meter about 7,898 miles. radius of the earth being 3,956 miles, supposing it to be a sphere, its whole surface would contain about 196,663,000 square miles.

Mercury,

"whose disc

Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye,
Lost in the near effulgence of his blaze,"

is situated at a distance of 36,000,000 of miles from the sun. Its diameter is only 3,140 miles, and it revolves on its axis in 24 hours and five minutes. It may be occasionally seen in the form of a round black spot, passing across the sun's disc, as will occur on the 9th of November, 1848, the 11th of November, 1861, and the 4th of November, 1863.

Venus revolves round the sun at the distance of 68,000,000 miles, in 224 days 16 hours, performing his daily revolution about its own axis, in 23 hours 21 minutes.

Its diameter is 7,700 miles, or a little less than that of the earth. This planet is well known as the splendid morning and evening star, occasionally preceding the rising and setting of the orb of day.

"More distant still our globe terraqueous turns, Nor chills intense, nor fiercely heated burns ; Around her rolls the lunar orb of light, Trailing her silver glories through the night." Between the orbits of Mars and the earth there have been discovered, within the present century, four very small planetary bodies, sometimes called Asteroids. The earth is endowed with a double motion: first, a motion of rotation about its axis, passing through its centre; and, secondly, a motion of revolution about the sun. The first of these movements produces the phenomena of day and night, and the apparent diurnal revolution of the celestial bodies. The time in which the earth's rotation is performed is measured by the interval which elapses between two transits of the same fixed star over the meridian of any place, and this interval is always precisely the same for astronomers have proved that it cannot have varied the three-thousandth part of a second since the date of the first astronomical observation, which is two thousand years ago. This perfectly uniform lapse of time is denominated the sidereal day.

The figure of the earth is that of an oblate spheroid of revolution, the diameter of the earth at the equator being nearly

To the moon it has been said,-
"Enthroned amid the cloudless blue,
Majestic, silent, and alone,

Above the fountains of the dew,
Thou glidest on, and glidest on,

To shoreless seas, and lands unknown.
Thy presence of thy face appears,
Thou eldest born of Beauty's daughters,
A spirit traversing the spheres,

And ruling o'er the pathless waters." its motions, revolving round her own The moon accompanies the earth in axis, in 27 days 8 hours, at a distance of 237,000 miles from this planet. Her diameter is 2,160 miles.

THE YOUNG NAVAL OFFICER.

No. I.

HE IS AROUSED TO REFLECTION.

Ir is very interesting to the Christian reader to trace the manner in which God

brings a sinner out of the darkness of nature into the light of the gospel; to see how all are led, it may be by different ways, yet to the same end. But this should be interesting, also, to those who are not the disciples of Christ; for they, too, must be led by God's Spirit into the way of salvation, or a terrible day of judgment awaits them. The whole world is divided into two great classes, to one of which every individual belongs. Every man is either the child of God or the child of sin. For the former is prepared a glorious and eternal happiness, when God shall take him to himself. On the latter, if he die without faith in Christ, a grief and anguish are denounced, so intolerable, that we shrink as we contemplate the awful details which the Scripture presents of its eternal woe. It is not the word of man, but the solemn truth of God's word, which says, cept ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven," Matt. xviii. 3.

"Ex

The subject of the following narrative was, a few years since, a thoughtless but brave young officer. One of his messmates declared that he had " a good heart." But had Robert a good heart? What says the Scripture of the natural heart of man? "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: "The who can know it?" Jer. xvii. 9. Lord looked down from heaven upon the

D

children of men, to see if there were any that did understand and seek God. They are all gone aside, they are altogether become filthy: there is none that doeth good, no, not one," Psa. xiv. 2, 3. "If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” 1 John i. 8. This is the estimate of the human heart, made by Him who is described as a Discerner of the thoughts. But though we cannot admit that Robert had naturally a good heart, yet there was much in his character fitted to win the love and esteem of his companions. He was attentive to the duties of his station, had an ardent love of his country, and, like most sailors, was frank and sincere, and warm-hearted and generous. He would have scorned an act of dishonour, and his outward conduct was such as the world would have pronounced blameless in morals; yet his was not a Christian morality. God's holy day, his holy word, had no charms for him. He was proud of his country, proud of his ship, proud of his character as a fearless British sailor, but he had never seen himself a sinner in the sight of God; and the sincere prayer of a contrite heart had never passed his lip, when he joined occasionally with the great assembly, in the outward act of prayer and praise.

