The evidence in support of the existence of Jupiter's satellites became so conclusive that the opponents of Galileo were compelled to renounce their disbelief in those bodies, whether real or pretended. The Grand Duke, preferring to trust to his eyes rather than believe in the arguments of the professor at Padua, observed the satellites on several occasions, along with Galileo, at Pisa, and on his departure bestowed upon him a gift of one thousand florins. Several of Galileo's enemies, as a result of their observations, now arrived at the conclusion that his discovery was incomplete, and that Jupiter had more than four satellites in attendance upon him. Scheiner counted five, Rheita nine, and other observers increased the number to twelve. But it was found to be quite as hazardous to exceed the number stated by Galileo as it was to deny the existence of any; for, when Jupiter had traversed a short distance of his path among the fixed stars, the only bodies that accompanied him were his four original attendants, which continued to revolve round him with unerring regularity in every part of his orbit.

Galileo did not afford his opponents much time to oppose or controvert with argument the discoveries made by him with the telescope before his announcement of a new one attracted public attention from those already known. He, however, exercised greater caution in disclosing the results of his observations, as other persons laid claim to having made similar discoveries prior to the time at which his were announced. He therefore adopted a method in common use among astronomers in those days, by which the letters in a sentence announcing a discovery were transposed so as to form an anagram.

Galileo announced his next discovery in this manner, and which read as follows:—

Smaismrmilme poeta leumi bvne nugttaviras.

This, when deciphered, formed the sentence:—

Altissimum planetam tergeminum observavi.

I have observed that the remotest planet is triple.

Galileo perceived that Saturn presented a triform appearance, and that, instead of one body, there were three, all in a straight line, and apparently in contact with each other, the middle one being larger than the two lateral ones. In a letter to Kepler he remarked: 'Now I have discovered a Court for Jupiter, and two servants for this old man, who aid his steps and never quit his side.' Kepler, who excelled as an imaginative writer, replied: 'I will not make an old man of Saturn, nor slaves of his attendant globes; but rather let this tricorporate form be Geryon—so shall Galileo be Hercules, and the telescope his club, armed with which he has conquered that distant planet, and dragged him from the remotest depths of Nature, and exposed him to the view of all.' Continuing his observations, Galileo perceived that the two lateral objects gradually decreased in size, and at the expiration of two years entirely disappeared, leaving the central globe visible only. He was unable to assign any reason for this peculiar occurrence, which caused him much perplexity, and he expresses himself thus: 'What is to be said concerning so strange a metamorphosis? Are the two lesser stars consumed after the manner of the solar spots? Have they vanished and suddenly fled? Has Saturn, perhaps, devoured his own children? Or were the appearances, indeed, illusion or fraud, with which the glasses have so long deceived me, as well as many others to whom I have shown them? Now, perhaps, is the time to revive the well-nigh withered hopes of those who, guided by more profound contemplations, have discovered the fallacy of the new observations, and demonstrated the utter impossibility of their existence. I do not know what to say in a case so surprising, so unlooked-for, and so novel. The shortness of the time, the unexpected nature of the event, the weakness of my understanding, and the fear of being mistaken, have greatly confounded me.' After a certain interval those bodies reappeared; but Galileo's glass was not sufficiently powerful to enable him to ascertain their nature nor solve the mystery, which for upwards of half a century perplexed the ablest astronomers.

The elucidation of this inexplicable phenomenon was reserved for Christian Huygens, who, with an improved telescope of his own construction, was able to declare that Saturn's appendages were portions of a ring which surrounds the planet, and is everywhere distinct from its surface.

Galileo next directed his attention to the planet Venus, and as a result of his observations was led to communicate to the public another anagram:—

Haec immatura a me jam frustra leguntur oy.

This, when rendered correctly, reads:—

Cynthiae figuras aemulatur mater amorum.

Venus rivals the appearances of the Moon.

The phases of Venus were one of the most interesting of Galileo's discoveries with the telescope. When observed near inferior conjunction the planet presents the appearance of a slender crescent, resembling the Moon when a few days old. Travelling from this point to superior conjunction, the illumined portion of her disc gradually increases, until it becomes circular, like the full Moon. This changing appearance of Venus afforded Galileo irresistible proof that the planet is an opaque body, which derives its light from the Sun, and that it circles round the orb—convincing evidence of the accuracy and truthfulness of the Copernican theory.

It was in this manner that Galileo announced his discovery of the phases of Venus, the peerless planet of our morning and evening skies, whose slender crescent forms such a beautiful object in the telescope, and who, as she traverses her orbit, exhibits all the varied changes of form presented by the Moon in her monthly journey round the Earth. These varying aspects of Venus were not unknown to Milton; and, indeed, he may have been informed of them by Galileo in his conversation with him at Arcetri; nor has he failed to introduce an allusion to this beautiful phenomenon in his poem. In his description of the Creation, after the Sun was formed, he adds:—

Hither, as to their fountain, other stars Repairing, in their golden urns draw light, And hence the morning planet gilds her horns.—vii. 364-66.

Galileo also discovered that the planet Mars does not always present the appearance of a circular disc. When near opposition the full disc of the planet is visible, but at all other times it is gibbous, and approaches nearest to that of a half-moon when at the quadratures.

In the year 1610, on directing his telescope to the Sun, Galileo detected dark spots on the solar disc. Similar spots, sufficiently large to be distinguished by the naked eye, had been observed from time to time for centuries prior to the invention of the telescope, but nothing was known of their nature. In 1609 Kepler observed a spot on the Sun, which he thought was the planet Mercury in conjunction with the orb; the short time during which it was visible, in consequence of clouds having obscured the face of the luminary, prevented him from being able to determine the accuracy of his surmise, but since then it has been ascertained that no transit of Mercury took place at that time, and Kepler afterwards acknowledged that he had arrived at an erroneous conclusion. Galileo was much puzzled in trying to find out the true nature of the spots. At first he was led to imagine that planets like Mercury and Venus revolved round the Sun at a short distance from the orb, and that their dark bodies, travelling across the solar disc, gave rise to the phenomenon of the spots. After further observation, he ascertained that the spots were in actual contact with the Sun; that they were irregular in shape and size, and continued to appear and disappear. Sometimes a large spot would break up into several smaller ones, and at other times three or four small spots would unite to form a large one. They all had a common motion, and appeared to rotate with the Sun, from which Galileo concluded that the orb rotated on his axis in about twenty-eight days. Galileo believed that the spots were clouds floating in the solar atmosphere, and that they intercepted a portion of the light of the Sun.

The Milky Way, that wondrous zone of light which encircles the heavens, remained for many ages a source of perplexity to ancient astronomers and philosophers, who, in their endeavours to ascertain its nature, had arrived at various absurd and erroneous conclusions. On directing his telescope to this luminous tract, Galileo discovered, to his inexpressible admiration, that it consists of a vast multitude of stars, too minute to be visible to the naked eye. He also discerned that its milky luminosity is created by the blended light of myriads of stars, so remote as to be incapable of definition by his telescope. In his 'Nuncius Sidereus' he gives an account of his observations of the Galaxy and expresses his satisfaction that he has been enabled to terminate an ancient controversy by demonstrating to the senses the stellar structure of the Milky Way. When engaged in exploring the celestial regions with his telescope, Galileo observed a marked difference in the appearance of the fixed stars, as compared with that of the planets. Each of the latter showed a rounded disc resembling that of a small moon, but the stars exhibited no disc, and shone as vivid sparkling points of light; all of them, whether of large or small magnitude, presenting the same appearance in the telescope. This led him to conclude that the fixed stars were not illumined by the Sun, because their brilliancy in all their changes of position remained unaltered. But, in the case of the planets, he found that their lustre varied according to their distance from the Sun; consequently, he believed they were opaque bodies which reflected the solar rays. On directing his telescope to the Pleiades, which, to the naked eye, appear as a group of seven stars, he succeeded in counting forty lucid points. The nebula Praesepe in Cancer, he was also able to resolve into a cluster of stars. Galileo made many other observations of the heavenly bodies with his telescope, all of which he describes as having afforded him 'incredible delight.'

Shortly before the failure of his eyesight, Galileo discovered the Moon's diurnal libration, a variation in the visible edges of the Moon caused by its oscillatory motion, and the diurnal rotation of the Earth on her axis.

Though Milton has not favoured us with any interesting details of his interview with Galileo, nor expressed his opinions with regard to the controversies which at that time agitated both the religious and scientific worlds of thought, and which eventually culminated in a storm of rancour and hatred that burst over the devoted head of the aged astronomer, and brought him to his knees, yet he informs us that he 'found and visited' Galileo, whom he describes as 'grown old,' and cynically remarks that he 'was held a prisoner of the Inquisition for thinking in astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought.' Milton does not allude to his blindness, and yet it would be natural to imagine that, had his host suffered from this affliction at the time of his visit, he would have referred to it. We learn that Milton arrived in Italy in the spring of 1638. In 1637, the affection which, in the preceding year, deprived Galileo of the use of his right eye, attacked the left also, which began to grow dim, and in the course of a few months became sightless; so that, although Milton has not alluded to this calamity, Galileo had become totally blind at the time of his visit.

