The two transits to which Halley's memorable researches referred occurred in the years 1761 and 1769. The results of the first were not very successful, in spite of the arduous labours of those who undertook the observations. The transit of 1769 is of particular interest, not only for the determination of the sun's distance, but also because it gave rise to the first of the celebrated voyages of Captain Cook. It was to see the transit of Venus that Captain Cook was commissioned to sail to Otaheite, and there, on the 3rd of June, on a splendid day in that exquisite climate, the phenomenon was carefully observed and measured by different observers. Simultaneously with these observations others were obtained in Europe and elsewhere, and from the combination of all the observations an approximate knowledge of the sun's distance was gained. The most complete discussion of these observations did not, however, take place for some time. It was not until the year 1824 that the illustrious Encke computed the distance of the sun, and gave as the definite result 95,000,000 miles.

For many years this number was invariably adopted, and many of the present generation will remember how they were taught in their school-days that the sun was 95,000,000 miles away. At length doubts began to be whispered as to the accuracy of this result. The doubts arose in different quarters, and were presented with different degrees of importance; but they all pointed in one direction, they all indicated that the distance of the sun was not really so great as the result which Encke had obtained. It must be remembered that there are several ways of finding the distance of the sun, and it will be our duty to allude to some other methods later on. It has been ascertained that the result obtained by Encke from the observations made in 1761 and 1769, with instruments inferior to our modern ones, was too great, and that the distance of the sun may probably be now stated at 92,000,000 miles.

I venture to record our personal experience of the last transit of Venus, which we had the good fortune to view from Dunsink Observatory on the afternoon of the 6th of December, 1882.

The morning of the eventful day appeared to be about as unfavourable for a grand astronomical spectacle as could well be imagined. Snow, a couple of inches thick, covered the ground, and more was falling, with but little intermission, all the forenoon. It seemed almost hopeless that a view of the phenomenon could be obtained from that observatory; but it is well in such cases to bear in mind the injunction given to the observers on a celebrated eclipse expedition. They were instructed, no matter what the day should be like, that they were to make all their preparations precisely as they would have done were the sun shining with undimmed splendour. By this advice no doubt many observers have profited; and we acted upon it with very considerable success.

There were at that time at the observatory two equatorials, one of them an old, but tolerably good, instrument, of about six inches aperture; the other the great South equatorial, of twelve inches aperture, already referred to. At eleven o'clock the day looked worse than ever; but we at once proceeded to make all ready. I stationed Mr. Rambaut at the small equatorial, while I myself took charge of the South instrument. The snow was still falling when the domes were opened; but, according to our prearranged scheme, the telescopes were directed, not indeed upon the sun, but to the place where we knew the sun was, and the clockwork was set in motion which carried round the telescopes, still constantly pointing towards the invisible sun. The predicted time of the transit had not yet arrived.

The eye-piece employed on the South equatorial must also receive a brief notice. It will, of course, be obvious that the full glare of the sun has to be greatly mitigated before the eye can view it with impunity. The light from the sun falls upon a piece of transparent glass inclined at a certain angle, and the chief portion of the sun's heat, as well as a certain amount of its light, pass through the glass and are lost. A certain fraction of the light is, however, reflected from the glass, and enters the eye-piece. This light is already much reduced in intensity, but it undergoes as much further reduction as we please by an ingenious contrivance. The glass which reflects the light does so at what is called the polarising angle, and between the eye-piece and the eye is a plate of tourmaline. This plate of tourmaline can be turned round by the observer. In one position it hardly interferes with the polarised light at all, while in the position at right angles thereto it cuts off nearly the whole of it. By simply adjusting the position of the tourmaline, the observer has it in his power to render the image of any brightness that may be convenient, and thus the observations of the sun can be conducted with the appropriate degree of illumination.

But such appliances seemed on this occasion to be a mere mockery. The tourmaline was all ready, but up to one o'clock not a trace of the sun could be seen. Shortly after one o'clock, however, we noticed that the day was getting lighter; and, on looking to the north, whence the wind and the snow were coming, we saw, to our inexpressible delight, that the clouds were clearing. At length, the sky towards the south began to improve, and at last, as the critical moment approached, we could detect the spot where the sun was becoming visible. But the predicted moment arrived and passed, and still the sun had not broken through the clouds, though every moment the certainty that it would do so became more apparent. The external contact was therefore missed. We tried to console ourselves by the reflection that this was not, after all, a very important phase, and hoped that the internal contact would be more successful.

At length the struggling beams pierced the obstruction, and I saw the round, sharp disc of the sun in the finder, and eagerly glanced at the point on which attention was concentrated. Some minutes had now elapsed since the predicted moment of first contact, and, to my delight, I saw the small notch in the margin of the sun showing that the transit had commenced, and that the planet was then one-third on the sun. But the critical moment had not yet arrived. By the expression "first internal contact" we are to understand the moment when the planet has completely entered on the sun. This first contact was timed to occur twenty-one minutes later than the external contact already referred to. But the clouds again disappointed our hope of seeing the internal contact. While steadily looking at the exquisitely beautiful sight of the gradual advance of the planet, I became aware that there were other objects besides Venus between me and the sun. They were the snowflakes, which again began to fall rapidly. I must admit the phenomenon was singularly beautiful. The telescopic effect of a snowstorm with the sun as a background I had never before seen. It reminded me of the golden rain which is sometimes seen falling from a flight of sky-rockets during pyrotechnic displays; I would gladly have dispensed with the spectacle, for it necessarily followed that the sun and Venus again disappeared from view. The clouds gathered, the snowstorm descended as heavily as ever, and we hardly dared to hope that we should see anything more; 1 hr. 57 min. came and passed, the first internal contact was over, and Venus had fully entered on the sun. We had only obtained a brief view, and we had not yet been able to make any measurements or other observations that could be of service. Still, to have seen even a part of a transit of Venus is an event to remember for a lifetime, and we felt more delight than can be easily expressed at even this slight gleam of success.

But better things were in store. My assistant came over with the report that he had also been successful in seeing Venus in the same phase as I had. We both resumed our posts, and at half-past two the clouds began to disperse, and the prospect of seeing the sun began to improve. It was now no question of the observations of contact. Venus by this time was well on the sun, and we therefore prepared to make observations with the micrometer attached to the eye-piece. The clouds at length dispersed, and at this time Venus had so completely entered on the sun that the distance from the edge of the planet to the edge of the sun was about twice the diameter of the planet. We measured the distance of the inner edge of Venus from the nearest limb of the sun. These observations were repeated as frequently as possible, but it should be added that they were only made with very considerable difficulty. The sun was now very low, and the edges of the sun and of Venus were by no means of that steady character which is suitable for micrometrical measurement. The margin of the luminary was quivering, and Venus, though no doubt it was sometimes circular, was very often distorted to such a degree as to make the measures very uncertain.

We succeeded in obtaining sixteen measures altogether; but the sun was now getting low, the clouds began again to interfere, and we saw that the pursuit of the transit must be left to the thousands of astronomers in happier climes who had been eagerly awaiting it. But before the phenomena had ceased I spared a few minutes from the somewhat mechanical work at the micrometer to take a view of the transit in the more picturesque form which the large field of the finder presented. The sun was already beginning to put on the ruddy hues of sunset, and there, far in on its face, was the sharp, round, black disc of Venus. It was then easy to sympathise with the supreme joy of Horrocks, when, in 1639, he for the first time witnessed this spectacle. The intrinsic interest of the phenomenon, its rarity, the fulfilment of the prediction, the noble problem which the transit of Venus helps us to solve, are all present to our thoughts when we look at this pleasing picture, a repetition of which will not occur again until the flowers are blooming in the June of A.D. 2004.

The occasion of a transit of Venus also affords an opportunity of studying the physical nature of the planet, and we may here briefly indicate the results that have been obtained. In the first place, a transit will throw some light on the question as to whether Venus is accompanied by a satellite. If Venus were attended by a small body in close proximity, it would be conceivable that in ordinary circumstances the brilliancy of the planet would obliterate the feeble beam of rays from the minute companion, and thus the satellite would remain undiscovered. It was therefore a matter of great interest to scrutinise the vicinity of the planet while in the act of transit. If a satellite existed—and the existence of one or more of such bodies has often been suspected—then it would be capable of detection against the brilliant background of the sun. Special attention was directed to this point during the recent transits, but no satellite of Venus was to be found. It seems, therefore, to be very unlikely that Venus can be attended by any companion globe of appreciable dimensions.

The observations directed to the investigation of the atmosphere surrounding Venus have been more successful. If the planet were devoid of an atmosphere, then it would be totally invisible just before commencing to enter on the sun, and would relapse into total invisibility as soon as it had left the sun. The observations made during the transits are not in conformity with such suppositions. Special attention has been directed to this point during the recent transits. The result has been very remarkable, and has proved in the most conclusive manner the existence of an atmosphere around Venus. As the planet gradually moved off the sun, the circular edge of the planet extending out into the darkness was seen to be bounded by a circular arc of light, and Dr. Copeland, who observed this transit in very favourable circumstances, was actually able to follow the planet until it had passed entirely away from the sun, at which time the globe, though itself invisible, was distinctly marked by the girdle of light by which it was surrounded. This luminous circle is inexplicable save by the supposition that the globe of Venus is surrounded by an atmospheric shell in the same way as the earth.