During the time when Robert's vessel came into port, after a long absence from England, he went to spend some weeks with his family. There was one in that family who had, while he was at sea, experienced a great change in character. Ellen had been taught in the school of Christ, and as the Scripture represents that change, "old things had passed away, and all had become new." Ellen had been one evening speaking to her relative with much earnestness, on the necessity of a change of heart. She had been remarking, too, on the duty of observing the sabbath, when she was interrupted by the entrance of some young friends who came to visit Robert. They had come to invite him to spend the following Sunday with them in a very beautiful village, which lay at a little distance. Robert had lately come from sea; and none but those who have been long absent from the woods and fields of their native land, know how dear they seem to the sailor on his return. On these very places his mind had often pondered when he was sailing over the silent waters, or roaming among the distant forests-and Robert eagerly ac

cepted the invitation of his friends. He was to accompany the party to church in the morning, while the remaining part of the day would doubtless have been spent in such recreation as must have been deemed sabbath-breaking.

more,

As the friends of the young man left the house, Ellen again attempted to offer some remonstrance against the proposed manner of spending a day set apart by God for his own worship. Finding, however, that her remarks were met with some warmth of feeling, she considered it prudent to desist, and said, "Well, Robert, I shall little say but this one thing I must say, if you die in the state in which you now are, where you wish to go you never will go.' Robert's displeasure was now roused into a momentary fury. Looking angrily at his friend, he said, "Ah, that is just like the charity of you all! I will never go again to hear one of your psalm-singing ministers-I wish such people were all burnt."

Ah, it is a strange idea of charity which the worldly man has, when he calls him uncharitable who tells him of his danger. Would it be uncharitable to waken a man from his dream, when the house in which he slept was falling? Would that be a want of charity or love which should induce one to drag an intoxicated person from the edge of a precipice? No, the man whose eyes are opened to the truths of the Bible-who sees the dreadful destiny to which his friend is exposed if he do not repent-he whose heart is filled with the love of Christ and the love of souls-how can he be silent? how can he dare to let him pursue un warned, his course of danger? Ellen might have said, with the eastern princes, mentioned in Scripture, "How can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred ?"

Robert yielded only for a few moments to this uncontrolled burst of passion, but his cordiality towards his relative was, both now and for some time after, considerably lessened. It was not exactly that she was less dear to him, yet he felt his heart somewhat estranged. She, whose feelings had hitherto been so like his own, was now influenced by sentiments and feelings which he could not understand, and which with the dislike to spiritual religion, so common to the unconverted heart of man, he quite hated. For as the apostle says, "The carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is

But the evening on which the earnest conversation alluded to had taken place, now closed on the family circle, and all were soon gathered to their nightly repose. No sleep, however, awaited the young sailor. Agitated by restless and angry emotions, he lay tossing restlessly on his bed all the night, hearing every sound of the clock, as it told the hours, till the morning's dawn found him in a state of mental excitement and bodily illness, which demanded immediate remedies, and his medical attendant found it necessary to bleed him. His condition distressed Ellen, but she endeavoured to console herself by the remembrance that she had acted from a sense of duty, and by the hope, that strong impressions, now received, might indeed be the awakening influences of God's Spirit on the heart of her relative. She feared that Robert would think she had been unkind, or that he was less dear to her, yet never had she regarded him before with so deep, so true an interest; for never before had she felt the value of his immortal soul.

The Sunday came round on which the promised visit was to be paid, and the sun shone brightly on the waving cornfields and grassy hills which lay between his home and the village, and gilded the broad river which flowed through the landscape. Robert could see the beautiful country from his window, and as he had been quite silent upon all that had passed, Ellen expected that he would, in the course of the morning, walk in that direction. Instead of this, however, he came to accompany her to hear the very minister whom he had included among those of whom he spoke with so much disgust. As they sate side by side in the house of God, the heart of Ellen often rose in silent prayer, that her heavenly Father would direct his servant to some passage of Scripture, or some suitable reflections, which might fall with power on the heart of Robert, and be remembered by him in future days, when he should be far away, among them that "go down to the sea in ships, and do business in great waters." God heard that prayer. The minister was directed to dwell especially on the very themes on which Ellen had spoken. He confirmed by Scripture all which she had advanced, and earnestly besought his hearers to remember, that they must be born again.

