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PAPERS FROM FERNANDO PO.

MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS,-We will, if you please, commence an imaginary voyage. I say imaginary, for-to say nothing about the expense-in these days of railway accidents and marine collisions we shall find imaginary travelling, of all modes, the most easy and safe. In ordinary travels we have to wait for tide or train; but when we travel in thought, we are not limited by train, tide, or even time itself. Passing with equal ease through earth, air, water, or fire, we can, if we please, travel through time and into eternity! But we will, for the present, restrict our imagination to a voyage of-well say, in round numbers, 5,000 miles; viz., from England to Ferzando Po.

We embark at Liverpool, steam down the Mersey, and creep along the coast of North Wales. Leaving Great Orme's Head and Point Linas on the left, we pass round Holyhead, and obtain a fine view of grand old Snowdon (the highest mountain in England and Wales) as we cross Carnarvon Bay; and while passing down St. George's Channel we catch a few glimpses of the south-east coast of Ireland. We are now fairly at sea, and begin to feel the heavy swell of the Atlantic Ocean; but, guided by the trembling magnetic needle, we pass the Scilly Isles, cross the turbulent Bay of Biscay, and continue our southerly course until we anchor at the lovely island of Madeira, where we take in a fresh supply of coal. A run of about twenty-four hours brings us from Madeira to Teneriffe, with its snow-crowned Peak, upwards of 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, and visible, on a clear day, at a distance of more than a hundred miles. Santa Cruz, the capital of Teneriffe, has more of the appearance of an English town than Funchal, the capital of Madeira. The former island belongs to Spain, the latter to Portugal; but in both Popery reigns, and beggars and priests abound.

As we are now in the " North Trades "—winds which blow constantly from north-east to south-west-we spread our canvas, and thus avail ourselves of their help. Propelled by wind and steam, we now scud along at the rate of twelve or thirteen miles an hour; and, passing Cape Verde (our first glimpse of the African continent), we enter the Gambia, and drop our anchor at Bathurst—a British settlement, where our friends the Wesleyans have a flourishing mission. Our next calling place is Freetown, capital of Sierra Leone (Mountain of the Lion). Here the Church of England, Wesleyans, and United Methodists, have missions.

From Sierra Leone we proceed to Monrovia (capital of the negro republic, Liberia); and thence to Cape Palmas and Cape Coast Castle. We are now in the neighbourhood of the late war, which will probably be the indirect means of furthering the cause of missions; for, in his own mysterious way, God sometimes accomplishes his purposes by bringing good out of evil-thus making the "wrath of man " to praise him.

Since we passed Cape Palmas our course has been eastward; and now, inclining a little northwards, we enter the Bight of Benin, calling at Accra, Jellah Coffee, and Lagos. The last-named town stands on one of the mouths of the Niger, and is spoken of as the Liverpool of the west coast of Africa. The Church of England and Wesleyans are doing a good work there. Leaving Benin, we incline a little to the south, and enter the Bight of Biafra, calling at Bonny (another of the mouths of the Niger), and arriving at Fernando Po about thirty days after leaving Liverpool.

Of course, every reader of the JUVENILE MAGAZINE is aware that the Primitive Methodists have a mission on this island. If health permits, we may have something to say of the place, the people, and our work. S. GRIFFITHS.

SCIENCE OF THE MOON'S ECLIPSE.

THE astronomers took comparatively little interest in the eclipse of the moon on Saturday night, because there was nothing new to be learned from it. It was a phenomenon which occurs but once or twice in a generation, and is, therefore, a matter of some curiosity; but its causes are perfectly well known, and the moon is such an easy object of study at all times that no new scientific light is thrown upon it when the light of the sun is for a short time cut off. Everybody is supposed to know that the black cone of the earth's shadow stretches continually into space in a direction opposite the sun, and sweeps the ecliptic with every revolution of the planet. The pathway of the moon from month to month, though apparently somewhat erratic, is a matter of easy calculation for years ahead. Sometimes it is on one side of the ecliptic, or the sun's apparent path, and sometimes on the other, and of course it frequently crosses it. Once in about eighteen years and eleven days it crosses it just at the point where the earth's shadow lies at the same time, and as the shadow reaches far beyond

Science of the Moon's Eclipse.

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the moon's orbit, of course the satellite passes through it, and its light is obscured, or more actually speaking, the sun's light is intercepted from its face. At all other times, whatever its form may appear to be to us, and whether we can see it at all or not, it is in full light of the sun, and one side is completely illuminated. The earth's shadow, which is eight thousand miles in diameter at its base, is five thousand miles in diameter when it reaches the orbit of the moon.

Those who took the trouble to sit up, or to get up, Saturday night, to see the eclipse, noticed that the moon was at no time altogether invisible, though greatly obscured. The reason of this is, that the light of the sun as it passes through the atmosphere of the earth, is so much refracted from a direct course that enough of it is thrown into the shadow to make the moon dimly visible even in what is called the total eclipse. If a person were standing on the moon at such a time, he would see a bright rim or halo of light encircling the earth; but nobody is supposed to be standing on the moon. That weird and worn-out orb, that adds so much to the garnishment of our nights, has no atmosphere, and it is pretty well settled that no form of life is sustained on its surface. It is a lonely wilderness, seamed and ragged with the effects of extinct volcanic action, and rolls about our planet with no purpose but to illumine our nights and exert its powers of attraction upon the ocean and the atmosphere.