It may be asked, what is the advantage of devoting so much time and labour to a celestial phenomenon like the transit of Venus which has so little bearing on practical affairs? What does it matter whether the sun be 95,000,000 miles off, or whether it be only 93,000,000, or any other distance? We must admit at once that the enquiry has but a slender bearing on matters of practical utility. No doubt a fanciful person might contend that to compute our nautical almanacs with perfect accuracy we require a precise knowledge of the distance of the sun. Our vast commerce depends on skilful navigation, and one factor necessary for success is the reliability of the "Nautical Almanac." The increased perfection of the almanac must therefore bear some relation to increased perfection in navigation. Now, as good authorities tell us that in running for a harbour on a tempestuous night, or in other critical emergencies, even a yard of sea-room is often of great consequence, so it may conceivably happen that to the infinitesimal influence of the transit of Venus on the "Nautical Almanac" is due the safety of a gallant vessel.

But the time, the labour, and the money expended in observing the transit of Venus are really to be defended on quite different grounds. We see in it a fruitful source of information. It tells us the distance of the sun, which is the foundation of all the great measurements of the universe. It gratifies the intellectual curiosity of man by a view of the true dimensions of the majestic solar system, in which the earth is seen to play a dignified, though still subordinate, part; and it leads us to a conception of the stupendous scale on which the universe is constructed.

It is not possible for us, with a due regard to the limits of this volume, to protract any longer our discussion of the transit of Venus. When we begin to study the details of the observations, we are immediately confronted with a multitude of technical and intricate matters. Unfortunately, there are very great difficulties in making the observations with the necessary precision. The moments when Venus enters on and leaves the solar disc cannot be very accurately observed, partly owing to a peculiar optical illusion known as "the black drop," whereby Venus seems to cling to the sun's limb for many seconds, partly owing to the influence of the planet's atmosphere, which helps to make the observed time of contact uncertain. These circumstances make it difficult to determine the distance of the sun from observations of transits of Venus with the accuracy which modern science requires. It seems therefore likely that the final determination of the sun's distance will be obtained in quite a different manner. This will be explained in Chapter XI., and hence we feel the less reluctance in passing any from the consideration of the transit of Venus as a method of celestial surveying.

We must now close our description of this lovely planet; but before doing so, let us add—or in some cases repeat—a few statistical facts as to the size and the dimensions of the planet and its orbit.

The diameter of Venus is about 7,660 miles, and the planet shows no measurable departure from the globular form, though we can hardly doubt that its polar diameter must really be somewhat shorter than the equatorial diameter. This diameter is only about 258 miles less than that of the earth. The mass of Venus is about three-quarters of the mass of the earth; or if, as is more usual, we compare the mass of Venus with the sun, it is to be represented by the fraction 1 divided by 425,000. It is to be observed that the mass of Venus is not quite so great in comparison with its bulk as might have been expected. The density of this planet is about 0.850 of that of the earth. Venus would weigh 4.81 times as much as a globe of water of equal size. The gravitation at its surface will, to a slight extent, be less than the gravitation at the surface of the earth. A body here falls sixteen feet in a second; a body let fall at the surface of Venus would fall about three feet less. It seems not unlikely that the time of rotation of Venus may be equal to the period of its revolution around the sun.

The orbit of Venus is remarkable for the close approach which it makes to a circle. The greatest distance of this planet from the sun does not exceed the least distance by one per cent. Its mean distance from the sun is about 67,000,000 miles, and the movement in the orbit amounts to a mean velocity of nearly 22 miles per second, the entire journey being accomplished in 224.70 days.



CHAPTER IX.

THE EARTH.

The Earth is a great Globe—How the Size of the Earth is Measured—The Base Line—The Latitude found by the Elevation of the Pole—A Degree of the Meridian—The Earth not a Sphere—The Pendulum Experiment—Is the Motion of the Earth slow or fast?—Coincidence of the Axis of Rotation and the Axis of Figure—The Existence of Heat in the Earth—The Earth once in a Soft Condition—Effects of Centrifugal Force—Comparison with the Sun and Jupiter—The Protuberance of the Equator—The Weighing of the Earth—Comparison between the Weight of the Earth and an equal Globe of Water—Comparison of the Earth with a Leaden Globe—The Pendulum—Use of the Pendulum in Measuring the Intensity of Gravitation—The Principle of Isochronism—Shape of the Earth measured by the Pendulum.

That the earth must be a round body is a truth immediately suggested by simple astronomical considerations. The sun is round, the moon is round, and telescopes show that the planets are round. No doubt comets are not round, but then a comet seems to be in no sense a solid body. We can see right through one of these frail objects, and its weight is too small for our methods of measurement to appreciate. If, then, all the solid bodies we can see are round globes, is it not likely that the earth is a globe also? But we have far more direct information than mere surmise.

There is no better way of actually seeing that the surface of the ocean is curved than by watching a distant ship on the open sea. When the ship is a long way off and is still receding, its hull will gradually disappear, while the masts will remain visible. On a fine summer's day we can often see the top of the funnel of a steamer appearing above the sea, while the body of the steamer is below. To see this best the eye should be brought as close as possible to the surface of the sea. If the sea were perfectly flat, there would be nothing to obscure the body of the vessel, and it would therefore be visible so long as the funnel remains visible. If the sea be really curved, the protuberant part intercepts the view of the hull, while the funnel is still to be seen.

We thus learn how the sea is curved at every part, and therefore it is natural to suppose that the earth is a sphere. When we make more careful measurements we find that the globe is not perfectly round. It is flattened to some extent at each of the poles. This may be easily illustrated by an indiarubber ball, which can be compressed on two opposite sides so as to bulge out at the centre. The earth is similarly flattened at the poles, and bulged out at the equator. The divergence of the earth from the truly globular form is, however, not very great, and would not be noticed without very careful measurements.

The determination of the size of the earth involves operations of no little delicacy. Very much skill and very much labour have been devoted to the work, and the dimensions of the earth are known with a high degree of accuracy, though perhaps not with all the precision that we may ultimately hope to attain. The scientific importance of an accurate measurement of the earth can hardly be over-estimated. The radius of the earth is itself the unit in which many other astronomical magnitudes are expressed. For example, when observations are made with the view of finding the distance of the moon, the observations, when discussed and reduced, tell us that the distance of the moon is equal to fifty-nine times the equatorial radius of the earth. If we want to find the distance of the moon in miles, we require to know the number of miles in the earth's radius.

A level part of the earth's surface having been chosen, a line a few miles long is measured. This is called the base, and as all the subsequent measures depend ultimately on the base, it is necessary that this measurement shall be made with scrupulous accuracy. To measure a line four or five miles long with such precision as to exclude any errors greater than a few inches demands the most minute precautions. We do not now enter upon a description of the operations that are necessary. It is a most laborious piece of work, and many ponderous volumes have been devoted to the discussion of the results. But when a few base lines have been obtained in different places on the earth's surface, the measuring rods are to be laid aside, and the subsequent task of the survey of the earth is to be conducted by the measurement of angles from one station to another and trigonometrical calculations based thereon. Starting from a base line a few miles long, distances of greater length are calculated, until at length stretches 100 miles long, or even more, can be accomplished. It is thus possible to find the length of a long line running due north and south.

So far the work has been merely that of the terrestrial surveyor. The distance thus ascertained is handed over to the astronomer to deduce from it the dimensions of the earth. The astronomer fixes his observatory at the northern end of the long line, and proceeds to determine his latitude by observation. There are various ways by which this can be accomplished. They will be found fully described in works on practical astronomy. We shall here only indicate in a very brief manner the principle on which such observations are to be made.

Everyone ought to be familiar with the Pole Star, which, though by no means the most brilliant, is probably the most important star in the whole heavens. In these latitudes we are accustomed to find the Pole Star at a considerable elevation, and there we can invariably find it, always in the same place in the northern sky. But suppose we start on a voyage to the southern hemisphere: as we approach the equator we find, night after night, the Pole Star coming closer to the horizon. At the equator it is on the horizon; while if we cross the line, we find on entering the southern hemisphere that this useful celestial body has become invisible. This is in itself sufficient to show us that the earth cannot be the flat surface that untutored experience seems to indicate.

On the other hand, a traveller leaving England for Norway observes that the Pole Star is every night higher in the heavens than he has been accustomed to see it. If he extend his journey farther north, the same object will gradually rise higher and higher, until at length, when approaching the pole of the earth, the Pole Star is high up over his head. We are thus led to perceive that the higher our latitude, the higher, in general, is the elevation of the Pole Star. But we cannot use precise language until we replace the twinkling point by the pole of the heavens itself. The pole of the heavens is near the Pole Star, which itself revolves around the pole of the heavens, as all the other stars do, once every day. The circle described by the Pole Star is, however, so small that, unless we give it special attention, the motion will not be perceived. The true pole is not a visible point, but it is capable of being accurately defined, and it enables us to state with the utmost precision the relation between the pole and the latitude. The statement is, that the elevation of the pole above the horizon is equal to the latitude of the place.