How much Milton was impressed with the fame of Galileo and his telescope becomes apparent on referring to his 'Paradise Lost.' In it he alludes to the instrument upon three different occasions, twice when in the hands of Galileo; and the remembrance of the same artist was doubtless in his mind when he mentions the 'glazed optic tube' in another part of his poem. The interval that elapsed from the date of Milton's visit to Galileo in 1638, to the publication of 'Paradise Lost' in 1667, included a period of about thirty years, yet this length of time did not erase from Milton's memory his recollection of Galileo and of his pleasant sojourn at Florence.

The first allusion in the poem to the Italian astronomer is in the lines in which Milton describes the shield carried by Satan:—

The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the Moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.—i. 286-91.

Galileo is described as having observed the Moon from the heights of Fesole, which formed part of the suburbs of Florence, or from Valdarno, the valley of the Arno, in which the city is situated. The belief that Galileo had discovered continents and seas on the Moon justified Milton in imagining the existence of rivers and mountains on the lunar surface. The expression 'spotty globe' is more descriptive of the appearance of our satellite when observed with the telescope, than when seen with the naked eye. Galileo's attention was attracted by the freckled aspect of the Moon—a visual effect created by the number of extinct volcanoes scattered over the surface of the orb.

In his next allusion to the telescope Milton associates Galileo's name with the instrument:—

As when by night the glass Of Galileo, less assured, observes Imagined lands and regions in the Moon.—v. 261-63.

In these lines Milton describes with accuracy the extent of Galileo's knowledge of our satellite. The conclusions which the Italian astronomer arrived at with regard to its habitability were not supported by telescopic evidence sufficient to justify such a belief. Galileo writes: 'Had its surface been absolutely smooth it would have been but a vast, unblessed desert, void of animals, of plants, of cities and men; the abode of silence and inaction—senseless, lifeless, soulless, and stripped of all those ornaments which now render it so variable and so beautiful:'—

There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the Sun's lucent orb Through his glazed optic tube yet never saw.—iii. 588-90.

Milton may have remembered that Galileo was the first astronomer who directed a telescope to the Sun; and that he discovered the dark spots frequently seen on the solar disc.

Anyone who has read a history of the life of Galileo, and contemplated the career of this remarkable man, his ardent struggles in the cause of freedom and philosophic truth, his victories and reverses, his brilliant astronomical discoveries, and his investigation of the laws of motion, and other natural phenomena, will arrive at the conclusion that he merited the distinction conferred upon him by our great English poet, when he included him among the renowned few whose names are found in the pages of 'Paradise Lost.'



CHAPTER V

THE SEASONS

The great path of the Sun among the constellations as seen from the Earth is called the Ecliptic. It is divided into 360 deg., and again into twelve equal parts of 30 deg., called Signs. As one half of the ecliptic is north, and the other half south, of the equator, the line of intersection of their planes is at two points which are known as the equinoctial points, because, when the Sun on his upward and downward journey arrives at either of them the days and nights are of equal length all over the world. The equinoctial points are not stationary, but have a westerly motion of 50'' annually along the ecliptic; at this rate they will require a period of 25,868 years to complete an entire circuit of the heavens.

Milton alludes to the ecliptic when he mentions the arrival of Satan upon the Earth:—

Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success, Throws his steep flight in many an airy wheel, Nor staid till on Niphates top he lights.—iii. 740-42.

Extending for 9 deg. on each side of the ecliptic is a zone or belt called the Zodiac, the mesial line of which is occupied by the Sun, and within this space the principal planets perform their annual revolutions. It was for long believed that the paths of all the planets lay within the zodiac, but on the discovery of the minor planets, Ceres, Pallas, and Juno, it was ascertained that they travelled beyond this zone. The stars situated within the zodiac are divided into twelve groups or constellations, which correspond with the twelve signs, and each is named after an animal or some figure which it is supposed to resemble. The zodiac is of great antiquity; the ancient Egyptians and Hindoos made use of it, and there are allusions to it in the earliest astronomical records. The twelve constellations of the zodiac bear the following names:—

Aries the Ram Taurus the Bull Gemini the Twins Cancer the Crab Leo the Lion Virgo the Virgin Libra the Balance Scorpio the Scorpion Sagittarius the Archer Capricornus the Goat Aquarius the Water-bearer Pisces the Fishes

In close association with the Sun's annual journey are the seasons, upon the regular sequence of which mankind depend for the various products of the soil essential for the maintenance and enjoyment of life. The revolution of the Earth in her orbit, and the inclination of her axis to her annual path, causing the plane of the equator to be inclined 23-1/2 deg. to that of the ecliptic, are the reasons which account for the succession of the seasons—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Owing to the position of the Earth's axis with regard to her orbit, the Sun appears to travel 23-1/2 deg. north and 23-1/2 deg. south of the equator. When, on June 21, the orb attains his highest northern altitude, we have the summer solstice and the longest days; when, by retracing his steps, he declines 23-1/2 deg. below the equator, at which point he arrives on December 21, we have the winter solstice and the shortest days. Intermediate between those two seasons are spring and autumn. When the Sun, on his journey northward, reaches the equator, we have the vernal equinox, and at this period of the year the days and nights are of equal length all over the globe. In a similar manner, when, on his return journey, the Sun is again on the equator, the autumnal equinox occurs. In summer the North Pole is inclined towards the Sun, consequently his rays fall more direct and impart much more heat to the northern hemisphere than in winter, when the Pole is turned away from the Sun. This difference in the incidence of the solar rays upon the surface of the globe, along with the increased length of the day, mainly accounts for the high temperature of summer as compared with that of winter.

Astronomically, the seasons commence at the periods of the equinoxes and solstices. Spring begins on March 21, the time of the vernal equinox; summer on June 21, at the summer solstice; autumn on September 22, at the autumnal equinox; and winter on December 21, at the winter solstice. This conventional division of the year is not equally applicable to all parts of the globe. In the arctic and antarctic regions spring and autumn are very brief, the summer is short and the winter of long duration. In the tropics, owing to the comparatively slight difference in the obliquity of the Sun's rays, one season is, as regards temperature, not much different from the other; but in the temperate regions of the Earth the vicissitudes of the seasons are more perceptible and can be best distinguished by the growth of vegetation, and the changes observable in the foliage of shrubs and trees. In spring there is the budding, in summer the blossom, in autumn the fruit-bearing, and in winter the leafless condition of deciduous trees, and the repose of vegetable life.

The legendary belief that before the Fall there reigned on the Earth a perpetual spring, is introduced by Milton in his poem when he describes the pleasant surroundings associated with the happy conditions of life that existed in Paradise:—

Thus was this place, A happy rural seat of various view: Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm; Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, Hung amiable—Hesperian fables true, If true here only—and of delicious taste. Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hill dispersed, or in a lake That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal Spring.—iv. 246-68.

In sad contrast with this charming sylvan scene, we turn to the unhappy consequences which ensued as a result of the first act of transgression. Milton describes a change of climate characterised by extremes of heat and cold which succeeded the perpetual spring. The Sun was made to shine so that the Earth should be exposed to torrid heat and icy cold unpleasant to endure. The pale Moon and the planets were given power to combine with noxious effect, and the fixed stars to shed their malignant influences:—

The Sun Had first his precept so to move, so shine, As might affect the Earth with cold and heat Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call Decrepit winter, from the south to bring Solstitial summer's heat. To the blanc Moon Her office they prescribed; to the other five Their planetary motions and aspects, In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite, Of noxious efficacy, and when to join In synod unbenign; and taught the fixed Their influence malignant when to shower— Which of them rising with the Sun or falling, Should prove tempestuous. To the winds they set Their corners, when with bluster to confound Sea, air, and shore; the thunder when to roll With terror through the dark aerial hall.—x. 651-67.

We are here afforded an opportunity of learning that Milton possessed some knowledge of astrology, to which he makes allusion in other parts of his poem besides. In his time, astrology was believed in by many persons, and there were few learned men but who knew something of that occult science. Milton may be included among those who devoted some attention to astrology. Of this there is ample evidence, by the manner in which he expresses himself in words and phrases in common use among astrologers.

The professors of this art recognised five planetary aspects, viz., opposition, conjunction, sextile, square, and trine, each possessing its peculiar kind of influence on events. The Moon, the planets, and the constellations in their conjunctions and configurations, were believed to reveal to those who could understand the significance of their aspects, the destiny of individuals and the occurrence of future events. The inauspicious influences of the heavenly bodies are described by Milton as contributing to the general disarrangement of the happy condition of things that existed before the Fall.

After having described the adverse physical changes which occurred in Nature as a consequence of the Fall, Milton makes use of his astronomical knowledge in explaining how they were brought about, and suggests two hypotheses: (1) a change of position of the Earth's axis; (2) an alteration of the Sun's path from the equinoctial road:—

Some say he bid his Angels turn askance The poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more From the Sun's axle; they with labour pushed Oblique the centric globe: some say the Sun Was bid turn reins from the equinoctial road Like distant breadth—to Taurus with the seven Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins, Up to the Tropic Crab; thence down amain By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales, As deep as Capricorn; to bring in change Of seasons to each clime. Else had the spring Perpetual smiled on Earth with vernant flowers.—x. 668-79.

