Chapter II: Part 2

With that base--that is, looking at a star from both sides of our orbit, or at six months’ interval--we could get the two lines crossing one another, and so making an angle. The further the object, the more minute the angle. Only a few of the fixed stars could be observed in this way, as they generally are too far off to give an angle.

I know an equilateral triangle has its three angles equal to two right angles; and with ninety degrees for one right angle, each angle of the triangle will have sixty degrees. But I suppose no star parallax could be one degree.

No; nor a minute, the sixtieth part of one degree. When the object makes an angle of a second, or sixtieth of a minute, from a base line of one hundred and ninety millions of miles, the distance of the star will be about twenty millions of millions of miles.

Is there any star making the second angle?

The _alpha_ of the Centaur is about that, and is one of the nearest of fixed stars.

That the nearest to us, and yet so far! Do tell me the distance of some others.

There is one, 61 Cygni, of the Swan, with one-third of a second; and, therefore, three times the distance of the _alpha_ Centaur. There is a star in the Lyre which is one-fifth of a second. Grand Arcturus is one-eight. The North Polar Star is one-tenth. Pretty Capella, of the Kid, is one-twentieth; that is, twenty times farther back than _a_ Centaur. As it looks one of the brightest stars, it must be very large.

What of old Sirius?

The angle he makes with our orbit diameter is one-fourth of a second; so that he is about 80,000,000,000,000 miles.

Thank you, dear father, for these terrible long figures.

Their great distance may give us a good guess of their great size.

I know the size of the sun to be half-a-degree in the heavens, at a distance of ninety-five millions of miles, and yet it is really eight hundred and eighty-six thousand miles diameter, I have been told. When, then, a star is millions of millions of miles away, I am sure it must be a big one to be seen at all.

It is so. If the sun were thrust back as far as the star _a_ Centaur, it is calculated that it would not shine with more than one-third of the light that star now gives us; it must, therefore, be not more than one-third its size.

But you said Sirius was four times farther off than the Centaur, father.

Yes; and it gives four times as much light. It is, then, probably four times as large. It must be, therefore, many times larger than the sun.

I am sure it ought to have more planets turning round it than the sun has, or else have them much larger in size.”

CONSTELLATIONS.

It was a calm, still, moonless night, which closed in with raven wings a glorious sunset in the South Atlantic ocean. The gay clouds, in brilliant dress, that hung about the sun as he glowed to his evening rest, had gradually changed their garments for those of more sombre hues; and then, as gradually, had changed from mountain shapes to feathery forms, till softening night dissolved them into invisible vapour.

The stars came stealthily forth; a few bolder ones rushing first to the front, while the more modest stars feared to show themselves till the last sign of daylight fled.

First, second, third, fourth, and other magnitudes thus successively gleamed from the cloudless arch, above and around the boy.

After a time he said--

“Why were the Ram, Bull, Lion, Scorpion and others so called? I have often wondered at their odd names, and have tried to make out a bear in the Great Bear, or a dog about the stars near Sirius, but never could see any resemblance to the animals.

I don’t wonder at your surprise. Some learned astronomers of our day pretend that the ancients by the Nile and Euphrates had no meaning in the names they gave to the constellations. This is not likely, especially as we know that the signs of the Zodiac were pictured in their temples.

But who gave the names to the other stars that are not signs of the Zodiac?

The ancients. But it is time now to sleep away all thought of the stars in the care of Him who cares for the stars.”

* * * * *

During the night our young friend had a disturbed rest. The constellations kept circling round him; while lions, bulls, fish and crabs were mingled, in strange confusion. They glared at him with their hollow eyes till the boy was quite frightened, and cried out in his sleep.

The morning sun awoke the boy, and put to flight the stars. When sweet evening came the twinkling lights stole forth again, and the astronomical dialogue was renewed by James.

“Please, father, I want to know the various constellations.

We will class them, my son, into North Polar, South Polar, and Equatorial.

The North Polar star, at the end of the Little Bear’s tail, is a capital guide for the north pole; but I don’t see any Little Bear southward, walking round his tail-tip, like a horse tethered in a paddock, so that I may discover the south pole.