The astronomer stationed at one end of the long line measures the elevation of the pole above the horizon. This is an operation of some delicacy. In the first place, as the pole is invisible, he has to obtain its position indirectly. He measures the altitude of the Pole Star when that altitude is greatest, and repeats the operation twelve hours later, when the altitude of the Pole Star is least; the mean between the two, when corrected in various ways which it is not necessary for us now to discuss, gives the true altitude of the pole. Suffice it to say that by such operations the latitude of one end of the line is determined. The astronomer then, with all his equipment of instruments, moves to the other end of the line. He there repeats the process, and he finds that the pole has now a different elevation, corresponding to the different latitude. The difference of the two elevations thus gives him an accurate measure of the number of degrees and fractional parts of a degree between the latitudes of the two stations. This can be compared with the actual distance in miles between the two stations, which has been ascertained by the trigonometrical survey. A simple calculation will then show the number of miles and fractional parts of a mile corresponding to one degree of latitude—or, as it is more usually expressed, the length of a degree of the meridian.

This operation has to be repeated in different parts of the earth—in the northern hemisphere and in the southern, in high latitudes and in low. If the sea-level over the entire earth were a perfect sphere, an important consequence would follow—the length of a degree of the meridian would be everywhere the same. It would be the same in Peru as in Sweden, the same in India as in England. But the lengths of the degrees are not all the same, and hence we learn that our earth is not really a sphere. The measured lengths of the degrees enable us to see to what extent the shape of the earth departs from a perfect sphere. Near the pole the length of a degree is longer than near the equator. This shows that the earth is flattened at the poles and protuberant at the equator, and it provides the means by which we may calculate the actual lengths of the polar and the equatorial axes. In this way the equatorial diameter has been found equal to 7,927 miles, while the polar diameter is 27 miles shorter.

The polar axis of the earth may be defined as the diameter about which the earth rotates. This axis intersects the surface at the north and south poles. The time which the earth occupies in making a complete rotation around this axis is called a sidereal day. The sidereal day is a little shorter than the ordinary day, being only 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 4 seconds. The rotation is performed just as if a rigid axis passed through the centre of the earth; or, to use the old and homely illustration, the earth rotates just as a ball of worsted may be made to rotate around a knitting-needle thrust through its centre.

It is a noteworthy circumstance that the axis about which the earth rotates occupies a position identical with that of the shortest diameter of the earth as found by actual surveying. This is a coincidence which would be utterly inconceivable if the shape of the earth was not in some way physically connected with the fact that the earth is rotating. What connection can then be traced? Let us enquire into the subject, and we shall find that the shape of the earth is a consequence of its rotation.

The earth at the present time is subject, at various localities, to occasional volcanic outbreaks. The phenomena of such eruptions, the allied occurrence of earthquakes, the well-known fact that the heat increases the deeper we descend into the earth, the existence of hot springs, the geysers found in Iceland and elsewhere, all testify to the fact that heat exists in the interior of the earth. Whether that heat be, as some suppose, universal in the interior of the earth, or whether it be merely local at the several places where its manifestations are felt, is a matter which need not now concern us. All that is necessary for our present purpose is the admission that heat is present to some extent.

This internal heat, be it much or little, has obviously a different origin from the heat which we know on the surface. The heat we enjoy is derived from the sun. The internal heat cannot have been derived from the sun; its intensity is far too great, and there are other insuperable difficulties attending the supposition that it has come from the sun. Where, then, has this heat come from? This is a question which at present we can hardly answer—nor, indeed, does it much concern our argument that we should answer it. The fact being admitted that the heat is there, all that we require is to apply one or two of the well-known thermal laws to the interpretation of the facts. We have first to consider the general principle by which heat tends to diffuse itself and spread away from its original source. The heat, deep-seated in the interior of the earth, is transmitted through the superincumbent rocks, and slowly reaches the surface. It is true that the rocks and materials with which our earth is covered are not good conductors of heat; most of them are, indeed, extremely inefficient in this way; but, good or bad, they are in some shape conductors, and through them the heat must creep to the surface.

It cannot be urged against this conclusion that we do not feel this heat. A few feet of brickwork will so confine the heat of a mighty blast furnace that but little will escape through the bricks; but some heat does escape, and the bricks have never been made, and never could be made, which would absolutely intercept all the heat. If a few feet of brickwork can thus nearly mask the heat of a furnace, cannot some scores of miles of rock nearly mask the heat in the depths of the earth, even though that heat were seven times hotter than the mightiest furnace that ever existed? The heat would escape slowly, and perhaps imperceptibly, but, unless all our knowledge of nature is a delusion, no rocks, however thick, can prevent, in the course of time, the leakage of the heat to the surface. When this heat arrives at the surface of the earth it must, in virtue of another thermal law, gradually radiate away and be lost to the earth.

It would lead us too far to discuss fully the objections which may perhaps be raised against what we have here stated. It is often said that the heat in the interior of the earth is being produced by chemical combination or by mechanical process, and thus that the heat may be constantly renewed as fast or even faster than it escapes. This, however, is more a difference in form than in substance. If heat be produced in the way just supposed (and there can be no doubt that there may be such an origin for some of the heat in the interior of the globe) there must be a certain expenditure of chemical or mechanical energies that produces a certain exhaustion. For every unit of heat which escapes there will either be a loss of an unit of heat from the globe, or, what comes nearly to the same thing, a loss of an unit of heat-making power from the chemical or the mechanical energies. The substantial result is the same; the heat, actual or potential, of the earth must be decreasing. It should, of course, be observed that a great part of the thermal losses experienced by the earth is of an obvious character, and not dependent upon the slow processes of conduction. Each outburst of a volcano discharges a stupendous quantity of heat, which disappears very speedily from the earth; while in the hot springs found in so many places there is a perennial discharge of the same kind, which in the course of years attains enormous proportions.

The earth is thus losing heat, while it never acquires any fresh supplies of the same kind to replace the losses. The consequence is obvious; the interior of the earth must be growing colder. No doubt this is an extremely slow process; the life of an individual, the life of a nation, perhaps the life of the human race itself, has not been long enough to witness any pronounced change in the store of terrestrial heat. But the law is inevitable, and though the decline in heat may be slow, yet it is continuous, and in the lapse of ages must necessarily produce great and important results.

It is not our present purpose to offer any forecast as to the changes which must necessarily arise from this process. We wish at present rather to look back into past time and see what consequences we may legitimately infer. Such intervals of time as we are familiar with in ordinary life, or even in ordinary history, are for our present purpose quite inappreciable. As our earth is daily losing internal heat, or the equivalent of heat, it must have contained more heat yesterday than it does to-day, more last year than this year, more twenty years ago than ten years ago. The effect has not been appreciable in historic time; but when we rise from hundreds of years to thousands of years, from thousands of years to hundreds of thousands of years, and from hundreds of thousands of years to millions of years, the effect is not only appreciable, but even of startling magnitude.

There must have been a time when the earth contained much more heat than at present. There must have been a time when the surface of the earth was sensibly hot from this source. We cannot pretend to say how many thousands or millions of years ago this epoch must have been; but we may be sure that earlier still the earth was even hotter, until at length we seem to see the temperature increase to a red heat, from a red heat we look back to a still earlier age when the earth was white hot, back further till we find the surface of our now solid globe was actually molten. We need not push the retrospect any further at present, still less is it necessary for us to attempt to assign the probable origin of that heat. This, it will be observed, is not required in our argument. We find heat now, and we know that heat is being lost every day. From this the conclusion that we have already drawn seems inevitable, and thus we are conducted back to some remote epoch in the abyss of time past when our solid earth was a globe molten and soft throughout.

A dewdrop on the petal of a flower is nearly globular; but it is not quite a globe, because the gravitation presses it against the flower and somewhat distorts the shape. A falling drop of rain is a globe; a drop of oil suspended in a liquid with which it does not mix forms a globe. Passing from small things to great things, let us endeavour to conceive a stupendous globe of molten matter. Let that globe be as large as the earth, and let its materials be so soft as to obey the forces of attraction exerted by each part of the globe on all the other parts. There can be no doubt as to the effect of these attractions; they would tend to smooth down any irregularities on the surface just in the same way as the surface of the ocean is smooth when freed from the disturbing influences of the wind. We might, therefore, expect that our molten globe, isolated from all external interference, would assume the form of a sphere.

But now suppose that this great sphere, which we have hitherto assumed to be at rest, is made to rotate round an axis passing through its centre. We need not suppose that this axis is a material object, nor are we concerned with any supposition as to how the velocity of rotation was caused. We can, however, easily see what the consequence of the rotation would be. The sphere would become deformed, the centrifugal force would make the molten body bulge out at the equator and flatten down at the poles. The greater the velocity of rotation the greater would be the bulging. To each velocity of rotation a certain degree of bulging would be appropriate. The molten earth thus bulged out to an extent which was dependent upon the fact that it turned round once a day. Now suppose that the earth, while still rotating, commences to pass from the liquid to the solid state. The form which the earth would assume on consolidation would, no doubt, be very irregular on the surface; it would be irregular in consequence of the upheavals and the outbursts incident to the transformation of so mighty a mass of matter; but irregular though it be, we can be sure that, on the whole, the form of the earth's surface would coincide with the shape which it had assumed by the movement of rotation. Hence we can explain the protuberant form of the equator of the earth, and we can appeal to that form in corroboration of the view that this globe was once in a soft or molten condition.