In support of the theory of a perpetual spring, Milton assumes that the Earth's axis was directed at right angles to her orbit, and that the plane of the equator coincided with that of the ecliptic. Consequently, the Sun's path remained always on the equator, where his rays were vertical, and north and south of this line each locality on the Earth enjoyed one constant season, the character of which depended upon its geographical position. In what are now the temperate regions of the globe there was one continuous season, similar in climate and length of day to what is experienced at the vernal equinox, when the Sun is for a few days on the equator. There was then no winter, no summer, nor autumn; and, consequently, the growth of vegetation must have taken place under conditions of climate entirely different to what exist on the Earth at the present time.

The change of position of the Earth's axis, 'twice ten degrees and more from the Sun's axle,' is described by Milton as having been accomplished by the might of angels, who 'with labour pushed oblique the centric globe.'

(2) According to the Ptolemaic belief, the Sun revolved round the Earth, but his course was altered from the equinoctial road to the path that he now pursues, which is the ecliptic. Instead of remaining on the equator, he travels an equal distance from this line upwards and downwards in each hemisphere.

The path of the Sun in the heavens is described by Milton with marked precision, and he mentions in regular order the names of the zodiacal constellations through which the orb travels. Passing through Taurus with the seven Atlantic Sisters (the Pleiades) and the Spartan Twins (Gemini), he enters the Tropic Crab (Cancer), in which constellation he attains his highest northern altitude; thence downwards he travels through Leo, Virgo, and the Scales (Libra), as deep as Capricornus, reaching his lowest point of declination at the winter solstice; and were it not for this alteration of the Sun's path, the poet informs us that perpetual spring would have reigned upon the Earth.

Milton was evidently well acquainted with the astronomical reasons (the revolution of the Earth in her orbit and the obliquity of the ecliptic) by which the occurrence and regular sequence of the seasons can be explained.

The path of the Sun in the heavens; his upward and downward course from the equator; the names of the constellations through which the orb travels, and the periods of the year at which he enters them, were also familiar to him.

The grateful change of the seasons, and the varied aspects of nature peculiar to each, which give a charm and freshness to the rolling year, must have been to Milton a source of pleasure and delight, and have stimulated his poetic fancy.

His observation of natural phenomena, and his keen perception of the pleasing changes which accompany them, are described in the following lines:—

As, when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, o'erspread Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element Scowls o'er the darkened landskip snow or shower, If chance the radiant Sun, with farewell sweet, Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings.—ii. 488-95.

The ancient poets Virgil and Ovid describe the Earth as having been created in the spring; and associated with this season, which

to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy—iv. 154-55,

were the Graces and the Hours, which danced hand in hand as they led on the eternal Spring.

Milton alludes to the seasons on several occasions throughout his poem, and to the natural phenomena associated with them:—

As bees In springtime when the Sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank The suburb of their straw-built citadel New rubbed with balm, expatiate and confer Their state affairs.—i. 768-75.

The Sun is in the constellation Taurus in April, when the warmth of his rays begins to impart new life and activity to the insect world after their long winter's sleep.

In his description of the repast partaken by the Angel Raphael with Adam and Eve in Paradise, Milton writes:—

Raised of grassy turf Their table was, and mossy seats had round, And on her ample square, from side to side, All Autumn piled, though Spring and Autumn here Danced hand in hand.—v. 391-95.

In describing Beelzebub when about to address the Stygian Council, he says:—

His look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake.—ii. 307-309.

The failing vision from which Milton suffered in his declining years was succeeded by total blindness. This sad affliction he alludes to in the following lines:—

Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose.—iii. 40-43.

We are able to perceive how much Milton was impressed with the beautiful seasons, and the varying aspects of the year which accompany them, and how his poetic imagination luxuriated in the changing variety of nature observable in earth and sky that from day to day afforded him exquisite delight; and, although his poem was written when blindness had overtaken him, yet those glad remembrances remained as fresh in his memory as when in his youth he roamed among the flowery meadows, the vocal woodlands, and the winding lanes of Buckinghamshire.

The idea expressed by Milton that the primitive earth enjoyed a perpetual spring, though pleasing to the imagination, and well adapted for poetic description, is not sustained by any astronomical testimony. Indeed, the position of the Earth, with her axis at right angles to her orbit, is one which may be regarded as being ill adapted for the support and maintenance of life on her surface, just as her present position is the best that can be imagined for fulfilling this purpose.

Astronomy teaches us to rely with certainty upon the permanence and regular sequence of the seasons. The position of the Earth's axis as she speeds along in her orbit through the unresisting ether remains unchanged, and her rapid rotation has the effect of increasing its stability. Yet, the Earth performs none of her motions with rigid precision, and there is a very slow alteration of the position of her axis occurring, which, if unchecked, would eventually produce a coincidence of the equator and the ecliptic. Instead of a succession of the seasons, there would then be perpetual spring upon the Earth, and, although it would require a great epoch of time to bring about such a change, there would result a condition of things entirely different to what now exists on the globe. But, before the ecliptic can have approached sufficiently near the equator to produce any appreciable effect upon the climate of the Earth, its motion must cease, and after remaining stationary for a time, it will begin to recede to its former position. The seasons must therefore follow each other in regular sequence, and throughout all time, reminding us of the promise of the Creator, 'that while the Earth remaineth seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter shall not cease.'



CHAPTER VI

THE STARRY HEAVENS

The celestial vault, that, like a circling canopy of sapphire hue, stretches overhead from horizon to horizon, resplendent by night with myriad stars of different magnitudes and varied brilliancy, forming clusterings and configurations of fantastic shape and beauty, arrests the attention of the most casual observer. But to one who has studied the heavens, and followed the efforts of human genius in unravelling the mysteries associated with those bright orbs, the impression created on his mind as he gazes upon them in the still hours of the night, when the turmoil of life is hushed in repose, is one of wonder and longing to know more of their being and the hidden causes which brought them forth. Here, we have poetry written in letters of gold on the sable vestment of night; music in the gliding motion of the spheres; and harmony in the orbital sweep of sun, planet, and satellite.

Milton was not only familiar with 'the face of the sky,' as it is popularly called, but also knew the structure of the celestial sphere, and the great circles by which it is circumscribed. Two of those—the colures—he alludes to in the following lines, when he describes the manner in which Satan, to avoid detection, compassed the Earth, after his discovery by Gabriel in Paradise, and his flight thence:—

The space of seven continued nights he rode With darkness—thrice the equinoctial line He circled, four times crossed the car of night From pole to pole, traversing each colure.—ix. 63-66.

Aristarchus of Samos believed the stars were golden studs, that illumined the crystal dome of heaven; but modern research has transformed this conception of the ancient astronomer's into a universe of blazing suns rushing through regions of illimitable space. In Milton's time astronomers had arrived at no definite conclusion with regard to the nature of the stars. They were known to be self-luminous bodies, situated at a remote distance in space, but it had not been ascertained with any degree of certainty that they were suns, resembling in magnitude and brilliancy our Sun. Indeed, little was known of those orbs until within the past hundred years, when the exploration of the heavens by the aid of greatly increased telescopic power, was the means of creating a new branch of astronomical science, called sidereal astronomy.

We are indebted to Sir William Herschel, more than to any other astronomer, for our knowledge of the stellar universe. It was he who ascertained the vastness of its dimensions, and attempted to delineate its structural configuration. He also explored the star depths, which occupy the infinitude of space by which we are surrounded, and made many wonderful discoveries, which testify to his ability as an observer, and to his greatness as an astronomer.

William Herschel was born at Hanover, November 15, 1738. His father was a musician in the band of the Hanoverian Guard, and trained his son in his own profession. After four years of military service, young Herschel arrived in England when nineteen years of age, and maintained himself by giving lessons in music. We hear of him first at Leeds, where he followed his profession, and instructed the band of the Durham Militia. From Leeds he went to Halifax, and was appointed organist there; on the expiration of twelve months he removed to Bath, and was elected to a similar post at the Octagon Chapel in that city. Here, fortune smiled upon him, and he became a busy and prosperous man. Besides attending to his numerous private engagements, he organised concerts, oratorios, and other public musical entertainments, which gained him much popularity among the cultivated classes which frequented this fashionable resort. Notwithstanding his numerous professional engagements, Herschel was able to devote a portion of his time to acquiring knowledge on other subjects. He became proficient in Italian and Greek, studied mathematics, and read books on astronomy. In 1773 he borrowed a small telescope, which he used for observational purposes, and was so captivated with the appearances presented by the celestial bodies, that he resolved to dedicate his life to acquiring 'a knowledge of the construction of the heavens.' This resolution he nobly adhered to, and became one of the most distinguished of astronomers. Like many other astronomers, Herschel possessed the requisite skill which enabled him to construct his own telescopes. Being desirous of possessing a more powerful instrument, and not having the means to purchase one, he commenced the manufacture of specula, the grinding and polishing of which had to be done by hand, entailing the necessity of tedious labour and the exercise of much patience. After repeated failures he at length completed a 5-1/2-foot Gregorian reflector, and with this instrument made his first survey of the heavens. Having perceived the desirability of possessing a more powerful telescope, he equipped himself with a reflector of twenty feet focal length, and it was with this instrument that he made those wonderful discoveries which established his reputation as a great astronomer.