This matter of the earth's shadow is a curious subject, of which we seldom think. The celestial hemisphere is not darkened when the sun goes down, but the heavenly bodies become visible to us because the glaring light is withdrawn from our eyes as we roll round into the shadow of the earth. From the bottom of a deep well or a mine we can see the stars in the daytime. The earth's shadow is a well of darkness, stretching thousands of miles into the firmament, and from the bottom of it we see the luminaries of one-half of heaven, simply because the glare of day is removed. If the sun were alto. gether blotted out for the time being, we could see neither the moon nor planets, but the fixed stars, which are suns shining by a light of their own, would twinkle in a firmament of utter blackness. The heavens are above us and around us at all times, and there is no more darkness or light in them at one time than another, but, every night, the black cone of the earth's shadow shuts out the glaring sunlight from our eyes and the myriad luminaries become visible. These are the common-places of science, but we do not realize them, except on

those rare occasions when our attention is especially attracted by some such phenomenon as that of Saturday night.-Globe, of Oct. 26th.

THE SPIRIT OF THE MOUNTAIN.

A TRAVELLER was panting through the hot streets of Bayruth, when he saw the welcome notice, "Snow from Lebanon," over a shop-door. Entering, he was refreshed with a glass of sherbet, into which he himself saw the merchant put a slice from a large mass of pure white snow. The traveller looked gratefully up to the glorious mountainrange next time he caught sight of it in a turn of the street, and felt that snow was indeed a good gift in a thirsty land.

That night, as he lay on his bed, his sleep was visited by a lovely little being in a robe of dazzling whiteness, who stood before him and said, "I am the spirit of the mountain, and I come to thee, of all the sons of men, because thou didst remember to be thankful to me when thy thirst was quenched to-day. Many drink and are refreshed without one look to the mountain. What shall I do more for thee, O grateful son of man ?"

The traveller looked at his bright visitor, and longed to know more of him. So he said, "Take me, beautiful spirit, and show me where thou dwellest, and the ways in which thou dost bless the sons of men."

So the spirit of the mountain touched him with a blue gentianflower, and straightway he was far above in the moonlight, resting under the mighty cedars which have witnessed for so many ages to the greatness of God and the littleness of man.

It was very still and solemn under their shade; but beyond it, here and there in the crevices of the rocks, the moon-beams sparkled as they fell upon a secret treasure of pure white snow. The grand old trees cut in sharp black lines against the light sky, and between their heavy layers of foliage twinkled a few silver stars. Sweet flowers perfumed the air, and the trickling of little streams was like sweet music as they flowed from a lake, fed by the melted snows which lay in a hollow beneath.

The traveller looked and listened, and then said, "Show me, beautiful spirit, where these streams will wander, and what good they will do." So the spirit touched him again, and he found himself, at early morning, beside one of those streams a little farther away. It

The Spirit of the Mountain.

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Was watering a lovely enclosed garden in the neighbourhood of Bayruth; birds sung merrily in that garden, for their nests were in the trees which bent over the stream. The mulberry, the vine, and the olive grew there, orange blossoms scented the air, and the beautiful passion-flower hung in festoons between the myrtle trees. And the traveller knew that it was the quiet stream flowing through the garden that made all things in it so fair.

same way.

Again the spirit touched him with the mountain flower, and this time he found himself at eventide among the poor men's cottages, and watching poor men's ways. The flocks were being gathered together for watering, aud the herds gently driven to the same spot. Maidens with pitchers on their heads, and little children carrying toy-boats of plaited straw and dancing for joy at the freedom and coolness after their day's imprisonment in-doors, were all going the Where were they going? To the river, the flowing river, now grown beyond a stream! All day, with a steady current, the river had flowed on, though it seemed as if none heeded it or drank of it but the water-lilies on its bosom. Yet even then its waters had not been wasted. For the traveller could trace its course by the brighter green of the grass on either side, and by the clustering oleanders and other trees which grew in the ravine along which it flowed. Farther on, too, where the ravine widened, were fields of maize, or Indian corn, and the beautiful bearded wheat ripening to harvest. And he knew how poor and thin the crops would have been but for the bounteous river. But it was only in the evening that the little, wooden landing-place on its shore was crowded with busy peasants gathered there to draw water, while children's merry voices were heard on its banks, and even the old men loved to sit and gaze into its quiet depths.

It was blest and a blessing, that stream from Lebanon; and if its course was to be but short-for it ended in the great sea not many miles away-at least it was no idle or useless course; and the traveller turned to his guide and said, "This stream must be always flowing. It can not be one of those torrents that rush impetuously along, and do so much mischief when the ice melts in the spring, and then dry up in the heat of summer, just when we want them most. Tell me, O Spirit, what makes it always flow."

The mountain spirit said nothing, but pointed silently upward; and even as the traveller gazed, his form melted away, just as the snow itself when it feels the breath of the sweet south wind.