The argument may be supported and illustrated by comparing the shape of our earth with the shapes of some of the other celestial bodies. The sun, for instance, seems to be almost a perfect globe. No measures that we can make show that the polar diameter of the sun is shorter than the equatorial diameter. But this is what we might have expected. No doubt the sun is rotating on its axis, and, as it is the rotation that causes the protuberance, why should not the rotation have deformed the sun like the earth? The probability is that a difference really does exist between the two diameters of the sun, but that the difference is too small for us to measure. It is impossible not to connect this with the slowness of the sun's rotation. The sun takes twenty-five days to complete a rotation, and the protuberance appropriate to so low a velocity is not appreciable.

On the other hand, when we look at one of the quickly-rotating planets, we obtain a very different result. Let us take the very striking instance which is presented in the great planet Jupiter. Viewed in the telescope, Jupiter is at once seen not to be a globe. The difference is so conspicuous that accurate measures are not necessary to show that the polar diameter of Jupiter is shorter than the equatorial diameter. The departure of Jupiter from the truly spherical shape is indeed much greater than the departure of the earth. It is impossible not to connect this with the much more rapid rotation of Jupiter. We shall presently have to devote a chapter to the consideration of this splendid orb. We may, however, so far anticipate what we shall then say as to state that the time of Jupiter's rotation is under ten hours, and this notwithstanding the fact that Jupiter is more than one thousand times greater than the earth. His enormously rapid rotation has caused him to bulge out at the equator to a remarkable extent.

The survey of our earth and the measurement of its dimensions having been accomplished, the next operation for the astronomer is the determination of its weight. Here, indeed, is a problem which taxes the resources of science to the very uttermost. Of the interior of the earth we know little—I might almost say we know nothing. No doubt we sink deep mines into the earth. These mines enable us to penetrate half a mile, or even a whole mile, into the depths of the interior. But this is, after all, only a most insignificant attempt to explore the interior of the earth. What is an advance of one mile in comparison with the distance to the centre of the earth? It is only about one four-thousandth part of the whole. Our knowledge of the earth merely reaches to an utterly insignificant depth below the surface, and we have not a conception of what may be the nature of our globe only a few miles below where we are standing. Seeing, then, our almost complete ignorance of the solid contents of the earth, does it not seem a hopeless task to attempt to weigh the entire globe? Yet that problem has been solved, and the result is known—not, indeed, with the accuracy attained in other astronomical researches, but still with tolerable approximation.

It is needless to enunciate the weight of the earth in our ordinary units. The enumeration of billions of tons does not convey any distinct impression. It is a far more natural course to compare the mass of the earth with that of an equal globe of water. We should be prepared to find that our earth was heavier than a like volume of water. The rocks which form its surface are heavier, bulk for bulk, than the oceans which repose on those rocks. The abundance of metals in the earth, the gradual increase in the density of the earth, which must arise from the enormous pressure at great depths—all these considerations will prepare us to learn that the earth is very much heavier than a globe of water of equal size.

Newton supposed that the earth was between five and six times as heavy as an equal bulk of water. Nor is it hard to see that such a suggestion is plausible. The rocks and materials on the surface are usually about two or three times as heavy as water, but the density of the interior must be much greater. There is good reason to believe that down in the remote depths of the earth there is a very large proportion of iron. An iron earth would weigh about seven times as much as an equal globe of water. We are thus led to see that the earth's weight must be probably more than three, and probably less than seven, times an equal globe of water; and hence, in fixing the density between five and six, Newton adopted a result plausible at the moment, and since shown to be probably correct. Several methods have been proposed by which this important question can be solved with accuracy. Of all these methods we shall here only describe one, because it illustrates, in a very remarkable manner, the law of universal gravitation.

In the chapter on Gravitation it was pointed out that the intensity of this force between two masses of moderate dimensions was extremely minute, and the difficulty in weighing the earth arises from this cause. The practical application of the process is encumbered by multitudinous details, which it will be unnecessary for us to consider at present. The principle of the process is simple enough. To give definiteness to our description, let us conceive a large globe about two feet in diameter; and as it is desirable for this globe to be as heavy as possible, let us suppose it to be made of lead. A small globe brought near the large one is attracted by the force of gravitation. The amount of this attraction is extremely small, but, nevertheless, it can be measured by a refined process which renders extremely small forces sensible. The intensity of the attraction depends both on the masses of the globes and on their distance apart, as well as on the force of gravitation. We can also readily measure the attraction of the earth upon the small globe. This is, in fact, nothing more nor less than the weight of the small globe in the ordinary acceptation of the word. We can thus compare the attraction exerted by the leaden globe with the attraction exerted by the earth.

If the centre of the earth and the centre of the leaden globe were at the same distance from the attracted body, then the intensity of their attractions would give at once the ratio of their masses by simple proportion. In this case, however, matters are not so simple: the leaden ball is only distant by a few inches from the attracted ball, while the centre of the earth's attraction is nearly 4,000 miles away at the centre of the earth. Allowance has to be made for this difference, and the attraction of the leaden sphere has to be reduced to what it would be were it removed to a distance of 4,000 miles. This can fortunately be effected by a simple calculation depending upon the general law that the intensity of gravitation varies inversely as the square of the distance. We can thus, partly by calculation and partly by experiment, compare the intensity of the attraction of the leaden sphere with the attraction of the earth. It is known that the attractions are proportional to the masses, so that the comparative masses of the earth and of the leaden sphere have been measured; and it has been ascertained that the earth is about half as heavy as a globe of lead of equal size would be. We may thus state finally that the mass of the earth is about five and a half times as great as the mass of a globe of water equal to it in bulk.

In the chapter on Gravitation we have mentioned the fact that a body let fall near the surface of the earth drops through sixteen feet in the first second. This distance varies slightly at different parts of the earth. If the earth were a perfect sphere, then the attraction would be the same at every part, and the body would fall through the same distance everywhere. The earth is not round, so the distance which the body falls in one second differs slightly at different places. At the pole the radius of the earth is shorter than at the equator, and accordingly the attraction of the earth at the pole is greater than at the equator. Had we accurate measurements showing the distance a body would fall in one second both at the pole and at the equator, we should have the means of ascertaining the shape of the earth.

It is, however, difficult to measure correctly the distance a body will fall in one second. We have, therefore, been obliged to resort to other means for determining the force of attraction of the earth at the equator and other accessible parts of its surface. The methods adopted are founded on the pendulum, which is, perhaps, the simplest and certainly one of the most useful of philosophical instruments. The ideal pendulum is a small and heavy weight suspended from a fixed point by a fine and flexible wire. If we draw the pendulum aside from its vertical position and then release it, the weight will swing to and fro.

For its journey to and fro the pendulum requires a small period of time. It is very remarkable that this period does not depend appreciably on the length of the circular arc through which the pendulum swings. To verify this law we suspend another pendulum beside the first, both being of the same length. If we draw both pendulums aside and then release them, they swing together and return together. This might have been expected. But if we draw one pendulum a great deal to one side, and the other only a little, the two pendulums still swing sympathetically. This, perhaps, would not have been expected. Try it again, with even a still greater difference in the arc of vibration, and still we see the two weights occupy the same time for the swing.

We can vary the experiment in another way. Let us change the weights on the pendulums, so that they are of unequal size, though both of iron. Shall we find any difference in the periods of vibration? We try again: the period is the same as before; swing them through different arcs, large or small, the period is still the same. But it may be said that this is due to the fact that both weights are of the same material. Try it again, using a leaden weight instead of one of the iron weights; the result is identical. Even with a ball of wood the period of oscillation is the same as that of the ball of iron, and this is true no matter what be the arc through which the vibration takes place.

If, however, we change the length of the wire by which the weight is supported, then the period will not remain unchanged. This can be very easily illustrated. Take a short pendulum with a wire only one-fourth of the length of that of the long one; suspend the two close together, and compare the periods of vibration of the short pendulum with that of the long one, and we find that the former has a period only half that of the latter. We may state the result generally, and say that the time of vibration of a pendulum is proportional to the square root of its length. If we quadruple the length of the suspending cord we double the time of its vibration; if we increase the length of the pendulum ninefold, we increase its period of vibration threefold.

It is the gravitation of the earth which makes the pendulum swing. The greater the attraction, the more rapidly will the pendulum oscillate. This may be easily accounted for. If the earth pulls the weight down very vigorously, the time will be short; if the power of the earth's attraction be lessened, then it cannot pull the weight down so quickly, and the period will be lengthened.

The time of vibration of the pendulum can be determined with great accuracy. Let it swing for 10,000 oscillations, and measure the time that these oscillations have consumed. The arc through which the pendulum swings may not have remained quite constant, but this does not appreciably affect the time of its oscillation. Suppose that an error of a second is made in the determination of the time of 10,000 oscillations; this will only entail an error of the ten-thousandth part of the second in the time of a single oscillation, and will afford a correspondingly accurate determination of the force of gravity at the place where the experiment was made.

Take a pendulum to the equator. Let it perform 10,000 oscillations, and determine carefully the time that these oscillations have required. Bring the same pendulum to another part of the earth, and repeat the experiment. We have thus a means of comparing the gravitation at the two places. There are, no doubt, a multitude of precautions to be observed which need not here concern us. It is not necessary to enter into details as to the manner in which the motion of the pendulum is to be sustained, nor as to the effect of changes of temperature in the alteration of its length. It will suffice for us to see how the time of the pendulum's swing can be measured accurately, and how from that measurement the intensity of gravitation can be calculated.