On March 31, 1781, when examining the stars in the constellation Gemini, Herschel observed a star which presented an appearance slightly different to that of the other stars by which it was surrounded; it looked larger, had a perceptible disc, and its light became fainter when viewed with a higher magnifying power. After having carefully examined this object, Herschel arrived at the conclusion that he had discovered a comet. He communicated intelligence of his discovery to the Royal Society, and, a notification of it having been sent to the Continental observatories, this celestial visitor was subjected to a close scrutiny; its progressive motion among the stars was carefully observed, and an orbit was assigned to it. After it had been under observation for some time, doubts were expressed as to its being a comet, these were increased on further examination, and eventually it was discovered that this interesting object was a new planet. This important discovery at once raised Herschel to a position of eminence and distinction, and from a star-gazing musician he became a famous astronomer. A new planet named Uranus was added to our system, which completes a revolution round the Sun in a little over eighty-four years, and at a distance of near 1,000 millions of miles beyond the orbit of Saturn. Herschel's name became a household word. George III. invited him to Court in order that he might obtain from his own lips an account of his discovery of the new planet; and so favourable was the impression made by Herschel upon the King, that he proposed to create him Royal Astronomer at Windsor, and bestow upon him a salary of 200l. a year. Herschel decided to accept the proffered appointment, and, with his sister Caroline, removed from Bath to Datchet, near Windsor, in 1782, and from there to Slough in 1786. In 1788 he married the wealthy widow of a London merchant, by whom he had one son, who worthily sustained his father's high reputation as an astronomer. Herschel was created a Knight in 1816, and in 1821 was elected first President of the Royal Astronomical Society. He died at Slough on August 25, 1822, when in the eighty-fourth year of his age, and was buried in Upton Churchyard.

It is inscribed on his tomb, that 'he burst the barriers of heaven;' the lofty praise conveyed by this expression is not greater than what Herschel merited when we consider with what unwearied assiduity and patience he laboured to accomplish the results described in the words which have been quoted. By a method called 'star-gauging' he accomplished an entire survey of the heavens and examined minutely all the stars in their groups and aggregations as they passed before his eye in the field of the telescope. He sounded the depths of the Milky Way, and explored the wondrous regions of that shining zone, peopled with myriads of suns so closely aggregated in some of its tracts as to suggest the appearance of a mosaic of stars. He resolved numerous nebulae into clusters of stars, and penetrated with his great telescope depth after depth of space crowded with 'island universes of stars,' beyond which he was able to discern luminous haze and filmy streaks of light, the evidence of the existence of other universes plunged in depths still more profound, where space verges on infinity. In his exploration of the starry heavens Herschel's labours were truly amazing. On four different occasions he completed a survey of the firmament, and counted the stars in several thousand gauge-fields; he discovered 2,400 nebulae, 800 double stars, and attempted to ascertain the approximate distances of the stars by a comparison of their relative brightness.

It had long been surmised, though no actual proof was forthcoming, that the law of gravitation by which the order and stability of our system are maintained exercises its potent influence over other material bodies existing in space, and that other systems, though differing in many respects from that of ours, and presenting a more complex arrangement in their structure, perform their motions subject to the guidance of this universal law. The uncertainty with regard to the controlling influence of gravity was removed by Herschel when he made his important discovery of binary star systems. The components of a binary star are usually in such close proximity that, to the naked eye, they appear as one star, and sometimes, even with telescopic aid, it is impossible to distinguish them individually; but when observed with sufficient magnifying power they can be easily perceived as two lucid points. Double stars were for a long time believed to be a purely optical phenomenon—an effect created by two stars projected on the sphere so as to appear nearly in the same line of vision, and, although apparently almost in contact, situated at great distances apart. At one time Herschel entertained a similar opinion with regard to those stars. In 1779 he undertook an extensive exploration of the heavens with the object of discovering double stars. As a result of his labours he presented to the Royal Society in 1782 a list of 269 newly discovered double stars, and in three years after he supplemented this list with another which contained 434 more new stars. He carefully measured the distances by which the component stars were separated, and determined their position angles, in order that he might be able to detect the existence of any sensible parallax. On repeating his observations twenty years after, he discovered that the relative positions of many of the stars had changed, and in 1802 he made the important announcement of his discovery that the components of many double stars form independent systems, held together in a mutual bond of union and revolving round one common centre of gravity.

The importance of this discovery, which we owe to Herschel's sagacity and accuracy of observation, cannot be over-estimated; what was previously conjecture and surmise, now became precise knowledge established upon a sure and accurate basis. It was ascertained that the law of gravity exerts its power in regulating and controlling the motions of all celestial bodies within the range of telescopic vision, and that the order and harmony which pervade our system are equally present among other systems of suns and worlds distributed throughout the regions of space. The spectacle of two or more suns revolving round each other, forming systems of greater magnitude and importance than that of ours, conveyed to the minds of astronomers a knowledge of the mechanism of the heavens which had hitherto been unknown to them.

During the many years which Herschel devoted to the exploration of the starry heavens, and when engaged night after night in examining and enumerating the various groups and clusters of stars which passed before his eye in the field of his powerful telescope, he did not fail to remember the sublime object of his life, and to which he made all his other investigations subordinate, viz., the delineation of the structural configuration of the heavens, and the inclusion of all aggregations, groups, clusters, and galaxies of stars which are apparently scattered promiscuously throughout the regions of space into one grand harmonious design of celestial architecture.

Having this object in view, he explored the wondrous zone of the Milky Way, gauged its depths, measured its dimensions, and, in attempting to unravel the intricacies of its structure, penetrated its recesses far beyond the limit attained by any other observer. Acting on the assumption that the stars are uniformly distributed throughout space, Herschel, by his method of star-gauging, concluded that the sidereal system consists of an irregular stratum of evenly distributed suns, resembling in form a cloven flat disc, and that the apparent richness of some regions as compared with that of others could be accounted for by the position from which it was viewed by an observer. The stars would appear least numerous where the visual line was shortest, and, as it became lengthened, they would increase in number until, by crowding behind each other as a greater depth of stratum was penetrated, they would, when very remote, present the appearance of a luminous cloud or zone of light. After further observation Herschel was compelled to relinquish his theory of equal star distribution, and found, as he approached the Galaxy, that the stars became much more numerous, and that in the Milky Way itself there was evidence of the gravitation of stars towards certain regions forming aggregations and clusters which would ultimately lead to its breaking up into numerous separate sidereal systems. As he extended his survey of the heavens and examined with greater minuteness the stellar regions in the Galactic tract, he discovered that by his method of star-gauging he was unable to define the complexity of structure and variety of arrangement which came under his observation; he also perceived that the star-depths are unfathomable, and discerned that beyond the reach of his telescope there existed systems and galaxies of stars situated at an appalling distance in the abysmal depths of space. Though the magnitude of that portion of the sidereal heavens which came under his observation was inconceivable as regards its dimensions, Herschel was able to perceive that it formed but a part—and most probably a small part—of the stellar universe, and that without a more extended knowledge of this universe, which at present is unattainable, it would be impossible to determine its structural configuration or discover the relationships that exist among the sidereal systems and Galactic concourses of stars distributed throughout space. Herschel ultimately abandoned his star-gauging method of observation and confined his attention to exploring the star depths and investigating the laws and theories associated with the bodies occupying those distant regions.

Since all the planets if viewed from the Sun would be seen to move harmoniously and in regular order round that body, so there may be somewhere in the universe a central point, or, as some persons imagine, a great central sun, round which all the systems of stars perform their majestic revolutions with the same beautiful regularity; having their motions controlled by the same law of gravitation, and possessing the same dynamical stability which characterises the mechanism of the solar system.

The extent of the distance which intervenes between our system and the fixed stars constituted a problem which exercised the minds of astronomers from an early period until the middle of the present century.

Tycho Brahe, who repudiated the Copernican theory, asserted as one of his reasons against it that the distances by which the heavenly bodies are separated from each other were greater than even the upholders of this theory believed them to be. Although the distance of the Sun from the Earth was unknown, Tycho was aware that the diameter of the Earth's orbit must be measured by millions of miles, and yet there was no perceptible motion or change of position of the stars when viewed from any point of the vast circumference which she traverses. Consequently, the Earth, if viewed from the neighbourhood of a star, would also appear motionless, and the dimensions of her orbit would be reduced to that of a point. This seemed incredible to Tycho, and he therefore concluded that the Copernican theory was incorrect.