No, we have not a South Polar star, and no bright stars at all near the south pole of the heavens.

Let us have a little more about the Zodiac first, father. I know the twelve signs are constellations over the tropics; but I don’t know why you call them the Zodiac.

Zodiac is from a Greek word, meaning a small figure of an animal, as they are nearly all animal figures.

How many northern and southern constellations are there?

In the ancient celestial atlases we find twenty-one northern and fifteen southern, besides the Zodiac; then more were added of new ones named or old ones subdivided, till we have, including the Zodiac, sixty-two northern and fifty-five southern constellations.

Of course, the old astronomers of Egypt and Babylon could not have seen all the south polar stars?

We should hardly fancy it. Strange tricks have been played with the names of the constellations. Only think of English writers, sixty years ago, wanting to have your Orion called Nelson; and the University of Leipsic, to please the French emperor, proposed to steal the belt and sword from Orion, and call them the constellation of Napoleon.

I am glad they didn’t, though. But how is the line drawn to distinguish the spaces of the constellations?

Their sizes vary. Orion, for instance, takes up a great space in the heavens, while others occupy little room.

How many stars go to make up a constellation?

You mean those seen by the naked eye. These differ in number. I will run over some of the Zodiac. Aries has 66, Taurus 141, Gemini 83, Cancer 85, Leo 95, Virgo 110, Libra 51, Scorpio 44, Sagittarius 69, Capricornus 51, Aquarius 108, Pisces 113.

But there must be a lot more seen in them by the telescope.

Yes. The six stars of the Pleiades turn out to be 188. In Orion there are 2000 stars easily distinguished. Your three in the belt are 80, and the star in the sword you find to be a dozen.

Will you kindly show me, dear father, how I can find the south pole of the heavens, as there is no bright star near it?

I will try and give you a rough chart. Look at the Southern Cross. Draw an imaginary line from the top star through the one at the foot; and four times that distance in the same line will bring you to the south pole of the heavens.

Yes; and if I had that point over my head I should be where no one else has been--at the south pole of the earth. Now I have my centre, I would like to describe a circle at the distance of the Cross and know the stars inside of it.

Begin, then. Look at the two bright ones pointing toward the Cross beside it. They are the Pointers to the Cross. A lot of bright stars together, on the other side of the Cross, are in the Ship, Argo. Follow on the circumference that way, and you arrive at a large star, a little north of our course, called Canopus. From the Cross to Canopus is one-quarter of the circle round the pole, and it is filled up with the Ship.

What a ship!

It goes northward, too, to Sirius, the Dog-star. Canopus is half-way between Sirius and the south pole, and is in the line between the two.

That is a capital point, for I know them.

South of the Ship, between it and the pole, are the little Flying Fish. The Table Mountain and Chameleon, with feeble stars, are between the Fish, again, and the poles.

Now I have that quarter of the circle, well.

Keep on to the right, still away from the Cross and beyond Canopus, nearly as far again, and you see a bright star in our circle, which is called Achernar, at the bottom of the long River Po.

Not the Italian river, but the Celestial one.

That heavenly stream runs northward to Orion. Now, between Canopus and Achernar we see but few stars, although we pass the constellations of the Painter’s Easel, Rhomboidal Net, and Clock. Between Achernar and the Pole are the tiny stars of the Little Hydra. But between the Little Hydra and the Flying Fish, resting like on the Table Mountain, is the beautiful Nubecular Major, the great Magellanic Cloud.

Now I know where I am again. The Rhomboidal Net is on one side of the Cloud, and the Flying Fish on the other. The Table by the Pole is south of it. But what is north of it, for Canopus is not quite in a line with the Cloud and the Pole?

The Sword Fish is on the Cloud. But go again to Achernar, and draw a line thence to the Pole.

Why, it goes right through the Little Magellanic Cloud.

That Cloud is between the Hydra and the Toucan. That bird’s head beyond Achernar is in our circumference of the Cross. A little further on that round line is the bright star in the Peacock’s head; though the Indian, with his arrows, stands between the Peacock and the Toucan.