The effect of Robert's feelings became in some measure apparent in his habits and manners. He now attended regularly the ministry of the gospel, and seemed to listen earnestly to its important topics. So far from avoiding those whom he had designated as saints and psalm-singers, he seemed to seek their society, became more thoughtful, and was willing to discourse on religion. But Robert had one great snare; he was unwilling to renounce his gay companions, or to declare to them that he disapproved of their pursuits. The fascinations of worldly society still enchained him. The very amiableness and warmth of his affections seemed to estrange him from the God to whom he owed his whole heart. Alas! "the friendship of the world is enmity with God," and Robert found himself often led into scenes of gaiety which his awakened conscience condemned. So far as we can judge of his feelings at this period, he was in that painful state of indecision when he felt sin to be a great evil, and the claims of God as urgent and right, yet he could not resolve to give up the world, and seek first the kingdom of God. To him might have been addressed those words of the prophet, "How long halt ye between two opinions?" But the work of God had commenced on his heart, and was gradually carried forward by the Holy Spirit. It was at this period of Robert's history that those warlike preparations were commencing, which terminated in the well-remembered siege of Acre. A fleet was about to sail for Syria, and in one of its vessels the naval officers embarked. It was a cold gloomy morning in winter when his ship left her native shore, but many persons crowded on the beach, some to assist in making the final preparations for its departure; some to bid farewell to friends, and others to gaze on the vessels sailing on an important expedition. And as the ships glided proudly out of harbour, they were followed by the shouts of the spectators. Some looked quietly on, and felt

a pleasure and a pride, as they marked the skill and science which had built and now guided the warlike vessels; and were but too prompt to say, as did the Assyrian king, "By the strength of my hand I have done it, and by my wisdom; for I am prudent,". Isa. x. 13. While perhaps no thought entered the mind of One who bade the tree of the forest to

grow for its timbers, or gave to man the intellect to fashion and direct them suitably to the element on which they were to float. And women were there, looking tearfully onwards, as the vessel which bore away the father, husband, son, or brother, gradually disappeared in the distance, till it became a speck in the horizon; while they thought that perhaps some voices, which still seemed speaking their farewell in their ears, might never again sound on their native shores. And the thoughtless sailor lad, who might be sailing away, full of hope and energy, was, perhaps, at that moment committed, in simple faith and humble prayer, to the guidance of Him whom the prophet describes, as measuring "the waters in the hollow of his hand.'

The following extract is taken from a letter written by Robert from Beyrout, which was at that time the scene of hostilities, and is dated July 20th, 1840. In apologising to his relative for his long silence, he says, "I could not make up my mind to give you a letter, the contents of which must have been distressing. I had often detected myself, even | while at home, in paying deference to the opinion of the world, instead of conscientiously serving God in all things; and from this feeling I have been silent to you, until gratitude for your continued interest in my welfare, constrains me to throw aside every other feeling but affection, and open my heart to you-and thus will I begin. The feelings with which I left you continued strong and uninterrupted until I left Plymouth; when, on arrival at that place, I found that from jeers and ungenerous remarks, it spread to something worse. Even the higher powers, by their conduct, made me truly miserable. I could scarcely even get leave to go ashore while I remained there. From this we went to the Cove of Cork, and then, I may say, I first slackened, and forgot Zion. The people there are the most hospitable of any I ever visited we were continually full. At times we had about 2,000 people on board in a day. The captain gave parties

on board, and I among the rest, received while there about twenty invitations of different descriptions. Sunday is the principal gala day there, as the chief part of the people are papists, and on this day we were visited more than on any other. Added to this, I experienced a great change in the conduct of my brother officers towards me for the better, which, causing an elevation of spirits, led me again into the world; so that when I left the place I was as bad as I ever was before. I have not, since leaving Plymouth, been into a place of worship, excepting to hear our chaplain read prayers. Since that time I have remained in a state as dark, if not darker, than any heathen. Darker, because I know the path and have shunned it." He adds, that he is likely to change his ship, in consequence of a prospect of promotion, and says, "It will be a smaller vessel, where there is less riot and excess, and more privacy; so that, instead of being continually annoyed by the sinful and reckless, I may at least have time to reflect." P.