The conclusion that the stars are orbs resembling our Sun in magnitude and brilliancy was one which, Tycho urged, should not be hastily adopted; and yet, if it were conceded that the Earth is a body which revolves round the Sun, it would be necessary to admit that the stars are suns also. If the Earth's orbit, as seen from a star, were reduced to a point, then the Sun, which occupies its centre, would be reduced to a point of light also, and, when observed from a star of equal brilliancy and magnitude, would have the same resemblance that the star has when viewed from the Earth, which may be regarded as being in proximity to the Sun. Tycho Brahe would not admit the accuracy of these conclusions, which were too bewildering and overwhelming for his mental conception.

But the investigations of later astronomers disclosed the fact that the heavenly bodies are situated at distances more remote from each other than had been previously imagined, and that the reasons which led Tycho to reject the Copernican theory were based upon erroneous conclusions, and could, with greater aptitude, be employed in its support. It was ascertained that the distance of the Sun from the Earth, which at different periods was surmised to be ten, twenty, and forty millions of miles, was much greater than had been previously estimated. Later calculations determined it to be not less than eighty millions of miles, and, according to the most recent observations, the distance of the Sun from the Earth is believed to be about ninety-three millions of miles.

Having once ascertained the distance between the Earth and the Sun, astronomers were enabled to determine with greater facility the distances of other heavenly bodies.

It was now known that the diameter of the Earth's orbit exceeded 183 millions of miles, and yet, with a base line of such enormous length, and with instruments of the most perfect construction, astronomers were only able to perceive the minutest appreciable alteration in the positions of a few stars when observed from opposite points of the terrestrial orbit.

It had long been the ambitious desire of astronomers to accomplish, if possible, a measurement of the abyss which separates our system from the nearest of the fixed stars. No imaginary measuring line had ever been stretched across this region of space, nor had its unfathomed depths ever been sounded by any effort of the human mind. The stars were known to be inconceivably remote, but how far away no person could tell, nor did there exist any guide by which an approximation of their distances could be arrived at.

In attempting to calculate the distances of the stars, astronomers have had recourse to a method called 'Parallax,' by which is meant the apparent change of position of a heavenly body when viewed from two different points of observation.

The annual parallax of a heavenly body is the angle subtended at that body by the radius of the Earth's orbit.

The stars have no diurnal parallax, because, owing to their great distance, the Earth's radius does not subtend any measurable angle, but the radius of the Earth's orbit, which is immensely larger, does, in the case of a few stars, subtend a very minute angle.

'This enormous base line of 183 millions of miles is barely sufficient, in conjunction with the use of the most delicate and powerful astronomical instruments, to exhibit the minutest measureable displacement of two or three of the nearest stars.'—Proctor.

The efforts of early astronomers to detect any perceptible alteration in the positions of the stars when observed from any point of the circumference of the Earth's orbit were unsuccessful. Copernicus ascribed the absence of any parallax to the immense distances of the stars as compared with the dimensions of the terrestrial orbit. Tycho Brahe, though possessing better appliances, and instruments of more perfect construction, was unable to perceive any annual displacement of the stars, and brought this forward as evidence against the Copernican theory.

Galileo suggested a method of obtaining the parallax of the fixed stars, by observing two stars of unequal magnitude apparently near to each other, though really far apart. Those, when observed from different points of the Earth's orbit, would appear to change their positions relatively to each other. The smaller and more distant star would remain unaltered, whilst the larger and nearer star would have changed its position with respect to the other. By continuing to observe the larger star during the time that the Earth accomplished a revolution of her orbit, Galileo believed that its parallax might be successfully determined. Though he did not himself put this method into practice, it has been tried by others with successful results.

In 1669, Hooke made the first attempt to ascertain the parallax of a fixed star, and selected for this purpose Gamma Draconis, a bright star in the Head of the Dragon. This constellation passed near the zenith of London at the time that he made his observations, and was favourably situated, so as to avoid the effects of refraction. Hooke made four observations in the months of July, August, and October, and believed that he determined the parallax of the star; but it was afterwards discovered that he was in error, and that the apparent displacement of the star was mainly due to the aberration of light—a phenomenon which was not discovered at that time.

A few years later, Picard, a French astronomer, attempted to find the parallax of Alpha Lyrae, but was unsuccessful. In 1692-93, Roemer, a Danish astronomer, observed irregularities in the declinations of the stars which could neither be ascribed to parallax or refraction, and which he imagined resulted from a changing position of the Earth's axis.

One of the principal causes which baffled astronomers in their endeavours to determine the parallax of the fixed stars was a phenomenon called the 'Aberration of Light,' which was discovered and explained by Bradley in 1727. The peculiar effect of aberration was perceived by him when endeavouring to obtain the parallax of Gamma Draconis.

Owing to the progressive transmission of light, conjointly with the motion of the Earth in her orbit, there results an apparent slight displacement of a star from its true position. The extent of the displacement depends upon the ratio of the velocity of light as compared with the speed of the Earth in her orbit, which is as 10,000 to 1. As a consequence of this, each star describes a small ellipse in the course of a year, the central point of which would indicate the place occupied by the star if the Earth were at rest. The shifting position of the star is very slight, and at the end of a year it returns to its former place.

Prior to the discovery of aberration, astronomers ascribed the apparent displacement of the stars arising from this cause as being due to parallax—a conclusion which led to erroneous results; but after Bradley's discovery this source of error was avoided, and it was found that the parallax of the stars had to be considerably reduced.

Bessel was the first astronomer who merited the high distinction of having determined the first reliable stellar parallax, and by this achievement he was enabled to fathom the profound abyss which separates our solar system from the stars.

Frederick William Bessel was born in 1764 at Minden, in Westphalia. It was his intention to pursue a mercantile career, and he commenced life by becoming apprenticed to a firm of merchants at Bremen. Soon afterwards he accompanied a trading expedition to China and the East Indies, and while on this voyage picked up a good deal of information with regard to many matters which came under his observation. He acquired a knowledge of Spanish and English, and made himself acquainted with the art of navigation. On his return home, Bessel endeavoured to determine the longitude of Bremen. The only appliances which he made use of were a sextant constructed by himself, and a common clock; and yet, with those rude instruments, he successfully accomplished his object. During the next two years he devoted all his spare time to the study of mathematics and astronomy, and, having obtained possession of Harriot's observations of the celebrated comet of 1607—known as Halley's comet—Bessel, after much diligent application and careful calculation, was enabled to deduce from them an orbit, which he assigned to that remarkable body. This meritorious achievement was the means of procuring for him a widely known reputation.

A vacancy for an assistant having occurred at Schroeter's Observatory at Lilienthal, the post was offered to Bessel and accepted by him. Here he remained for four years, and was afterwards appointed Director of the new Prussian Observatory at Koenigsberg, where he pursued his astronomical labours for a period of upwards of thirty years. Bessel directed his energies chiefly to the study of stellar astronomy, and made many observations in determining the number, the exact positions, and proper motions of the stars. He was remarkable for the precision with which he carried out his observations, and for the accuracy which characterised all his calculations.

In 1837 Bessel, by the exercise of his consummate skill, endeavoured to solve a problem which for many years baffled the efforts of the ablest astronomers, viz., the determination of the parallax of the fixed stars. This had been so frequently attempted, and without success, that the results of any new observations were received with incredulity before their value could be ascertained.

Bessel was ably assisted by Joseph Frauenhofer, an eminent optician of Munich, who constructed a magnificent heliometer for the Observatory at Koenigsberg, and in its design introduced a principle which admirably adapted it for micrometrical measurement.

The star selected by Bessel is a binary known as 61 Cygni, the components being of magnitudes 5.5 and 6 respectively. It has a large proper motion, which led him to conclude that its parallax must be considerable.

This star will always be an object of interest to astronomers, as it was the first of the stellar multitude that revealed to Bessel the secret of its distance.

Bessel commenced his observations in October 1837, and continued them until March 1840. During this time he made 402 measurements, and, before arriving at a conclusive result, carefully considered every imaginable cause of error, and rigorously calculated any inaccuracies that might arise therefrom. Finally, he determined the parallax of the star to be 0''.3483—a result equivalent to a distance about 600,000 times that of the Earth from the Sun. In 1842-43 M. Peters, of the Pulkova Observatory, arrived at an almost similar result, having obtained a parallax of 0''.349; but by more recent observations the parallax of the star has been increased to about half a second.

About the same time that Bessel was occupied with his observation of 61 Cygni, Professor Henderson, of Edinburgh, when in charge of the Observatory at the Cape of Good Hope, directed his attention to Alpha Centauri, one of the brightest stars in the Southern Hemisphere. During 1832-33 he made a series of observations of the star, with the object of ascertaining its mean declination; and, having been informed afterwards of its large proper motion, he resolved to make an endeavour to determine its parallax. This he accomplished after his return to Scotland, having been appointed Astronomer Royal in that country. By an examination of the observations made by him at the Cape, he determined the parallax of Alpha Centauri to be 1''.16, but later astronomers have reduced it to 0''.75.

