Figures 37 and 38 are copies published by Mr. Ranyard of the excellent photographs obtained in 1871, which are perhaps as good as anything done since, though even these do not show the outer corona. The first is an enlargement of a small portion of the detail in the second. It is scarcely possible for wood-engraving to reproduce the delicate texture of the original. [Illustration: FIG. 38.--FAC-SIMILE OF PHOTOGRAPH OF CORONA OF 1871. (ROYAL ASTRONOMICAL SOCIETY’S MEMOIRS.)] The years brought round the eclipse of 1878, which was again in United States territory, the central track (as Fig. 30 has already shown) running directly over one of the loftiest mountains of the country, Pike’s Peak, in Colorado. Pike’s Peak, though over fourteen thousand feet high, is often ascended by pleasure tourists; but it is one thing to stay there for an hour or two, and another to take up one’s abode there and get acclimated,--for to do the latter we must first pass through the horrors (not too strong a word) of mountain-sickness. This reaches its height usually on the second or third day, and is something like violent sea-sickness, complicated with the sensations a mouse may be supposed to have under the bell of an air-pump. After a week the strong begin to get over it, but none but the very robust should take its chances, as we did, without preparation; for on the night before the eclipse the life of one of our little party was pronounced in danger, and he was carried down in a litter to a cabin at an altitude of about ten thousand feet, where he recovered so speedily as to be able to do good service on the following day. The summit of the “Peak” is covered with great angular bowlders of splintered granite, among which we laid logs brought up for firewood, and on these, sacks of damp hay, then stretching a little tent over all and tying it down with wire to the rocks, we were fain to turn in under damp blankets, and to lie awake with incessant headache, drawing long, struggling breaths in the vain attempt to get air, and wondering how long the tent would last, as the canvas flapped and roared with a noise like that of a loose sail in a gale at sea, with occasional intervals of a dead silence, usually followed by a gust that shoved against the tent with the push of a solid body, and if a sleepers shoulders touched the canvas, shouldered him over in his bed. The stout canvas held, but the snow entered with the wind and lay in a deep drift on the pillow, when I woke after a brief sleep toward morning, and, looking out on the gray dawn, found that the snow had turned to hail, which was rattling sharply on the rocks with an accompaniment of thunder, which seemed to roll from all parts of the horizon. The snow lay thick, and the sheets of hail were like a wall, shutting out the sight of everything a few rods off, and this was in July! I thought of my December station in sunny Andalusia. [Illustration: FIG. 39.--“SPECTRES.”]