The very place for a hunter. But go on, please, for you are fast completing the circle, by getting back to the Cross.

The end of the Peacock’s tail brings us three-fourths round; and above it, from the Pole, is the Southern Crown.

I see it; but it ought to hang over something better than a Peacock’s tail.

It so happens that the Telescope comes between them. Below the Peacock, and close round the south pole, is the constellation Octant. Now for the last quarter, between the Cross and the Peacock.

I know part of that--the Cross’s Pointers. But what are those three stars a little below the Pointers, toward the Peacock?

They are the Southern Triangle. Between the Cross and the Pole is the Fly; while between the Triangle and the Pole is the Bird of Paradise.

What a cold place to put so delicate a bird! But to what constellation do the two Pointers to the Cross belong?

To the Centaur’s two fore feet. The last of my circumpolar stars are those of the Altar, lying north of the Triangle, a little to the left of the Pointers. You may see them on the edge of the Milky Way--two stars close together, and four others to the right further apart. The Compasses, hardly to be noticed, are between the Altar and the Pointers.”

* * * * *

This was a long lesson, requiring much study afterwards. When Mr. Marple thought the lad knew the southern stars near the pole, he was ready to advance with the constellations again, and proposed to take a fresh round.

“We will,” said he, “take another sweep round the heavens, embracing the space between our old circle of the Cross and that over the equator, though I will not take equatorial stars now.

May we begin at the Crown, father?

Between the Cross and Crown is the Altar. North of and near the Crown is Sagittarius the Archer, beside which is the Scorpion.

How can I tell that?

The Scorpion has a line of bright stars coming down south to the Altar, with a twist like a curl in its tail.

What is that bright red star at the upper end of it?

Antares of the Scorpion. The bright star near it further north is in the Libra or Scales. The fine star as far from the Pointers as they are from the Pole is in the shoulder of the Centaur, half horse and half man.

Is he fighting anything?

Yes; he is running his spear through the mouth of the Wolf, which is stretched between Antares and the Pointers. The Centaur comes down to the Cross, and goes up north to the great Hydra, on which the Crow is perched.

What a beautiful star that is over Centaur, about twice as far from the Cross as that from the Pole!

That is Spica in the Virgin, close to the Crow. That makes up one quarter of our second circle. Looking still to the right, and north of the Cross, do you see any good-sized stars?

No, father, there is nothing worth looking at for the next quarter beyond the Cross and Ship till we get to Sirius.

Yet there are the Pneumatic Pump and the Mariner’s Compass. The great Hydra stretches itself all from the Scorpion, under the Crow, the Cup, and the Sextant, from near Antares to Canis Minor, the Little Dog.

Where is the Little Dog?

To understand that we must go on to our third quarter of the circle. You know Sirius and the three starred belt of Orion. The Belt is exactly over the equator. The three stars lead you down south to Sirius, and a line at right angles brings you to Procyon of the Little Dog, which thus forms a triangle with Sirius and the Belt. Get the Pole, Canopus, and Sirius in a line, and a little further to the north, on the one side you have the Belt, and on the other Procyon.

Though I see no stars of any consequence between the Great and Little Dogs, is there any constellation there?

Monoceros, the Unicorn, keeps them apart. The Hare and Noah’s Dove are on the other side of Canis Major. They are both south of Orion. In the Dove, a little out of the line half-way from Canopus to Sirius, is the pretty Phact. The five stars in a line between Canopus and Sirius are in Canis Major, the Great Dog Constellation.

What a gay show of stars between the Pole and Orion! But what a blank beyond to the right. I see one, however, opposite to Sirius, forming a parallelogram with it, the Belt, and Phact.

That is Zaurack, in the River Po; and the great space beyond that, to the right, far north of Achernar, is Cetus the Whale. The star Menkar or Menhab, a little north of Zaurack, is in the Whale’s head, while Diphda is in its tail. Achernar is about half-way from Diphda to the Pole. Between the two are the Chemical Furnace, the Sculptor, and the Phoenix.

