I saw with surprise, in a few moments, an arc, almost continuous, of purple light, form itself, composed of small protuberances, just where the sun was about to appear. What surprised me more, was a beautiful red cloud, entirely detached from the protuberances, which was projected, and quite isolated, upon the white ground of the aureole, which was followed by two others, somewhat smaller. I could not refrain from remarking this to MM. Aguilar and Capeda, who were at my side, and whose observations confirmed it. The splendour of the corona, however, continued to augment on the side where the sun was to appear, and I plainly perceived the line upon which the white light of the photosphere rested, by a marked gradation against the red colour of the points. The arc bordered with red had then an extent of not less than 60°. Very soon after, the protuberances disappeared. I still followed the corona during 40 seconds. The solar light then shone like that of an electrical lamp, and projected undulating shadows.
"We were fortunate enough to fix photographically five phases of the totality. These images confirm what I have detailed. The light of the protuberances was so vivid, that it acted almost instantaneously. The corona was reproduced clearly in 30 seconds, but the radiations left no trace. The light of the exterior corona appeared to me to be polarised. The weather was splendid."
THE BRITISH VOLUNTEER.
[Sung by SIMS REEVES.]
Let others long for sweet repose,
I'm never happy when at rest;
I do not shrink from knocks or blows,
Your calm enjoyment I detest !
Confinement is a plague I shun,
And thus you see my course is clear;
My cap I don, I mount my gun,
And I become a Volunteer!
Brave hearts, by me example take;
Young swains, who woo some maiden dear:
The lad will make his rivals quake,
Who once becomes a British Volunteer!
'Tis not the day for listless ease,
"Tis time Old England's pluck to show ; Let danger come when fate shall please, We'll stand prepared for every foe!
Your Country and your Queen invite,
Gallant hearts obey the call;
Well arm'd is he who's arm'd for right—
So mount the rifle, Britons all!
[Patriotic Song, by ALFRED TENNYSON.]
There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the South that darkens the day,
Storm of battle and thunder of war,
Well if it do not roll our way!
Storm storm! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Be not deaf to the sound that warns !
Be not gull'd by a despot's plea !
Are figs of thistles, or grapes of thorns?
How should a despot set men free?
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Let your Reforms for a moment go,
Look to your butts and take good aims,
Better a rotten borough or so,
Than a rotten fleet or a city in flames!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Form! be ready to do or to die!'
Form in Freedom's name and the Queen's! True that we have a faithful ally,
But only the devil knows what he means:
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen! riflemen! riflemen form!
LITERARY REVIEWS.
[From the "Oriental Budget of Literature."]
Summer Songs. By MORTIMER COLLINS. 6s. (Saunders, Otley, & Co.) It may seem to many, that we are exaggerating our appreciation of the author of these songs very transparently when we say that we know of
man whose muse so approaches the Laureate's as Mr. Collins'. We have watched him revelling in the midst of his crisp, and sparkling, and exuberant verse, for this many a long day past, and felt that there is not so great a gulf between him and Mr. Tennyson, as those who have only heard of the Laureate may imagine. Indeed, we remember to have read what both have written to fan the flame of volunteer patriotism, and it was the Bank of England to a groat in favour of Mr. Collins. Without being a copyist (Mr. Collins is entirely and wilfully original), his gifts, though his own, are essentially Tennysonian. Had they both written nameless upon one page, we should have said that they had been both reared at the same breast. Amidst the mass of poetry that issues from the press, poems even such as these, written in the very integrity of the purest poetry, the poetry of the soul, may inspire no one but the bookseller. It is because they are very
CHESSON & WOODHALL'S MISCELLANY.
fresh and beautiful indeed, that, at the risk of
being written down as parasites, we have not
hesitated to tell our readers, that as a poet
Mr. Collins occupies a position which sooner
or later must be recognised.
Lady Aubrey: or, What shall I do? By the
Author of 'Every Day.' 2 vols. 218.
ders, Otley, & Co.) So many indifferent
fictions see the light, and get a temporal hold
(Saun-
of the public through the application of a
false criticism, which is neither intelligible
nor sincere, that the appearance of a novel so
thoroughly conscientious, true to life, honest,
and unpretending, and yet, from the mere
absence of all pretence, so powerful, must not
be catalogued or confused with the written
to order' publications of the day. It has been
the novel here throughout September, and
though very few things in this world meet
with any success, when they should perhaps
the most succeed, 'Lady Aubrey' has not
only revived all the pleasing recollections
of Every Day,' but has secured for itself a
popularity that is not awarded to all novels
every day. If our friends across the seas will
act on our advice, 'Lady Aubrey' will not
lay long unread upon their table. It is a
work which any mother may place in the
hands of her daughter, and it is a work for
which, when read, all daughters will be much
beholden to their mothers.
The French under Arms. Being Essays on
Military Matters in France. By BLANCHARD
JERROLD. (Booth.) 3s. 6d. This book is
worthy of its ill-informed and flippant author.
It is a libel on the British Army. Mr.
Jerrold is a fair specimen of those dissatisfied
critics, with whom nothing English can be
good. He seems ignorant of the difficult
examinations which candidates for com-
missions have to pass. He sketches a sup-
posititious aristocrat, a Lord Tuppingham,
who is of course a fool and a glutton, and,
although not a coward, too stupid for his
courage to be of use.
one hundred and nine Lord Tuppinghams
He tells us there were
on the staff in the Crimea.
that we should like to see Mr. Jerrold un-
We can only say
dergoing the examination which Lord Tup-
pingham had to pass. He sketches French
officers in the rosiest colours he can com-
mand, but only succeeds in showing that his
ideal of an officer is a snob.