Professor Henderson's detection of the parallax of Alpha Centauri was communicated to the Astronomical Society two months after Bessel announced his determination of the parallax of 61 Cygni.

The parallax of 61 Cygni assigns to the star a distance of forty billions of miles from the Earth, and that of Alpha Centauri—regarded as the nearest star to our system—a distance of twenty-five billions of miles.

It is utterly beyond the capacity of the human mind to form any adequate conception of those vast distances, even when measured by the velocity with which the ether of space is thrilled into light. Light, which travels twelve millions of miles in a minute, requires 4-1/3 years to cross the abyss which intervenes between Alpha Centauri and the Earth, and from 61 Cygni the period required for light to reach our globe is rather less than double that time.

The parallax of more than a dozen other stars has been determined, and the light passage of a few of the best known is estimated as follows:—Sirius, eight years; Procyon, twelve; Altair, sixteen; Aldebaran, twenty-eight; Capella, thirty; Regulus, thirty-five; Polaris, sixty-three; and Vega, ninety-six years.

It does not always follow that the brightest stars are those situated nearest to our system, though in a general way this may be regarded as correct. The diminishing magnitudes of the stars can be accounted for mainly by their increased distances, rather than by any difference in their intrinsic brilliancy. We should not err by inferring that the most minute stars are also the most remote; the telescope revealing thousands that are invisible to the naked eye. There are, however, exceptions to this general rule, and there are many stars of small magnitude less remote than those whose names have been enumerated, and whose light passage testifies to their profound distances and surpassing magnitude when compared with that of our Sun.

Sirius, 'the leader of the heavenly host,' is distant fifty billions of miles. The orb shines with a brilliancy far surpassing that of the Sun, and greatly exceeds him in mass and dimensions. Arcturus, the bright star in Booetes, whose golden yellow light renders it such a conspicuous object, is so far distant that its measurement gives no reliable parallax; and if we may infer from what little we know of the stars, Arcturus is believed to be the most magnificent and massive orb entering into the structure of that portion of the sidereal system which comes within our cognisance. Judging by its relative size and brightness, this star is ten thousand times more luminous, and may exceed the Sun one million times in volume.

Deneb, in the constellation of the Swan, though a first-magnitude star, possesses no perceptible proper motion or parallax—a circumstance indicative of amazing distance, and magnitude equalling, or surpassing, Arcturus and Sirius.

Canopus, in the constellation Argo, in the Southern Hemisphere, the brightest star in the heavens with the exception of Sirius, possesses no sensible parallax; consequently, its distance is unknown, though it has been estimated that its light passage cannot be less than sixty-five years.

By establishing a mean value for the parallax of stars of different magnitudes, it was believed that an approximation of their distances could be obtained by calculating the time occupied in their light passage. The light period for stars of the first magnitude has been estimated at thirty-six and a half years; this applies to the brightest stars, which are also regarded as the nearest. At the distance indicated by this period, the Sun would shrink to the dimensions of a seventh-magnitude star and become invisible to the naked eye; this of itself affords sufficient proof that the great luminary of our system cannot be regarded as one of the leading orbs of the firmament. Stars of the second magnitude have a mean distance of fifty-eight light years, those of the third magnitude ninety-two years, and so on. M. Peters estimated that light from stars of the sixth magnitude, which are just visible to the naked eye, requires a period of 138 years to accomplish its journey hither; whilst light emitted from the smallest stars visible in large telescopes does not reach the Earth until after the lapse of thousands of years from the time of leaving its source.

The profound distances of the nearest stars by which we are surrounded lead us to consider the isolated position of the solar system in space. A pinnacle of rock, or forsaken raft floating in mid-ocean, is not more distant from the shore than is the Sun from his nearest neighbours. The inconceivable dimensions of the abyss by which the orb and his attendants are surrounded in utter loneliness may be partially comprehended when it is known that light, which travels from the Sun to the Earth—a distance of ninety-three millions of miles—in eight minutes, requires a period of four and a third years to reach us from the nearest fixed star. A sphere having the Sun at its centre and this nearest star at its circumference would have a diameter of upwards of fifty billions of miles; the volume of the orb when compared with the dimensions of this circular vacuity of space is as a small shot to a globe 900 miles in diameter. It has been estimated by Father Secchi that, if a comet when at aphelion were to arrive at a point midway between the Sun and the nearest fixed star, it would require one hundred million years in the accomplishment of its journey thither. And yet the Sun is one of a group of stars which occupy a region of the heavens adjacent to the Milky Way and surrounded by that zone; nor is his isolation greater than that of those stars which are his companions, and who, notwithstanding their profound distance, influence his movements by their gravitational attraction, and in combination with the other stars of the firmament control his destiny.

Ancient astronomers, for the purpose of description, have mapped out the heavens into numerous irregular divisions called 'constellations.' They are of various forms and sizes, according to the configuration of the stars which occupy them, and have been named after different animals, mythological heroes, and other objects which they appear to resemble. In a few instances there does exist a similitude to the object after which a constellation is called; this is evident in the case of Corona Borealis (the Northern Crown), in which there can be seen a conspicuous arrangement of stars resembling a coronet, and in the constellations of the Dolphin and Scorpion, where the stars are so distributed that the forms of those creatures can be readily recognised. There is some slight resemblance to a bear in Ursa Major, and to a lion in Leo, and no great effort of the mind is required to imagine a chair in Cassiopeia, and a giant in Orion; but in the majority of instances it is difficult to perceive any likeness of the object after which a constellation is named, and in many cases there is no resemblance whatever.

The constellations are sixty-seven in number: excluding those of the Zodiac, which have been already mentioned, the constellations of the Northern Hemisphere number twenty-nine. The most important of these are Ursa Major and Minor, Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Cygnus, Lyra, Aquila, Auriga, Draco, Booetes, Hercules, Pegasus, and Corona Borealis.

To an observer of the nocturnal sky the stars appear to be very unequally distributed over the celestial sphere. In some regions they are few in number and of small magnitude, whilst in other parts of the heavens, and especially in the vicinity of the Milky Way, they are present in great numbers and form groups and aggregations of striking appearance and conspicuous brilliancy. On taking a casual glance at the midnight sky on a clear moonless night, one is struck with the apparent countless multitude of the stars; yet this impression of their vast number is deceptive, for not more than two thousand stars are usually visible at one time.

Much, however, depends upon the keenness of vision of the observer, and the transparency of the atmosphere. Argelander counted at Bonn more than 3,000 stars, and Hozeau, near the equator, where all the stars of the sphere successively appear in view, enumerated 6,000 stars. This number may be regarded as including all the stars in the heavens that are visible to the naked eye. With the aid of an opera glass thousands of stars can be seen that are imperceptible to ordinary vision. Argelander, with a small telescope of 2-1/2 inches aperture, was able to count 234,000 stars in the Northern Hemisphere. Large telescopes reveal multitudes of stars utterly beyond the power of enumeration, nor do they appear to diminish in number as depth after depth of space is penetrated by powerful instruments. The star-population of the heavens has been reckoned at 100,000,000, but this estimate is merely an assumption; recent discoveries made by means of stellar photography indicate that the stars exist in myriads. It is reasonable to believe that there is a limit to the sidereal universe, but it is impossible to assign its bounds or comprehend the apparently infinite extent of its dimensions.

Scintillation or twinkling of the stars is a property which distinguishes them from the planets. It is due to a disturbed condition of the atmosphere and is most apparent when a star is near the horizon; at the zenith it almost entirely vanishes. Humboldt states that in the clear air of Cumana, in South America, the stars do not twinkle after they reach an elevation of 15 deg. above the horizon. The presence of moisture in the atmosphere intensifies scintillation, and this is usually regarded as a prognostication of rain. White stars twinkle more than red ones. The occurrence of scintillation can be accounted for by the fact that the stars are visible as single points of light which twinkle as a whole, but in the case of the Sun, Moon, and planets, they form discs from which many points of light are emitted; they, therefore, do not scintillate as a whole, for the absence of rays of light from one portion of their surface is compensated by those from other parts of their discs, giving a mean average which creates a steadiness of vision.

The stars are divided into separate classes called 'magnitudes,' by which their relative apparent size and degree of brightness are distinguished. The magnitude of a star does not indicate its mass or dimensions, but its light-giving power, which depends partly upon its size and distance, though mainly upon the intensity of its luminosity. The most conspicuous are termed stars of the first magnitude; there are ten of those in the Northern Hemisphere, and an equal number south of the equator, but they are not all of the same brilliancy. Sirius outshines every other star of the firmament, and Arcturus has no rival in the northern heavens. The names of the first-magnitude stars north of the equator are: Arcturus, Capella, Vega, Betelgeux, Procyon, Aldebaran, Altair, Pollux, Regulus, and Deneb. The next class in order of brightness are called second-magnitude stars; they are fifty or sixty in number, the most important of which is the Pole Star. The stars diminish in luminosity by successive gradations, and when they sink to the sixth magnitude reach the utmost limit at which they appear visible to the naked eye. In great telescopes this classification is carried so low as to include stars of the eighteenth and twentieth magnitudes.