I don’t care about these. Have you not nearly got round, father?

The last quarter of our circle lies between the Southern Crown and the Whale’s tail.

That will be north of the Peacock and Indian. What is the bright star between the Whale’s tail and Achernar?

The head of the Phoenix. And forming a triangle with it and the tail is the noble Fomalhaut of the Southern Fish, under the sign Pisces and near the toe of Aquarius. The Goat Capricornus is to the right of Fomalhaut.

Why, there is nothing hardly between Fomalhaut and the Crown.

Between the Peacock and the Crown are the two stars close together, forming the foot of Sagittarius, whose body stretches from the Crown to Capricornus; while the Crane and the Microscope lie between the Peacock and Fomalhaut.

It would require a good telescope to see that faint-looking Microscope.

You will see seven stars in a line, left of the Peacock, dipping down toward the Pole--these form the Crane.

And a long-necked fellow it is, too.”

* * * * *

Another rest was necessary here, to enable James to connect in his mind the last collection of constellations with his circumpolar ones. His father then took him to those about the equator and north of it, and thus introduced him to the twelve signs of the Zodiac.

“You have learned, my dear boy, the names of these signs; I want now to teach you their positions.

Yes; I would like to know how big the Bull is. Do his horns poke the polar star, while he hangs his tail over the equator?

Our Bull is a funny one, for he has no tail, because he has no hind quarters. If he reached from the pole to the equator, a few Bulls would fill up the sky, and leave no room for Bears, Swans, Hunters, and other creatures up there. Now look at the Orion’s Belt, and run down the line of the three stars as you did to Sirius, but in the opposite direction, as far north as the other is south.

I have it--a beautiful star between the Belt and the pretty Pleiades.

That is Aldebaran, the Bull’s eye. Your Pleiades are in the Bull’s neck. The Hyades are the cluster near the eye.

What is the great star, a little out of the road, between Aldebaran and the Belt?

That is Betelgeux, in the shoulder of Orion, who is looking up to the Bull. Betelgeux is on the north side of the Belt; and Rigel, of Orion’s heel, is at the same distance to the south of the Belt. Aldebaran, Rigel, and Menkar, of the Whale’s nose, form an equilateral triangle.

Aries the Ram is to the right of the Bull, near where his tail should be, and Orion is to the left or east, but a little southerly. But now for the Twins.

Are they the two right north of Procyon, and forming the corner of a right-angled triangle with Betelgeux and Procyon?

They _are_ the Twins, Castor and Pollux, though the latter is the larger. Cancer the Crab is to the left of the Twins.

I cannot see so much as the claw of him. But I see a splendid star further to the left, with Procyon between it and the Belt.

That is Regulus in Leo the Lion. It is one of his forepaws, and beyond to the left is Deneb, of the Lion’s tail. The little lion is north of Leo, and between it and the Great Bear, the favourite constellation of England.

Virgo the Virgin should come next. I can see Spica, which is twice as far from the Cross northward as the Cross is from the Pole.

Spica is in the ear of corn held in the Virgin’s hand. The Virgin’s head touches the Lion’s tail at Deneb.

What a tall lady she must be! But what is that staring star forming the head of a triangle with Deneb and Spica?

The Arcturus of Job, in the knee of Bootes the Husbandman, standing on Mount Moenalus. The small stars between Arcturus and Deneb are in the hair of Berenice. The Northern Crown, between Hercules and Bootes, is seen nearly overhead in England.

You have got a long way from us now, father. Please come back to the Virgin.

Well, then, you know the Southern Crown, at any rate. Sagittarius is right over it northward, while Antares of Scorpio is to the right a little.

The stars of Libra the Balance must be somewhere between Spica and Antares, I suppose.

The two stars together in the equator, just north of Scorpio, are in the old man Ophiuchus, who is south of Hercules. There is a serpent on each side of him.

What nice company!

Yes, with the club of Hercules shaking over his head, and Poniatowski’s Bull ready to toss his shoulder. But he has the shield of the Polish hero Sobieski behind him, which hangs, too, over the head of Sagittarius.