The pendulum thus enables us to make a gravitational survey of the surface of the earth with the highest degree of accuracy. We cannot, however, infer that gravity alone affects the oscillations of the pendulum. We have seen how the earth rotates on its axis, and we have attributed the bulging of the earth at the equator to this influence. But the centrifugal force arising from the rotation has the effect of decreasing the apparent weight of bodies, and the change is greatest at the equator, and lessens gradually as we approach the poles. From this cause alone the attraction of the pendulum at the equator is less than elsewhere, and therefore the oscillations of the pendulum will take a longer time there than at other localities. A part of the apparent change in gravitation is accordingly due to the centrifugal force; but there is, in addition, a real alteration.

In a work on astronomy it does not come within our scope to enter into further detail on the subject of our planet. The surface of the earth, its contour and its oceans, its mountain chains and its rivers, are for the physical geographer; while its rocks and their contents, its volcanoes and its earthquakes, are to be studied by the geologists and the physicists.



CHAPTER X.

MARS.

Our nearer Neighbours in the Heavens—Surface of Mars can be Examined in the Telescope—Remarkable Orbit of Mars—Resemblance of Mars to a Star—Meaning of Opposition—The Eccentricity of the Orbit of Mars—Different Oppositions of Mars—Apparent Movements of the Planet—Effect of the Earth's Movement—Measurement of the Distance of Mars—Theoretical Investigation of the Sun's Distance—Drawings of the Planet—Is there Snow on Mars?—The Rotation of the Planet—Gravitation on Mars—Has Mars any Satellites?—Prof. Asaph Hall's great Discovery—The Revolutions of the Satellites—Deimos and Phobos—"Gulliver's Travels."

The special relation in which we stand to one planet of our system has necessitated a somewhat different treatment of that globe from the treatment appropriate to the others. We discussed Mercury and Venus as distant objects known chiefly by telescopic research, and by calculations of which astronomical observations were the foundation. Our knowledge of the earth is of a different character, and attained in a different way. Yet it was necessary for symmetry that we should discuss the earth after the planet Venus, in order to give to the earth its true position in the solar system. But now that the earth has been passed in our outward progress from the sun, we come to the planet Mars; and here again we resume, though in a somewhat modified form, the methods that were appropriate to Venus and to Mercury.

Venus and Mars have, from one point of view, quite peculiar claims on our attention. They are our nearest planetary neighbours, on either side. We may naturally expect to learn more of them than of the other planets farther off. In the case of Venus, however, this anticipation can hardly be realised, for, as we have already pointed out, its dense atmosphere prevents us from making a satisfactory telescopic examination. When we turn to our other planetary neighbour, Mars, we are enabled to learn a good deal with regard to his appearance. Indeed, with the exception of the moon, we are better acquainted with the details of the surface of Mars than with those of any other celestial body.

This beautiful planet offers many features for consideration besides those presented by its physical structure. The orbit of Mars is one of remarkable proportions, and it was by the observations of this orbit that the celebrated laws of Kepler were discovered. During the occasional approaches of Mars to the earth it has been possible to measure its distance with accuracy, and thus another method of finding the sun's distance has arisen which, to say the least, may compete in precision with that afforded by the transit of Venus. It must also be observed that the greatest achievement in pure telescopic research which this century has witnessed was that of the discovery of the satellites of Mars.

To the unaided eye this planet generally appears like a star of the first magnitude. It is usually to be distinguished by its ruddy colour, but the beginner in astronomy cannot rely on its colour only for the identification of Mars. There are several stars nearly, if not quite, as ruddy as this globe. The bright star Aldebaran, the brightest star in the constellation of the Bull, has often been mistaken for the planet. It often resembles Betelgeuze, a brilliant point in the constellation of Orion. Mistakes of this kind will be impossible if the learner has first studied the principal constellations and the more brilliant stars. He will then find great interest in tracing out the positions of the planets, and in watching their ceaseless movements.



The position of each orb can always be ascertained from the almanac. Sometimes the planet will be too near the sun to be visible. It will rise with the sun and set with the sun, and consequently will not be above the horizon during the night. The best time for seeing one of the planets situated like Mars will be during what is called its opposition. This state of things occurs when the earth intervenes directly between the planet and the sun. In this case, the distance from Mars to the earth is less than at any other time. There is also another advantage in viewing Mars during opposition. The planet is then at one side of the earth and the sun at the opposite side, so that when Mars is high in the heavens the sun is directly beneath the earth; in other words, the planet is then at its greatest elevation above the horizon at midnight. Some oppositions of Mars are, however, much more favourable than others. This is distinctly shown in Fig. 48, which represents the orbit of Mars and the orbit of the Earth accurately drawn to scale. It will be seen that while the orbit of the earth is very nearly circular, the orbit of Mars has a very decided degree of eccentricity; indeed, with the exception of the orbit of Mercury, that of Mars has the greatest eccentricity of any orbit of the larger planets in our system.

The value of an opposition of Mars for telescopic purposes will vary greatly according to circumstances. The favourable oppositions will be those which occur as near as possible to the 26th of August. The other extreme will be found in an opposition which occurs near the 22nd of February. In the latter case the distance between the planet and the earth is nearly twice as great as the former. The last opposition which was suitable for the highest class of work took place in the year 1877. Mars was then a magnificent object, and received much, and deserved, attention. The favourable oppositions follow each other at somewhat irregular intervals; the last occurred in the year 1892, and another will take place in the year 1909.

The apparent movements of Mars are by no means simple. We can imagine the embarrassment of the early astronomer who first undertook the task of attempting to decipher these movements. The planet is seen to be a brilliant and conspicuous object. It attracts the astronomer's attention; he looks carefully, and he sees how it lies among the constellations with which he is familiar. A few nights later he observes the same body again; but is it exactly in the same place? He thinks not. He notes more carefully than before the place of the planet. He sees how it is situated with regard to the stars. Again, in a few days, his observations are repeated. There is no longer a trace of doubt about the matter—Mars has decidedly changed his position. It is veritably a wanderer.

Night after night the primitive astronomer is at his post. He notes the changes of Mars. He sees that it is now moving even more rapidly than it was at first. Is it going to complete the circuit of the heavens? The astronomer determines to watch the orb and see whether this surmise is justified. He pursues his task night after night, and at length he begins to think that the body is not moving quite so rapidly as at first. A few nights more, and he is sure of the fact: the planet is moving more slowly. Again a few nights more, and he begins to surmise that the motion may cease; after a short time the motion does cease, and the object seems to rest; but is it going to remain at rest for ever? Has its long journey been finished? For many nights this seems to be the case, but at length the astronomer suspects that the planet must be commencing to move backwards. A few nights more, and the fact is confirmed beyond possibility of doubt, and the extraordinary discovery of the direct and the retrograde movement of Mars has been accomplished.



In the greater part of its journey around the heavens Mars seems to move steadily from the west to the east. It moves backwards, in fact, as the moon moves and as the sun moves. It is only during a comparatively small part of its path that those elaborate movements are accomplished which presented such an enigma to the primitive observer. We show in the adjoining picture (Fig. 49) the track of the actual journey which Mars accomplished in the opposition of 1877. The figure only shows that part of its path which presents the anomalous features; the rest of the orbit is pursued, not indeed with uniform velocity, but with unaltered direction.

This complexity of the apparent movements of Mars seems at first sight fatal to the acceptance of any simple and elementary explanation of the planetary motion. If the motion of Mars were purely elliptic, how, it may well be said, could it perform this extraordinary evolution? The elucidation is to be found in the fact that the earth on which we stand is itself in motion. Even if Mars were at rest, the fact that the earth moves would make the planet appear to move. The apparent movements of Mars are thus combined with the real movements. This circumstance will not embarrass the geometer. He is able to disentangle the true movement of the planet from its association with the apparent movement, and to account completely for the complicated evolutions exhibited by Mars. Could we transfer our point of view from the ever-shifting earth to an immovable standpoint, we should then see that the shape of the orbit of Mars was an ellipse, described around the sun in conformity with the laws which Kepler discovered by observations of this planet.

Mars takes 687 days to travel round the sun, its average distance from that body being 141,500,000 miles. Under the most favourable circumstances the planet, at the time of opposition, may approach the earth to a distance not greater than about 35,500,000 miles. No doubt this seems an enormous distance, when estimated by any standard adapted for terrestrial measurements; it is, however, hardly greater than the distance of Venus when nearest, and it is much less than the distance from the earth to the sun.

We have explained how the form of the solar system is known from Kepler's laws, and how the absolute size of the system and of its various parts can be known when the direct measurement of any one part has been accomplished. A close approach of Mars affords a favourable opportunity for measuring his distance, and thus, in a different way, solving the same problem as that investigated by the transit of Venus. We are thus led a second time to a knowledge of the distance of the sun and the distances of the planets generally, and to many other numerical facts about the solar system.

On the occasion of the opposition of Mars in 1877 a successful attempt was made to apply this refined process to the solution of the problem of celestial measurement. It cannot be said to have been the first occasion on which this method was suggested, or even practically attempted. The observations of 1877 were, however, conducted with such skill and with such minute attention to the necessary precautions as to render them an important contribution to astronomy. Dr. David Gill, now her Majesty's Astronomer at the Cape of Good Hope, undertook a journey to the Island of Ascension for the purpose of observing the parallax of Mars in 1877. On this occasion Mars approached to the earth so closely as to afford an admirable opportunity for the application of the method. Dr. Gill succeeded in obtaining a valuable series of measurements, and from them he concluded the distance of the sun with an accuracy somewhat superior to that attainable by the transit of Venus.