Religion in the East; or, Sketches, Historical and Doctrinal, of all the Religious Denominations of Syria. Drawn from original Missionary By the Rev. JOHN WORTABET, Church, Aleppo. 7s. 6d. (Nisbet & Co.) of the United Presbyterian Mr. Wortabet herein gives us much useful information about the Druses and Maronites. The book was written before the recent quarrel-which fact is in its favour. We learn from it, that there are in Syria about 250,000 Maronites, and about 50,000 Druses; that the Maronites are heretics, who follow the teaching of a monk called Maro,-that the Druses are the Unitarians of Mahomedanism, and believe in a kind of millennium, with Egypt as the seat of government; and
further, that the said Druses are a sort of
religious freemasons, who have kept their
observances secret for eight hundred years.
We presume the ladies of the Druse nation
are left without religious instruction.
From London to Lucknow with Memoranda
of Mutinies, Marches, Flights, Fights, nad
Conversations.
Smuggler's Explanation of the Peiho Massacre.
To which is added, an Opium-
By a Chaplain in H. M. Indian Service. 2
vols. 14s. (Nisbet & Co.) A book of travel
by a reverend gentleman, who has not learnt
bath, the breakfast, the tiffin, the Hindustani
the modern cynical nil admirari style-the
style of Kinglake and Thackeray. What
mosquitoes. He joins a mutton-club with
the chaplain sees he believes. He enjoys the
British regiment in retreat. Altogether his
lesson, the alligators,-everything but the
much gusto; he sees with much horror a
volumes are truthful, and worth reading.
Japanese Waters. 5s. (Blackwood & Sons.)
The Past and Future of British Relations
in China. By Captain SHERARD OSBORNE,
C.B., Royal Navy, Author of A Cruise in
Captain Osborne's brilliant style is familiar
English in China. His opinion is, that satis-
to all readers of Blackwood. He is a keen
observer, and has had unusual opportunities
of judging of the position occupied by the
factory relations with China can only be
maintained by force.
be bound by treaties; nothing but dire ne-
The Chinese will not
cessity will keep them peaceable. They
cannot understand that we are stronger than
they, unless we prove it practically. Such
are Captain Osborne's views: they deserve
consideration.
Russia.) 5s. each. (Saunders, Otley, & Co.)
My Wife's Pin Money, and the Emigrant's
Daughter. By M. E. E. NELSON. (De-
dicated, by permission, to the Empress of
Two little volumes that have excited a good
deal of sympathetic attention, not only from
their own merits, which would recommend
them without any extraneous attraction, but
as the works of the grand-niece of the great
Lord Nelson, and from the high favour shown
to the authoress by the Empress of Russia,
who has permitted the dedication to herself,
an honour entirely unparalleled; still, if the
merit of the book at all decided the gracious
accord, not undeserved. They are admir-
able additions to original literature.
Helen. A Romance of Real Life.
scrupulously carrying out what is proclaimed
(Saunders, Otley, & Co.) There
many romances which real life never begets
in its life, that there is novelty in one
on the title-page. Helen' is a romance of
real life.
altogether perfect in every particular of
It is a pretty, simple story, not
construction, but
fresh, and withal so little failing in what it
so well-intentioned,
sets out to establish, that those who want a
thoroughly unexceptionable in its tone, and
quiet hour passed, with a feeling of refresh-
ment from first to last, may do worse than
seek an introduction to Helen.'
may challenge votaries from youth or age.
It
is
ALLIANCE PRESS, Bombay: CHESSON & WOODHALL, Printers.
MISCELLANY.
A MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Sunrise at Mahabuleshwar.
[By the Author of "WEEDS OF POESY." *]
EARTH'S face opaque, its shadowy transit run,
Had wheeled into the great light of the sun,
Where, like a God, with rays of glory crowned,
He gazed exulting on the orbs around,
Flashed on their mountains, filled their vales with light,
While all Heaven laughed in his effulgent sight.
Mute on the hills, in melancholy mood,
Voiceless awhile the lonely Minstrel stood,—
Only at times his deep-drawn sighs were heard :
But when his spirit in its depths was stirred,
Mournfully on the mystery of the sky
Lifting the radiance of his large dark eye,
Loud as the rush of waters thus he poured
His passionate wailings to Day's peerless Lord :
There was a time when aught of bright, or rare,
Or beautiful, in ocean, earth, and air,
The fern-clad mountain, or the forest-glade
Arched by the tall oaks' patriarchal shade,
Clear waves, fresh flowers, and starry skies could move
Matter of mirth, and melody, and love;
And I have laughed aloud, or, inly glad,
Saw nature in her emerald mantle clad,
Gazing from some old Cumbrian mountain's brow,
CROSS-FELL, or SKIDDAW with its crown of snow,
As from thy giant crest, MAHâBULESHWAR, now.
And yet, he sang, in ocean, air, and earth,
I see bright shapes of beauteous form have birth ;
Beams as of old out o'er me gloriously
The marbled splendour of the morning sky.
Yet with thy train of gorgeous clouds, O Sun!
Thou rollest in thy radiant chariot on,
Bidding the swift beams of thine orient light
O'er the white foam the kindling billows smite.
Roll on, roll on,-O yet in glory roll,
And warm earth's peopled realms from pole to pole !
Type of a Sun, in whose diviner day
Shall pale and wane thine ineffective ray,
I hail thee, and I faint; for-soul and sense
* CHESSON & WOODHALL, Bombay; SMITH, ELDER, & Co., London.
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