How shall I find Aquarius?

He has his foot on Fomalhaut, he leans back on Capricornus, and has Pisces, the Fishes, on the other side.

What is the great star north of Capricornus?

That is Altair, in Aquila the Eagle, whose wings are spread over the equator. Aquila is between Ophiuchus and Aquarius.

As we have got over Aquarius, and come to Pisces, which are over Cetus the Whale, I suppose we are at Aries again.

We are. But I should like you to know that Pegasus, the Flying Horse, is over Aquarius, and that the Swan and Lyre are between that and Hercules, and north of the Eagle. Taking a line from the south pole through the Whale’s tail, we have a bright star in the back of Pegasus, called Algenib, not far from the junction of the equator and ecliptic in Pisces.

The star beyond Algenib, further north, is larger, though.

Alpherat is its name, and it is one of the eyes of Andromeda, the lady with the chains on her hands.

O, I know all about that story, father. The ancients said she was fastened to a rock in the sea, and a monster was gnawing at her. But a warrior, called Perseus, came with his sword and delivered her.

Then, as you have Andromeda’s eye, you can fancy the Zodiacal Fish biting her, and Perseus with his sword to the left. There is a triangle between Aries and Andromeda.

What a dazzling star that is, forming the north corner of a triangle with Aldebaran and the Twins.

Yes, Capella, or the Little Kid, in the arms of Auriga, is certainly very fine. Auriga’s foot is on the Bull’s head. Half-way from Alpherat of Andromeda to Capella, is Medusa’s Head, just over the Pleiades.

We have gone round, I think, father, but I do wish I could see the old Bear again.

You have only to imagine yourself following out a line from the Belt through Castor and Pollux.

Yes, but I should have to dive down into the ocean to reach his claws.”

DOUBLE STARS.

“That wonderful tell-tale, the ‘telescope,’ reveals the double character of some stars,” said Mr. Marple. “There are six thousand stars which are thus double.

That is singular.

There are some in the Pleiades, in the Dog, in Orion, and in the Southern Cross and Crown. But the most wonderful part of my story is yet to come. Some of these double stars revolve round each other.

What! Great suns at a tremendous distance from one another, walk round one another? Why, if they have planets round them, like our sun has, these must have a fine double journey to make. How many of these strange stars are there?

About 650 of them are Binary or revolving.

But which stands still to have the other revolving round it?

They both move, each one round the other.

A regular polka in the heavens, father. And yet I suppose they are not just like a gentleman and his lady partner.

I don’t know that; for it has been observed that a number have different colours to their companions. While one is blue, the other will be yellow. One shall be green, and its mate will be orange. One-half are white, and one-tenth are both blue.

That does please me. How I should like to be in a planet where my sun should be blue, and its companion sun red. It would be so funny to get up in the morning and see my sun blue, throwing a blue tint on everything. Then, when the other sun rose, a rich red would steal over the blue, and change everything. But when the blue sun had set, the red one would have it all its own way, and bathe my world in its ruddy light.

That fancy is good, and not very improbable either; especially if the other sun should come pretty near your sun at times, as it is likely they move in an ellipse.

Can you tell me, dear father, how long these pleasant binary stars take in performing their polka?

One in Hercules takes thirty-one years. In our old Great Bear, a binary pair take sixty-one, and in Leo eighty-two. In the Swan we have 178 years, and in the Virgin 182. In the Crown we have two several times given of 608 and 736 years. It is believed that one pair are 1200 years. The North Polar Star is double, and is thought by some to revolve in 6000 years.

Please, father, tell me some more about the colours of the double folk.

The Polar double stars are red and white. In Scorpion, there is a white one and a lilac one; in the Centaur, we have both orange; in Andromeda, crimson and green; in the Lion, gold and green; in one of Scorpio, White and plum; in Castor, yellow and green; in Antares, both are bright red; Arcturus was all red in 1841, and yellow in 1852.

I wonder how far these partners are from each other.