There is yet another method by which Mars can be made to give us information as to the distance of the sun. This method is one of some delicacy, and is interesting from its connection with the loftiest enquiries in mathematical astronomy. It was foreshadowed in the Dynamical theory of Newton, and was wrought to perfection by Le Verrier. It is based upon the great law of gravitation, and is intimately associated with the splendid discoveries in planetary perturbation which form so striking a chapter in modern astronomical discovery.

There is a certain relation between two quantities which at first sight seems quite independent. These quantities are the mass of the earth and the distance of the sun. The distance of the sun bears to a certain distance (which can be calculated when we know the intensity of gravitation at the earth's surface, the size of the earth and the length of the year) the same proportion that the cube root of the sun's mass bears to the cube root of that of the earth. There is no uncertainty about this result, and the consequence is obvious. If we have the means of weighing the earth in comparison with the sun, then the distance of the sun can be immediately deduced. How are we to place our great earth in the weighing scales? This is the problem which Le Verrier has shown us how to solve, and he does so by invoking the aid of the planet Mars.

If Mars in his revolution around the sun were solely swayed by the attraction of the sun, he would, in accordance with the well-known laws of planetary motion, follow for ever the same elliptic path. At the end of one century, or even of many centuries, the shape, the size, and the position of that ellipse would remain unaltered. Fortunately for our present purpose, a disturbance in the orbit of Mars is produced by the earth. Although the mass of our globe is so much less than that of the sun, yet the earth is still large enough to exercise an appreciable attraction on Mars. The ellipse described by the planet is consequently not invariable. The shape of that ellipse and its position gradually change, so that the position of the planet depends to some extent upon the mass of the earth. The place in which the planet is found can be determined by observation; the place which the planet would have had if the earth were absent can be found by calculation. The difference between the two is due to the attraction of the earth, and, when it has been measured, the mass of the earth can be ascertained. The amount of displacement increases from one century to another, but as the rate of growth is small, ancient observations are necessary to enable the measures to be made with accuracy.

A remarkable occurrence which took place more than two centuries ago fortunately enables the place of Mars to be determined with great precision at that date. On the 1st of October, 1672, three independent observers witnessed the occultation of a star in Aquarius by the ruddy planet. The place of the star is known with accuracy, and hence we are provided with the means of indicating the exact point in the heavens occupied by Mars on the day in question. From this result, combined with the modern meridian observations, we learn that the displacement of Mars by the attraction of the earth has, in the lapse of two centuries, grown to about five minutes of arc (294 seconds). It has been maintained that this cannot be erroneous to the extent of more than a second, and hence it would follow that the earth's mass is determined to about one three-hundredth part of its amount. If no other error were present, this would give the sun's distance to about one nine-hundredth part.



Notwithstanding the intrinsic beauty of this method, and the very high auspices under which it has been introduced, it is, we think, at present hardly worthy of reliance in comparison with some of the other methods. As the displacement of Mars, due to the perturbing influence of the earth, goes on increasing continually, it will ultimately attain sufficient magnitude to give a very exact value of the earth's mass, and then this method will give us the distance of the sun with great precision. But interesting and beautiful though this method may be, we must as yet rather regard it as a striking confirmation of the law of gravitation than as affording an accurate means of measuring the sun's distance.



The close approaches of Mars to the earth afford us opportunities for making a careful telescopic scrutiny of his surface. It must not be expected that the details on Mars could be inspected with the same minuteness as those on the moon. Even under the most favourable circumstances, Mars is still more than a hundred times as far as the moon, and, therefore, the features of the planet have to be at least one hundred times as large if they are to be seen as distinctly as the features on the moon. Mars is much smaller than the earth. The diameter of the planet is 4,200 miles, but little more than half that of the earth. Fig. 50 shows the comparative sizes of the two bodies. We here reproduce two of the remarkable drawings[16] of Mars made by Professor William H. Pickering at the Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff A.T. Fig. 51 was taken on the 30th of July, 1894, and Fig. 52 on the 16th of August, 1894.

The southern polar cap on Mars, as seen by Professor William H. Pickering at Lowell Observatory on the 1st of July, 1894, is represented in Fig. 54.[17] The remarkable black mark intruding into the polar area will be noticed. In Fig. 53 are shown a series of unusually marked elevations and depressions upon the "terminator" of the planet, drawn as accurately as possible to scale by the same skilful hand on the 24th of August, 1894.

In making an examination of the planet it is to be observed that it does not, like the moon, always present the same face towards the observer. Mars rotates upon an axis in exactly the same manner as the earth. It is not a little remarkable that the period required by Mars for the completion of one rotation should be only about half an hour greater than the period of rotation of the earth. The exact period is 24 hours, 37 minutes, 22-3/4 seconds. It therefore follows that the aspect of the planet changes from hour to hour. The western side gradually sinks from view, the eastern side gradually assumes prominence. In twelve hours the aspect of the planet is completely changed. These changes, together with the inevitable effects of foreshortening, render it often difficult to correlate the objects on the planet with those on the maps. The latter, it must be confessed, fall short of the maps of the moon in definiteness and in certainty; yet there is no doubt that the main features of the planet are to be regarded as thoroughly established, and some astronomers have given names to all the prominent objects.

The markings on the surface of Mars are of two classes. Some of them are of an iron-grey hue verging on green, while the others are generally dark yellow or orange, occasionally verging on white. The former have usually been supposed to represent the tracts of ocean, the latter the continental masses on the ruddy planet. We possess a great number of drawings of Mars, the earliest being taken in the middle of the seventeenth century. Though these early sketches are very rough, and are not of much value for the solution of questions of topography, they have been found very useful in aiding us to fix the period of rotation of the planet on its axis by comparison with our modern drawings.

Early observers had already noticed that each of the poles of Mars is distinguished by a white spot. It is, however, to William Herschel that we owe the first systematic study of these remarkable polar caps. This illustrious astronomer was rewarded by a very interesting discovery. He found that these arctic tracts on Mars vary both in extent and distinctness with the seasons of the hemisphere on which they are situated. They attain a maximum development from three to six months after the winter solstice on that planet, and then diminish until they are smallest about three to six months after the summer solstice. The analogy with the behaviour of the masses of snow and ice which surround our own poles is complete, and there has until lately been hardly any doubt that the white polar spots of Mars are somewhat similarly constituted.

As the period of revolution of Mars around the sun is so much longer than our year, 687 days instead of 365, the seasons of the planet are, of course, also much longer than the terrestrial seasons. In the northern hemisphere of Mars the summer lasts for no fewer than 381 days, and the winter must be 306 days. In both hemispheres the white polar cap in the course of the long winter season increases until it reaches a diameter of 45 deg. to 50 deg., while the long summer reduces it to a small area only 4 deg. or 5 deg. in diameter. It is remarkable that one of these white regions—that at the south pole—seems not to be concentric with the pole, but is placed so much to one side that the south pole of Mars appears to be quite free from ice or snow once a year.

Although many valuable observations of Mars were made in the course of the nineteenth century, it is only since the very favourable opposition of 1877 that the study of the surface of Mars has made that immense progress which is one of the most remarkable features of modern astronomy. Among the observers who produced valuable drawings of the planet in 1877 we may mention Mr. Green, whose exquisite pictures were published by the Royal Astronomical Society, and Professor Schiaparelli, of Milan, who almost revolutionised our knowledge of this planet. Schiaparelli had a refractor of only eight inches aperture at his disposal, but he was doubtless much favoured by the purity of the Italian sky, which enabled him to detect in the bright portions of the surface of Mars a considerable number of long, narrow lines. To these he gave the name of canals, inasmuch as they issued from the so-called oceans, and could be traced across the reputed continents for considerable distances, which sometimes reached thousands of miles.

The canals seemed to form a kind of network, which connected the various seas with each other. A few of the more conspicuous of these so-called canals appeared indeed on some of the drawings made by Dawes and others before Schiaparelli's time. It was, however, the illustrious Italian astronomer who detected that these narrow lines are present in such great numbers as to form a notable feature of the planet. Some of these remarkable features are shown in Figs. 51 and 52, which are copied from drawings made by Professor William H. Pickering at the Lowell Observatory in 1894.

Great as had been the surprise of astronomers when Schiaparelli first proclaimed the discovery of these numerous canals, it was, perhaps, surpassed by the astonishment with which his announcement was received in 1882 that most of the canals had become double. Between December, 1881, and February, 1882, thirty of these duplications appear to have taken place. Nineteen of these were cases of a well-traced parallel line being formed near a previously existing canal. The remaining canals were less certainly established, or were cases where the two lines did not seem to be quite parallel. A copy of the map of Mars which Schiaparelli formed from his observations of 1881-82 is given in Plate XVIII. It brings out clearly these strange double canals, so unlike any features that we know on any other globe.



Subsequent observations by Schiaparelli and several other observers seem to indicate that this phenomenon of the duplication of the canals is of a periodic character. It is produced about the times when Mars passes through its equinoxes. One of the two parallel lines is often superposed as exactly as possible upon the track of the old canal. It does, however, sometimes happen that both the lines occupy opposite sides of the former canal and are situated on entirely new ground. The distance between the two lines varies from about 360 miles as a maximum down to the smallest limit distinguishable in our large telescopes, which is something less than thirty miles. The breadth of each of these remarkable channels may range from the limits of visibility, say, up to more than sixty miles.