A RAMBLE IN IRELAND.

THE gap of Dunloe is a huge mountain pass, about four miles long; and of different degrees of width; in some places, opening, so as to give a lake-like form to the stream that rushes through it; in others, the walls of rock approach so near to each other, that it seems as if they were about to arch over the valley at their feet into a gigantic cavern, through which there is room only for the brawling torrent, and the foot of the startled and adventurous traveller. When we reached the entrance, the summits of the mountains that form the sides of this gloomy pass were lost in the clouds; and when, after ascending a winding path by the side of precipices for about half a mile, we came to the spot where our car was to leave us, the scene that presented itself was one of the most terrific and savage I ever beheld. Salvator Rosa might have luxuriated here with intense enjoyment. As if to deepen the emotion of awe that this spot is calculated to awaken, dark clouds swept along the sides of the mountain, and flinging their broad shadows over the waters of the Loe, which here gather themselves into a capacious basin, gave to the whole spot such an air of death-like gloom and de

The different parties who had met here without concert, now moved on through the pass, a stout guide carrying all the cloaks, coats, and umbrellas he could collect, which were willingly surrendered when it was discovered that the road in some places was very steep and on the ascent all the way. Some distance from the entrance the torrent is crossed by an arched bridge, which forms a most picturesque object in the view. A solitary house or two betokened life in the midst of what might not be deemed an inappropriate representation of "the valley of the shadow of death;" and here and there, high up the sides of the mountain on the left, were a few goats, apparently "scarce half so gross as beetles," tended by a ragged urchin, whose proper duties did not prevent him gratifying his curiosity, by having a peep at "the quality," whose visits to that wild and dreary scene must agreeably break in upon the monotony of his existence. We halted two or three times, both for rest and to feast our eyes with the grandeur and sublimity of the way we had traversed. But here, as when riding along the splendid road round the bay at Glenarm, we found that all minds were not alike affected by the spirit of the scene. A lady of the party, whom by her conversation we found to be a public singer, and who was to regale the ears of the visitors at Killarney that evening at a concert, either by way of inducing an attendance, by an exhibition of her vocal powers, or, as the ploughboy, who "whistled as he went, for want of thought," broke in most inopportunely with snatches of song, which were about as much in keeping with the occasion and the spot, as dancing at a funeral.

At length the summit of the pass was reached, and another of the wondrous

it was shut in by the Magillicuddy reeks, frowning and cloud-capped; and at the extreme end of the valley, a thin, silver line hung down the sides of the rocky barrier, like a veil of gauze, floating in mid air. This was the cataract that leaps from a great height, after coursing its way along the gullies and chasms of the mountains, and falling in millions of glittering diamonds, forms the stream that flows through the valley to the Upper Lake. While we were gazing on this marvellous combination of the beautiful and the sublime, the clouds rolled back for a few moments from the summit of Carran Tuel, "the inverted sickle," so called from its supposed resemblance to that instrument, and the monarch of Erin's mountains stood before us in his proud and majestic pre-eminence. The sunlight fell upon his hoary head, and gilded it with a golden radiance, which seemed to remain and to penetrate the clouds that, the next moment encircled it. These appeared on fire from their catching and reflecting the rays of light that rushed forth in a perfect blaze, when the sun flung from him a superincumbent mass of thick and heavy vapour, and shone forth with a dazzling splendour, as he continued to do all the rest of that day.

Turning at length from this bewitching scene, and traversing an easy footpath on the side of the mountain, for about a mile, we reached the Upper Lake. Our road to the southern shore was through some pleasant grounds, forming part of a nobleman's demesne. Here, in a small creek, we found several boats waiting for the different parties who had accompanied us through the pass; and in a few moments we were gliding along the smooth surface of the lake, whose crystal waters reflected most clearly the deep, blue, glorious sky above us. On our left, the mountains shut us in; their grey sides, in some places, presenting tufts of green foliage, from a solitary tree that had found a lodgment there. On the right, the hills receded to a greater distance, and were less rugged in their appearance, more verdant, and diversified with groups of forest trees. It is from one of these mountains the Derricunnihy cascade falls, and flows into the lake. We shot by several small islands, covered with the