That is difficult to ascertain. The binary stars of the Swan are thought to take 450 years going their circuit, and yet to be billions of miles away from each other.

There is little danger of quarrelling at that distance apart, father.

Astronomers talk of stars running against one another. There are also triple stars.

Three stars polkaing in and around each other! That is odd. Where are there any?

In the Lyre and Scorpion. In the latter the colours are white, grey, and yellow. In the Swan the largest star is very yellow, and its two mates are blue. But more wonderful still, in Orion there are four stars thus rolling round each other.”

PERIODICAL AND VARIABLE STARS.

It was upon a lovely evening, when off the coast of South America, ready to slip across by the side-help of the South-east Trades to the Cape of Good Hope, that Mr. Marple found his son at his old post.

“Now then,” said he, “my star-gazing boy, are you quite sure that none of them have run away since last night?

I am not sure of that, father; for ever since you proved that the Fixed stars were not fixed, I think I might some day find a bright friend gone on a visit to another universe somewhere; perhaps, getting into such agreeable society as to have no wish to come back again to our visible universe; or, maybe, to pop back again in his place.

It so happens, James, that what you have imagined, really takes place. Some stars do really disappear, to return, or not; and others, wholly strangers to us, come within observation.

That is the queerest thing you have told me yet. What droll fellows the stars are, after all! How they do wriggle about, polkaing here, doubling there, and fielding about like boys at cricket. I shall never be surprised at any funny trick you ascribe to them.

To begin with the _Variable stars_, of which there are known about one hundred. There is Mira, which is invisible five months in the year. It goes and comes again.

Where could it have got to?

Some think it revolving round a dark object; and, of course, becoming invisible when on the other side from us. One passes through three magnitudes in one month.

But I must give you the history of such a curious star in the Whale. For two weeks you might see it a noble star of the second magnitude. It gradually dims, till it goes fairly out of sight in three months. For five weeks you see nothing of it. It then reappears. Altogether it seems to have a revolution of 322 days; and is, therefore, one of the _Periodical_ stars.

I should call it a variable periodical.

There is another in Cepheus, which grows to its full light in thirty-eight hours only. There is one in the Lyre taking ninety-one hours. Some fancy that the dark appearance may be owing to huge spots on the suns coming into view as the suns turn round. But there is still another sort of star--the _Temporary_.

Do they come and have a look at us in their birth, and then disappear never to return?

I will tell you the history of one. In 1572 an astronomer saw it shining in the daytime. He could not find it in his star catalogue at home. Day after day it grew brighter and brighter, till it blazed far more than either Sirius or Jupiter, and could be plainly seen in the noontide sun. It then grew dim gradually, and in two years went away altogether, without returning since.

That is temporary, and no mistake. But still I guess they will find him turning up some day and becoming a regular Periodical.

There is a wonderful star, Argus, in Argo. Two hundred years ago it was of the fourth magnitude only. In 1834, Sir John Herschel, when at the Cape of Good Hope, found it a second magnitude. The light was three times stronger at the end of 1837. Next month it was brighter than any star here but Sirius. It faded awhile, and then increased, till, in 1844, it was equal to Sirius itself.

Have they looked over the old catalogues of stars, made, as you told me, two thousand years ago, just to see what ones have dropped out of sight, father?

Yes, and several have disappeared which were on that list.”

MILKY WAY.

The stars were out in their very best humour, looking so clear and merry in their twinkling; while the Milky Way stole out to view in all its maiden, lily beauty. Can we wonder, then, that our young voyager sang out--

“O what a splendid starlight night! There seems to be ever so many more stars than usual. Can any one count them all?

Yes; those you now see are about 2000. But the telescope shows us far more. There are 50,000 regularly catalogued. A magnifying power of 180 would give 20,000,000. A small patch of the Milky Way has revealed millions of stars.

Milky Way, father! O that is that serpent-like twisting of white stuff across the heavens. But why should it look so white and all other parts so black?

Because it is there that most of the stars lie, and give out the brightest light.

But I don’t see that the milk is all stars.

Take up the telescope and look at that white patch near that red star.