The duplication of the canals is perhaps the most difficult problem which Mars offers to us for solution. Even if we admit that the canals themselves represent inlets or channels through which the melted polar snow makes its way across the equatorial continents, it is not easy to see how the duplicate canals can arise. This is especially true in those cases where the original channel seems to vanish and to be replaced by two quite new canals, each about the breadth of the English Channel, and lying one on each side of the course of the old one. The very obvious explanation that the whole duplication is an optical illusion has been brought forward more than once, but never in a conclusive manner. We must, perhaps, be content to let the solution of this matter rest for the present, in the hope that the extraordinary attention which this planet is now receiving will in due time explain the present enigma.

The markings on the surface of this planet are, generally speaking, of a permanent character, so that when we compare drawings made one or two hundred years ago with drawings made more recently we can recognise in each the same features. This permanence is, however, not nearly so absolute as it is in the case of the moon. In addition to the canals which we have already considered, many other parts of the surface of Mars alter their outlines from time to time. This is particularly the case with those dark spots which we call oceans, the contours of which sometimes undergo modifications in matters of detail which are quite unmistakable. Changes of colour are often observed on parts of the planet, and though some of these observations may perhaps be attributed to the influence of our own atmosphere on the planet's appearance, they cannot be all thus accounted for. Some of the phenomena must certainly be due to actual changes which have taken place on the surface of Mars.

As an example of such changes, we may refer to the north-western part of the notable feature, to which Schiaparelli has given the name of Syrtis major.[18] This has at various times been recorded as grey, green, blue, brown, and even violet. When this region (about the time of the autumnal equinox of the northern hemisphere) is situated in the middle of the visible disc, the eastern part is distinctly greener than the western. As the season progresses this characteristic colour gets feebler, until the green tint is to be perceived only on the shores of the Syrtis. The atmosphere of Mars is usually very transparent, and fortunately allows us to scrutinise the surface of the planet without putting obstacles in the way m the shape of Martian clouds. Such clouds, however, are not invariably absent. Our view of the surface is occasionally obstructed in such a manner as to make it certain that clouds or mist in the atmosphere of Mars must be the cause of the trouble.

Would we form an idea of the physical constitution of the surface of Mars, then the question as to the character of the atmosphere of the planet is among the first to be considered. Spectroscopic observations do not in this case render us much assistance. Of course, we know that the planet has no intrinsic light. It merely shines by reflected sunlight. The hemisphere which is turned towards the sun is bright, and the hemisphere which is turned away from the sun is dark. The spectrum ought, therefore, like that of the moon, to be an exact though faint copy of the solar spectrum, unless the sun's rays, by passing twice through the atmosphere of Mars, suffered some absorption which could give rise to additional dark lines. Some of the earlier observers thought that they could distinctly make out some such lines due, as was supposed, to water vapour. The presence of such lines is, however, denied by Mr. Campbell, of the Lick Observatory, and Professor Keeler, at the Allegheny Observatory,[19] who, with their unrivalled opportunities, both instrumental and climatic, could find no difference between the spectra of Mars and the moon. If Mars had an atmosphere of appreciable extent, its absorptive effect should be noticeable, especially at the limb of the planet; but Mr. Campbell's observations do not show any increased absorption at the limb. It would therefore seem that Mars cannot have an extensive atmosphere, and this conclusion is confirmed in several other ways.

The distinctness with which we see the surface of this planet tends to show that the atmosphere must be very thin as compared with our own. There can hardly be any doubt that an observer on Mars with a good telescope would be unable to distinguish much of the features of the earth's surface. This would be the case not only by reason of the strong absorption of the light during the double passage through our atmosphere, but also on account of the great diffusion of the light caused by this same atmosphere. Also, it is needless to say, the great amount of cloud generally floating over the earth would totally obscure many parts of our planet from a Martian observer. But though, as already mentioned, we occasionally find parts of Mars rendered indistinct, it must be acknowledged that the clouds on Mars are very slight. We should expect that the polar caps, if composed of snow, would, when melting, produce clouds which would more or less hide the polar regions from our inspection; yet nothing of the kind has ever been seen.

We have seen that there are very grave doubts as to the existence of water on Mars. No doubt we have frequently spoken of the dark markings as "oceans" and of the bright parts as "continents." That this language was just has been the opinion of astronomers for a very long time. A few years ago Mr. Schaeberle, of the Lick Observatory, came to the very opposite conclusion. He contended that the dark parts were the continents and the bright ones were the oceans of water, or some other fluid. He pointed to the irregular shading of the dark parts, which does not suggest the idea of light reflected from a spherical surface of water, especially as the contrasts between light and shade are strongest about the middle of the disc.

It is also to be noticed that the dark regions are not infrequently traversed by still darker streaks, which can be traced for hundreds of miles almost in straight lines, while the so-called canals in the bright parts often seem to be continuations of these same lines. Mr. Schaeberle therefore suggests that the canals may be chains of mountains stretching over sea and land! The late Professor Phillips and Mr. H.D. Taylor have pointed out that if there were lakes or seas in the tropical regions of Mars we should frequently see the sun directly reflected from them, thus producing a bright, star-like point which could not escape observation. Even moderately disturbed water would make its presence known in this manner, and yet nothing of the kind has ever been recorded.

On the question as to the possibility of life on Mars a few words may be added. If we could be certain of the existence of water on Mars, then one of the fundamental conditions would be fulfilled; and even though the atmosphere on Mars had but few points of resemblance either in composition or in density to the atmosphere of the earth, life might still be possible. Even if we could suppose that a man would find suitable nutriment for his body and suitable air for his respiration, it seems very doubtful whether he would be able to live. Owing to the small size of Mars and the smallness of its mass in comparison with the earth, the intensity of the gravitation on the neighbouring planet would be different from the attraction on the surface of the earth. We have already alluded to the small gravitation on the moon, and in a lesser degree the same remarks will apply to Mars. A body which weighs on the earth two pounds would on the surface of Mars weigh rather less than one pound. Nearly the same exertion which will raise a 56-lb. weight on the earth would lift two similar weights on Mars.

The earth is attended by one moon. Jupiter is attended by four conspicuous moons. Mars is a planet revolving between the orbits of the earth and of Jupiter. It is a body of the same general type as the earth and Jupiter. It is ruled by the same sun, and all three planets form part of the same system; but as the earth has one moon and Jupiter four moons, why should not Mars also have a moon? No doubt Mars is a small body, less even than the earth, and much less than Jupiter. We could not expect Mars to have large moons, but why should it be unlike its two neighbours, and not have any moon at all? So reasoned astronomers, but until modern times no satellite of Mars could be found. For centuries the planet has been diligently examined with this special object, and as failure after failure came to be recorded, the conclusion seemed almost to be justified that the chain of analogical reasoning had broken down. The moonless Mars was thought to be an exception to the rule that all the great planets outside Venus were dignified by an attendant retinue of satellites. It seemed almost hopeless to begin again a research which had often been tried, and had invariably led to disappointment; yet, fortunately, the present generation has witnessed still one more attack, conducted with perfect equipment and with consummate skill This attempt has obtained the success it so well merited, and the result has been the memorable detection of two satellites of Mars.

This discovery was made by Professor Asaph Hall, the distinguished astronomer at the observatory of Washington. Mr. Hall was provided with an instrument of colossal proportions and of exquisite workmanship, known as the great Washington refractor. It is the product of the celebrated workshop of Messrs. Alvan Clark and Sons, from which so many large telescopes have proceeded, and in its noble proportions far surpassed any other telescope ever devoted to the same research. The object-glass measures twenty-six inches in diameter, and is hardly less remarkable for the perfection of its definition than for its size. But even the skill of Mr. Hall, and the space-penetrating power of his telescope, would not have been able on ordinary occasions to discover the satellites of Mars. Advantage was accordingly taken of that memorable opposition of Mars in 1877, when, as we have already described, the planet came unusually near the earth.

Had Mars been attended by a moon one-hundredth part of the bulk of our moon it must long ago have been discovered. Mr. Hall, therefore, knew that if there were any satellites they must be extremely small bodies, and he braced himself for a severe and diligent search. The circumstances were all favourable. Not only was Mars as near as it well could be to the earth; not only was the great telescope at Washington the most powerful refractor then in existence; but the situation of Washington is such that Mars was seen from the observatory at a high elevation. It was while the British Association were meeting at Plymouth, in 1877, that a telegram flashed across the Atlantic. Brilliant success had rewarded Mr. Hall's efforts. He had hoped to discover one satellite. The discovery of even one would have made the whole scientific world ring; but fortune smiled on Mr. Hall. He discovered first one satellite, and then he discovered a second; and, in connection with these satellites, he further discovered a unique fact in the solar system.

