the day, would insist upon it that he saw, not one big spot on the sun,
but two or more--and perhaps he did. A few days previously a perfect
stream of maculæ of all sizes might easily be observed along the solar
equator, looking for all the world as if a flock of ravens were at
the moment passing, in struggling order within the telescope's field
of view, between us and the sun. At the moment we write these lines,
there is a very large spot half-way between the solar centre and
its western limb, that towards sunset, if the sky is clear, might,
we think, be discerned by the unaided eye. Auroral displays, too,
still continue to render our nights, though at present moonless,
and frequently cloudy withal, bright and cheerful by their broad and
mysterious effulgence.
The November meteors of the present year seem to have made little
or no display anywhere. Here it was wet and cloudy, so that we could
not have seen them even if the sky was ablaze with them.