Entering into the structure of the stellar universe we have Single Stars, Double Stars, Triple, Quadruple, and Multiple Stars, Temporary, Periodical, and Variable Stars, Star-groups, Star-clusters, Galaxies, and Nebulae.

SINGLE OR INSULATED STARS include all those orbs sufficiently isolated in space so as not to be perceptibly influenced by the attraction of other similar bodies. They are believed to constitute the centres of planetary systems, and fulfil the purpose for which they were created by dispensing light and heat to the worlds which circle around them.

The Sun is an example of this class of star, and constitutes the centre of the system to which the Earth belongs. Reasoning from analogy, it would be natural to conclude that there are other suns, numberless beyond conception, the centres of systems of revolving worlds, and although we are utterly unable to catch a glimpse of their planetary attendants, even with the aid of the most powerful telescopes, yet they have in a few instances been felt, and have afforded unmistakable indications of their existence.

Since the Sun must be regarded as one of the stellar multitude that people the regions of space, and whose surpassing splendour when contrasted with that of other luminaries can be accounted for by his proximity to us, it would be of interest to ascertain his relative importance when compared with other celestial orbs which may be his peers or his superiors in magnitude and brilliancy.

The Sun is one of a widely scattered group of stars situated in the plane of the Milky Way and surrounded by that zone, and, as a star among the stars, would be included in the constellation of the Centaur.

Although regarded as one of the leading orbs of the firmament, and of supreme importance to us, astronomers are undecided whether to classify the Sun with stars of greater magnitude and brightness, or assign him a position among minor orbs of smaller size. Much uncertainty exists with regard to star magnitudes. This arises from inability on the part of astronomers to ascertain the distances of the vast majority of stars visible to the naked eye, and also on account of inequality in their intrinsic brilliancy. Among the stars there exists an indefinite range of stellar magnitudes. There are many stars known whose dimensions have been ascertained to greatly exceed those of the Sun, and there are others of much smaller size. No approximation of the magnitude of telescopic stars can be arrived at; many of them may rival Sirius, Canopus, and Arcturus, in size and splendour, their apparent minuteness being a consequence of their extreme remoteness. If the Sun were removed a distance in space equal to that of many of the brightest stars, he would in appearance be reduced to a minute point of light or become altogether invisible; and there are other stars, situated at distances still more remote, of which sufficient is known to justify us in arriving at the conclusion that the Sun must be ranked among the minor orbs of the firmament, and that many of the stars surpass him in brilliancy and magnitude.

DOUBLE STARS.—To the unaided eye, these appear as single points of light; but, when observed with a telescope of sufficient magnifying power, their dual nature can be detected.

The first double star discovered was Mizar, the middle star of the three in Ursa Major which form the tail of the bear. The components are of the fourth and fifth magnitudes, of a brilliant white colour, and distant fourteen seconds of arc.

In 1678, Cassini perceived stars which appeared as single points of light when viewed with the naked eye, but when observed with the telescope presented the appearance of being double.

The astronomer Bode, in 1781, published a list of eighty double stars, and, in a few years after, Sir William Herschel discovered several hundreds more of those objects. They are now known to exist in thousands, Mr. Burnham, of the Lick Observatory, having, by his keen perception of vision, contributed more than any other observer to swell their number.

All double stars are not binaries; many of them are known as 'optical doubles'—an impression created by two stars when almost in the same line of vision, and, though apparently near, are situated at a great distance apart and devoid of any physical relationship.

Binary stars consist of two suns which revolve round their common centre of gravity, and form real dual systems.

The close proximity of the components of double stars impressed the minds of some astronomers with the belief that a physical bond of union existed between them. In the interval between 1718 and 1759, Bradley detected a change of 30 deg. in the position angle of the two stars forming Castor, and was very nearly discovering their physical connection.

In 1767, the Rev. John Michell wrote: 'It is highly probable in particular, and next to a certainty in general, that such double stars as appear to consist of two or more stars placed very near together do really consist of stars placed near together and under the influence of some general law.' Afterwards he says: 'It is not improbable that a few years may inform us that some of the great number of double and triple stars which have been observed by Mr. Herschel are systems of bodies revolving about each other.' Christian Mayer, a German astronomer, formed a list of stellar pairs, and announced, in 1776, the supposed discovery of 'satellites' to many of the principal stars. His observations were, however, not exact enough to lead to any useful results, and the existence of his 'planet stars' was at that time derided, and believed to find a place only in his imagination.

The conclusions arrived at by some astronomers with regard to double stars were afterwards confirmed by Herschel, when, by his observation of a change in the relative positions of many of their components, he was able to announce that they form independent systems in mutual revolution, and are controlled by the law of gravitation.

The number of binary stars in active revolution is known to exceed 500; but, besides these, there are doubtless numerous other compound stars which, on account of their extreme remoteness and the close proximity of their components, are irresolvable into pairs by any optical appliances which we possess.

The revolution of two suns in one sphere presents to our observation a scheme of creative design entirely different to the single-star system with which we are familiar—one of a higher and more complex order in the ascending scale of celestial architecture. For, if we assume that around each revolving sun there circles a retinue of planetary worlds, it is obvious that a much more complicated arrangement must exist among the orbs which enter into the formation of such a system than is found among those which gravitate round our Sun.

The common centre of gravity of a binary system is situated on a line between both stars, and distant from each in inverse proportion to their respective masses. When the stars are of equal mass their orbits are of equal dimensions, but when the mass of one star exceeds that of the other, the orbit of the larger star is proportionately diminished as compared with the circumference traversed by the smaller star. When their orbits are circular—a rare occurrence—both stars pursue each other in the same path, and invariably occupy it at diametrically opposite points; nor is it possible for one star to approach the other by the minutest interval of space in any duration of time, so long as the synchronous harmony of their revolution remains undisturbed.



When a pair of suns move in an ellipse, their orbits intersect and are of equal dimensions when the stars are of equal mass, their common centre of gravity being then at a point equidistant from each. Consequently, neither star can approach or recede from this point without the other affecting a similar motion, they must be at periastron and apastron together, and any acceleration or retardation of speed must occur simultaneously with each. Stars of unequal magnitude always maintain a proportionate distance from their common focus, and both simultaneously occupy corresponding parts of their orbits.

The nature of the motions of those distant suns, and the form of the orbits which they traverse, have been investigated by several eminent astronomers, and although the subject is one of much difficulty, on account of their extreme remoteness and the minute angles which have to be dealt with, necessitating the carrying out of very refined observations, yet a considerable amount of information has been obtained with regard to the paths which they pursue in the accomplishment of their revolutions round each other.

The orbits of about sixty stellar pairs have been computed, but only with partial success. Some stars have shown themselves to be totally regardless of theory and computation, and have shot ahead far beyond the limits ascribed to them, whilst others, by the slowness of their motions, have upset the calculations of astronomers as much in the opposite direction. So that out of this number the orbits of not more than half a dozen are satisfactorily known.

The dimensions of stellar orbits are of very varied extent. Some pairs are apparently so close that the best optical means which we possess are incapable of dividing them, whilst others revolve in wide and spacious orbits.

The most marked peculiarity of the orbits of binary stars is their high eccentricity; they are usually much more eccentric than are those of the planets, and in some instances approach in form that of a comet.

The finest binary star in the northern heavens is Castor, the brighter of the two leading stars in the constellation Gemini. The components are of the second and third magnitudes, and over five seconds apart. They are of a brilliant white colour, and form a beautiful object in the telescope.

In 1719 Bradley determined the relative positions of those stars, and on comparing the results obtained by him with recent measurements it was found that they had altered to the extent of 125 deg.. Travelling at the same rate of speed, they will require a period of about 420 years to complete an entire circuit of their orbits. This pace, however, has not been maintained, for, their periastron having occurred in 1750, they travelled more rapidly in the last century than they are doing at present, and, as their orbits are so eccentric that when at apastron the stars are twice as remote from each other as at periastron, they will for the next three and a half centuries continue to slacken their pace, until they shall have reached the most remote points of their orbits, when they will again begin to approach with an increasing velocity; so that the time in which an entire revolution can be accomplished will not be much less than 1,000 years.[8]

As the distance of Castor is unknown, it is impossible to compute the combined mass of its components. They are very remote, their light period being estimated at forty-four years. Castor is doubtless a more massive orb than our Sun, and possesses a higher degree of luminosity.

Alpha Centauri, in the Southern Hemisphere, is the brightest binary, and also the nearest known star in the heavens; its estimated distance being twenty-five billions of miles. Both components equal stars of the first magnitude, and are of a brilliant white colour. Since they were first observed, in 1709, they have completed two revolutions, and are now accomplishing a third. The eccentricity of their orbit approaches in form that of Faye's comet, which travels round the Sun; consequently the stars, when at apastron, are twice their periastron distance. Their period of revolution is about eighty-eight years. The mean radius of their orbit corresponds to a span of 1,000 millions of miles, so that those orbs are sometimes as close to each other as Jupiter is to the Sun, and never so far distant as Uranus.[9] Their combined mass is twice that of the Sun, and the luminosity of each star is slightly greater.

