To understand what the lunar screen is doing for us, we may imagine ourselves at some station outside the earth, whence we should behold the moon’s shadow somewhat as in Fig. 29, where we must remember that since the lunar orbit is not a circle, but nearly an ellipse, the moon is at some times farther from the earth than at others. Here the extremity of its shadow is represented as just touching the surface of the globe, while it is evident that if the moon were at its greatest distance, its shadow might come to a point before reaching the earth at all. We speak, of course, only of the central cone of shade; for there is an outer one, indicated by the faint dotted lines, within whose much more extended limits the eclipse is partial, but with the latter we have at present nothing to do. The figure however, for want of room, is made to represent the proportions incorrectly, the real ones of the shadow being actually something like those of a sewing-needle,--this very long attenuated shadow sometimes, as we have just said, not reaching the earth at all, and when it does reach it, covering at the most a very small region indeed. Where this point touches, and wherever it rests, we should, in looking down from our celestial station, see that part of the earth in complete shadow, appearing like a minute dark spot, whose lesser diameter is seldom over a hundred and fifty miles. The eclipse is total only to those inhabitants of the earth within the track of this dark spot, though the spot itself travels across the earth with the speed of the moon in the sky; so that if it could leave a mark, it would in a few hours trace a dark line across the globe, looking like a narrow black tape curving across the side of the world next the sun. In Fig. 30, for instance, is the central track of the eclipse of July 29, 1878, as it would be visible to our celestial observer, beginning in Alaska in the forenoon, and ending in the Gulf of Mexico, which it reached in the afternoon. To those on the earth’s surface within this shadow it covered everything in view, and, for anything those involved in it could see, it was all-embracing and terrible, and worthily described in such lines as Milton’s,-- “As when the sun ... In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.” We may enjoy the poet’s vision; but here, while we look down on the whole earth at once, we must admit that the actual area of the “twilight” is very small indeed. Within this area, however, the spectacle is one of which, though the man of science may prosaically state the facts, perhaps only the poet could render the impression.