Deimos, the outer of the satellites, revolves around the planet in the period of 30 hours, 17 mins., 54 secs.; it is the inner satellite, Phobos, which has commanded the more special attention of every astronomer in the world. Mars turns round on his axis in a Martial day, which is very nearly the same length as our day of twenty-four hours. The inner satellite of Mars moves round in 7 hours, 39 mins., 14 secs. Phobos, in fact, revolves three times round Mars in the same time that Mars can turn round once. This circumstance is unparalleled in the solar system; indeed, as far as we know, it is unparalleled in the universe. In the case of our own planet, the earth rotates twenty-seven times for one revolution of the moon. To some extent the same may be said of Jupiter and of Saturn; while in the great system of the sun himself and the planets, the sun rotates on his axis several times for each revolution of even the most rapidly moving of the planets. There is no other known case where the satellite revolves around the primary more quickly than the primary rotates on its axis. The anomalous movement of the satellite of Mars has, however, been accounted for. In a subsequent chapter we shall again allude to this, as it is connected with an important department of modern astronomy.

The satellites are so small that we are unable to measure their diameters directly, but from observations of their brightness it is evident that their diameters cannot exceed twenty or thirty miles, and may be even smaller. Owing to their rapid motion the two satellites must present some remarkable peculiarities to an observer on Mars. Phobos rises in the west, passes across the heavens, and sets in the east after about five and a half hours, while Deimos rises in the east and remains more than two days above the horizon.

As the satellites revolve in paths vertically above the equator of their primary, the one less than 4,000 miles and the other only some 14,500 miles above the surface, it follows that they can never be visible from the poles of Mars; indeed, to see Phobos, the observer's planetary latitude must not be above 68-3/4 deg.. If it were so, the satellite would be hidden by the body of Mars, just as we, in the British Islands, would be unable to see an object revolving round the earth a few hundred miles above the equator.

Before passing from the attractive subject of the satellites, we may just mention two points of a literary character. Mr. Hall consulted his classical friends as to the designation to be conferred on the two satellites. Homer was referred to, and a passage in the "Iliad" suggested the names of Deimos and Phobos. These personages were the attendants of Mars, and the lines in which they occur have been thus construed by my friend Professor Tyrrell:—

"Mars spake, and called Dismay and Rout To yoke his steeds, and he did on his harness sheen."

A curious circumstance with respect to the satellites of Mars will be familiar to those who are acquainted with "Gulliver's Travels." The astronomers on board the flying Island of Laputa had, according to Gulliver, keen vision and good telescopes. The traveller says that they had found two satellites to Mars, one of which revolved around him in ten hours, and the other in twenty-one and a half. The author has thus not only made a correct guess about the number of the satellites, but he actually stated the periodic time with considerable accuracy! We do not know what can have suggested the latter guess. A few years ago any astronomer reading the voyage to Laputa would have said this was absurd. There might be two satellites to Mars, no doubt; but to say that one of them revolves in ten hours would be to assert what no one could believe. Yet the truth has been even stranger than the fiction.

And now we must bring to a close our account of this beautiful and interesting planet. There are many additional features over which we are tempted to linger, but so many other bodies claim our attention in the solar system, so many other bodies which exceed Mars in size and intrinsic importance, that we are obliged to desist. Our next step will not, however, at once conduct us to the giant planets. We find outside Mars a host of objects, small indeed, but of much interest; and with these we shall find abundant occupation for the following chapter.



CHAPTER XI.

THE MINOR PLANETS.

The Lesser Members of our System—Bode's Law—The Vacant Region in the Planetary System—The Research—The Discovery of Piazzi—Was the small Body a Planet?—The Planet becomes Invisible—Gauss undertakes the Search by Mathematics—The Planet Recovered—Further Discoveries—Number of Minor Planets now known—The Region to be Searched—The Construction of the Chart for the Search for Small Planets—How a Minor Planet is Discovered—Physical Nature of the Minor Planets—Small Gravitation on the Minor Planets—The Berlin Computations—How the Minor Planets tell us the Distance of the Sun—Accuracy of the Observations—How they may be Multiplied—Victoria and Sappho—The most Perfect Method.

In our chapters on the Sun and Moon, on the Earth and Venus, and on Mercury and Mars, we have been discussing the features and the movements of globes of vast dimensions. The least of all these bodies is the moon, but even that globe is 2,000 miles from one side to the other. In approaching the subject of the minor planets we must be prepared to find objects of dimensions quite inconsiderable in comparison with the great spheres of our system. No doubt these minor planets are all of them some few miles, and some of them a great many miles, in diameter. Were they close to the earth they would be conspicuous, and even splendid, objects; but as they are so distant they do not, even in our greatest telescopes, become very remarkable, while to the unaided eye they are almost all invisible.

In the diagram (p. 234) of the orbits of the various planets, it is shown that a wide space exists between the orbit of Mars and that of Jupiter. It was often surmised that this ample region must be tenanted by some other planet. The presumption became much stronger when a remarkable law was discovered which exhibited, with considerable accuracy, the relative distances of the great planets of our system. Take the series of numbers, 0, 3, 6, 12, 24, 48, 96, whereof each number (except the second) is double of the number which precedes it. If we now add four to each, we have the series 4, 7, 10, 16, 28, 52, 100. With the exception of the fifth of these numbers (28), they are all sensibly proportional to the distances of the various planets from the sun. In fact, the distances are as follows:—Mercury, 3.9; Venus, 7.2; Earth, 10; Mars, 15.2; Jupiter, 52.9; Saturn, 95.4. Although we have no physical reason to offer why this law—generally known as Bode's—should be true, yet the fact that it is so nearly true in the case of all the known planets tempts us to ask whether there may not also be a planet revolving around the sun at the distance represented by 28.

So strongly was this felt at the end of the eighteenth century that some energetic astronomers decided to make a united effort to search for the unknown planet. It seemed certain that the planet could not be a large one, as otherwise it must have been found long ago. If it should exist, then means were required for discriminating between the planet and the hosts of stars strewn along its path.

The search for the small planet was soon rewarded by a success which has rendered the evening of the first day in the nineteenth century memorable in astronomy. It was in the pure skies of Palermo that the observatory was situated where the memorable discovery of the first known minor planet was made by Piazzi. This laborious and accomplished astronomer had organised an ingenious system of exploring the heavens which was eminently calculated to discriminate a planet among the starry host. On a certain night he would select a series of stars to the number of fifty, more or less, according to circumstances. With his meridian circle he determined the places of the chosen objects. The following night, or, at all events, as soon as convenient, he re-observed the whole fifty stars with the same instrument and in the same manner, and the whole operation was afterwards repeated on two, or perhaps more, nights. When the observations were compared together he was in possession of some four or more places of each one of the stars on different nights, and the whole series was complete. He was persevering enough to carry on these observations for very many groups, and at length he was rewarded by a success which amply compensated him for all his toil.

It was on the 1st of January, 1801, that Piazzi commenced for the one hundred and fifty-ninth time to observe a new series. Fifty stars this night were viewed in his telescope, and their places were carefully recorded. Of these objects the first twelve were undoubtedly stellar, and so to all appearance was the thirteenth, a star of the eighth magnitude in the constellation of Taurus. There was nothing to distinguish the telescopic appearance of this object from all the others which preceded or followed it. The following night Piazzi, according to his custom, re-observed the whole fifty stars, and he did the same again on the 3rd of January, and once again on the 4th. He then, as usual, brought together the four places he had found for each of the several bodies. When this was done it was at once seen that the thirteenth object on the list was quite a different body from the remainder and from all the other stars which he had ever observed before. The four places of this mysterious object were all different; in other words, it was in movement, and was therefore a planet.

A few days' observation sufficed to show how this little body, afterwards called Ceres, revolved around the sun, and how it circulated in that vacant path intermediate between the path of Mars and the path of Jupiter. Great, indeed, was the interest aroused by this discovery and the influence which it has exercised on the progress of astronomy. The majestic planets of our system had now to admit a much more humble object to a share of the benefits dispensed by the sun.

After Piazzi had obtained a few further observations, the season for observing this part of the heavens passed away, and the new planet of course ceased to be visible. In a few months, no doubt, the same part of the sky would again be above the horizon after dark, and the stars would of course be seen as before. The planet, however, was moving, and would continue to move, and by the time the next season had arrived it would have passed off into some distant region, and would be again confounded with the stars which it so closely resembled. How, then, was the planet to be pursued through its period of invisibility and identified when it again came within reach of observation?

This difficulty attracted the attention of astronomers, and they sought for some method by which the place of the planet could be recovered so as to prevent Piazzi's discovery from falling into oblivion. A young German mathematician, whose name was Gauss, opened his distinguished career by a successful attempt to solve this problem. A planet, as we have shown, describes an ellipse around the sun, and the sun lies at a focus of that curve. It can be demonstrated that when three positions of a planet are known, then the ellipse in which the planet moves is completely determined. Piazzi had on each occasion measured the place which it then occupied. This information was available to Gauss, and the problem which he had to solve may be thus stated. Knowing the place of the planet on three nights, it is required, without any further observations, to tell what the place of the planet will be on a special occasion some months in the future. Mathematical calculations, based on the laws of Kepler, will enable this problem to be solved, and Gauss succeeded in solving it. Gauss demonstrated that though the telescope of the astronomer was unable to detect the wanderer during its season of invisibility, yet the pen of the mathematician could follow it with unfailing certainty. When, therefore, the progress of the seasons permitted the observations to be renewed, the search was recommenced. The telescope was directed to the point which Gauss's calculations indicated, and there was the little Ceres. Ever since its re-discovery, the planet has been so completely bound in the toils of mathematical reasoning that its place every night of the year can be indicated with a fidelity approaching to that attainable in observing the moon or the great planets of our system.