The double star 61 Cygni—one of the nearest to our system—is believed to be a binary the components of which move in an orbit of more spacious dimensions than that of any other known revolving pair. Though they have been under continuous observation since 1753, it is only within the last few years that any orbital motion has been perceived. Some observers are disinclined to admit the accuracy of this statement; whilst others believe that the stars have executed a hyperbolic sweep round their common centre of gravity and are now separating.

The radius of the orbit in which those bodies travel is sixty-five times the distance of the Earth from the Sun; which means that they travel in an orbit twice the width of that of the planet Neptune. It has been estimated that they complete a revolution in about eight centuries. The united mass of the system is about one-half that of the Sun, and in point of luminosity they are much inferior to that orb.

The star 70 Ophiuchi (fig. 3) may be regarded as typical of a binary system. The components are five seconds apart, and of the fourth and sixth magnitudes. Their light period is stated to be twenty years, and the combined mass of the system is nearly three times that of the Sun. The pair travel in an orbit from fourteen to forty-two times the radius of the Earth's orbit; so that when at apastron they are three times as distant from each other as when at periastron. They complete a revolution in eighty-eight years.

The accompanying diagram (fig. 4) is a delineation of the beautiful orbits of the components of Gamma Virginis. These may be described as elongated ellipses. Both stars being of equal mass, their orbits are of equal dimensions, and their common centre of gravity at a point equidistant from each. Any approach to, or recession from this point, must occur simultaneously with each; they must always occupy corresponding parts of their orbits, and be in apastron and at periastron in the same period of time. The ellipse described by this pair is the most eccentric of known binary orbits, and approaches in form the path pursued by Encke's comet round the Sun. These orbs complete a revolution in 180 years, and when in apastron are seventeen times more remote from each other than when at periastron.



From his observation of the motion of Sirius in 1844, Bessel was led to believe that the brilliant orb was accompanied by another body, whose gravitational attraction was responsible for the irregularities observed in the path of the great dog-star when pursuing his journey through space. The elements of this hypothetical body were afterwards computed by Peters and Auwers, and its exact position assigned by Safford in 1861.

On January 31, 1862, Mr. Alvan Clarke, of Cambridgeport, Massachusetts, when engaged in testing a recently constructed telescope of great power, directed it on Sirius, and was enabled by good fortune to discover the companion star at a distance of ten seconds from its primary. Since its discovery, the star has pursued with such precision the theoretical path previously assigned to it that astronomers have had no hesitation in identifying it as the hypothetical body whose existence Bessel had correctly surmised.



The Sirian satellite is a yellow star of the eighth magnitude, and shines with a feeble light when contrasted with the surpassing brilliancy of its neighbour.

Astronomers were for some time in doubt as to whether the uneven motion which characterised the path of Sirius could be ascribed to the attraction of its obscure attendant, which presented such a marked contrast to its primary, and several observers were inclined to believe that the disturbing body still remained undiscovered. When, however, the density of the lesser star became known, it was discovered that, weight for weight, that of Sirius exceeded it only in the proportion of two to one, though as a light-giver the great orb is believed to be 5,000 times more luminous. The Sirian satellite revolves round its primary in about fifty years, and at a distance twenty-eight times that of the Earth from the Sun.

The surpassing brilliancy of Sirius as compared with that of the other stars of the firmament has rendered it at all times an object of interest to observers. The Egyptians worshipped the star as Sothis, and it was believed to be the abode of the soul of Isis. The nations inhabiting the region of the Nile commenced their year with the heliacal rising of Sirius, and its appearance was regarded as a sure forerunner of the rising of the great river, the fertilising flood of which was attributed to the influence of this beautiful star. It is believed that the Mazzaroth in Job is an allusion to this brilliant orb. Among the Romans Sirius was regarded as a star of evil omen; its appearance above the horizon after the summer solstice was believed to be associated with pestilence and fevers, consequent upon the oppressive heat of the season of the year. The dies caniculares, or dog-days, were reckoned to begin twenty days before, and to continue for twenty days after, the heliacal rising of Sirius, the dog-star. During those days a peculiar influence was believed to exist which created diseases in men and madness among dogs. Homer alludes to the star

'whose burning breath Taints the red air with fevers, plagues and death.'

Sirius, which is in Canis Major (one of Orion's hunting dogs), is a far more glorious orb than our Sun. According to recent photometric measurements it emits seventy times the quantity of light, and is three times more massive than the great luminary of our system. At the distance of Sirius (fifty billions of miles) the Sun would shrink to the dimensions of a third-magnitude star, and the light of seventy such stars would be required to equal in appearance the brilliant radiance of the great dog-star. The orb, with his retinue of attendant worlds—some of which are reported as having been seen—is travelling through space with a velocity of not less than 1,000 miles a minute.

An irregularity of motion resembling that of Sirius has been detected with regard to Procyon, the lesser dog-star. But in this case the companion star has not as yet been seen, though a careful search has been made for it with the most powerful of telescopes. Should it be a planetary body, illumined by its primary, its reflected light would not appear visible to us, even if it were much less remote than it is.

We are able only to perceive the effulgence of brilliant suns scattered throughout the regions of space; but besides those, there are doubtless many faintly luminous orbs and opaque bodies of vast dimensions occupying regions unknown to us, but by a knowledge of the existence of which an enlarged conception is conveyed to our minds of the greatness of the universe.

The most rapid of known revolving pairs is Delta Equulei. The components are so close that only the finest instruments can separate them, and this they cannot do at all times. They accomplish a revolution in eleven and a half years. The slowest revolving pair is Zeta Aquarii. The motion of the components is so tardy that to complete a circuit of their orbits they require a period of about sixteen centuries. Other binary stars have had different periods assigned to them; eleven pairs have been computed to revolve round each other in less than fifty years, and fifteen in less than 100 but more than fifty. There are other compound stars whose motions appear to be much more leisurely than those just mentioned, and although no orbital movement has, so far, been detected among them, yet, so vast is the scale upon which the sidereal system is constructed, that thousands of years must elapse before they can have accomplished a revolution of their orbits.

The Pole Star is an optical double, but the components are of very unequal magnitude. The Pole Star itself is of the second magnitude, but its companion is only of the ninth, and on account of its minuteness is regarded as a good test for telescopes of small aperture. Mizar, in the constellation Ursa Major, is a beautiful double star. The components are wide apart, and can be easily observed with a small instrument.

There is a remarkable star in the constellation of the Lyre (Epsilon Lyrae), described as a double double. This object can just be distinguished by a person with keen eyesight as consisting of two stars; when observed with a telescope they appear widely separated, and each star is seen to have a companion, the entire system forming two binary pairs in active revolution. The pair which first cross the meridian complete a revolution in about 2,000 years; the second pair have a more rapid motion, and accomplish it in half that time. The two pairs are believed to be physically connected, and revolve round their common centre of gravity in a period of time not much under one million years.

Cor Caroli, in Canes Venatici, is a pleasing double star, the components being of a pale white and lilac colour.

Albireo, in the constellation of the Swan, is one of the loveliest of double stars. The larger component is of the third magnitude, and of a golden yellow colour; the smaller of the sixth magnitude, and of a sapphire blue.

Epsilon Booetis, known also as Mirac, and called by Admiral Smyth 'Pulcherrima,' on account of its surpassing beauty, is a delicate object of charming appearance. The components of this lovely star are of the third and seventh magnitudes: the primary orange, the secondary sea-green.

The late Mr. R. A. Proctor, in describing a binary star system, writes as follows: 'If we regard a pair of stars as forming a double sun, round which—or, rather, round the common centre of which—other orbs revolve as planets, we are struck by the difference between such a scheme and our own solar system; but we find the difference yet more surprising when we consider the possibility that in some such schemes each component sun may have its own distinct system of dependent worlds. In the former case the ordinary state of things would probably be such that both suns would be above the horizon at the same time, and then, probably, their distinctive peculiarities would only be recognisable when one chanced to pass over the disc of the other, as our Moon passes over the Sun's disc in eclipses. For short intervals of time, however, at rising or setting, one or other would be visible alone; and the phenomena of sunset and sunrise must therefore be very varied, and also exquisitely beautiful, in worlds circling round such double suns. But when each sun has a separate system, even more remarkable relations must be presented. For each system of dependent worlds, besides its own proper sun, must have another sun—less splendid, perhaps (because farther off), but still brighter beyond comparison than our moon at the full. And, according to the position of any planet of either system, there will result for the time being either an interchange of suns, instead of the change from night to day, or else double sunlight during the day, and a corresponding intensified contrast between night and day. Where the two suns are very unequal or very differently coloured, or where the orbital path of each is very eccentric, so that they are sometimes close together and at others far apart, the varieties in the worlds circling round either, or around the common centre of both, must be yet more remarkable. "It must be confessed," we may well say with Sir John Herschel, "that we have here a strangely wide and novel field for speculative excursions, and one which it is not easy to avoid luxuriating in."'