What a pretty sight! Why, a lot of the milk has turned into stars already. I am sure there must be a tremendous lot to be seen through the telescope of an astronomer.

Do you remember the Milky Way on the northern side of the equator?

Yes, father, and I think it a prettier looking white snake in the sky than this one up here, for it had more spangling stars about it.

I must say that the northern constellations are more brilliant than those of the south.

And what a great bit of the south side has hardly any stars at all. Just look, father, there to the westward, and there to the eastward. They both look as if lighted up with a few children’s toy-candles, compared to the dazzling light of the north, and right overhead toward the south.

The Milky Way is narrowest near the Southern Cross, and widens both ways after. Near the Scorpion’s tail it is very broad--about twenty degrees, while at the Cross it is about four degrees. There is a curious opening in it near Sirius, like a long, narrow, dark lake among the mountains of snow.

And I can see one star at the end, like a ship in full sail upon the lake.

The Milky Way runs up in threads near the Scorpion. From the Swan down to the Southern Cross it is in two bright lines, enclosing a long dark space.

But look at the two pretty bridges over the black waters, connecting the two shining walks at the sides.

You remember, then, that the Milky Way, seen in the north and south, is a great ring of different breadths going round the heavens, and passing at some little distance from both poles.

It is like the Egyptian story you told me, father, of the people worshipping a serpent with his tail in his mouth. How singular that this milk-stream should be poured right round the heavens in a huge broad circle!

The Galaxy, or Milky Way, is seen to great advantage near the Cross.

It is about the milkiest in that quarter. And I can make a good guess now about the two Magellanic clouds, as the captain called them--these two clouds of light not far from the Cross. Why, they are only places where the shining stuff is thickest.

You would, then, really believe there might be lots of stars in those clouds.

Yes; but what are the two black clouds?

Look at them attentively, and tell me what you think of them?

There is no milk there, anyhow. I suppose they look black by contrast with the bright clouds near. How cold and dreary they seem! And yet now I can make out a few stars scattered about, like ships on a big sea at a great distance from one another.

The early navigators southward used to call them the _Coal Sacks_, because so black.

Why, the Southern Cross seems to rise from that pear-shaped Coal Sack, and all at once to get crowned with a blaze of light.

True, my dear boy. The Cross of our faith has often brought man from the darkness of doubt and misery into the glorious light of freedom and hope.

Thank you, kind father, for saying that. I do trust I may always have the cross shining on my way through life.”

THE NEBULÆ.

How wondrous a sight did James think the Milky Way! Evening after evening would he stare at the weird-looking object. Moonlight eclipsed it, as sunlight the stars. The atmosphere through which we contemplate the heavens at times obscures their glory. That dreamy radiance is easily concealed from view. The bold planet looks down upon us with an unblinking eye. The fixed stars peep more coyly, with an uncertain lustre. The Milky Way, yet more retiring, seldom deigns to do more than glance timidly at us here. With our magnificent climate in Australia, we are favoured beyond most countries with its soft, peculiar light.

“What is a Nebula, father? said James.

A white, cloudy patch in the heavens. There are about five thousands of them scattered about space.

You said the Milky Way was made up of stars and Nebulæ, and that many patches of white, when looked at with a good telescope, turn out to be only lots of stars.

Yes. These are the _Resolvable_ Nebulæ. But there are _Irresolvable_,--that is, some of them still look cloudy with our best telescopes. Can you find me a Nebula in Orion?

What must I look for?

A small, distinct, white patch of light.

No; I don’t see it.

Look again. Do you see the Belt, with a bright star over it, and one about the same distance below it?

I see all that clear enough, but not your Nebula.

Look, boy, steadily and closely between the Belt, and that top bright star Rigel, where on the Atlas is pictured the sword-handle of the great hunter.

I don’t feel very sure, but I fancy I can distinguish something that ought to be it.

Many folks, my boy, can see what they are told to expect. Well, that white irregular patch of light has had telescopes looking at it a good while, without anything being seen beyond a dreamy-looking cloudy matter.

I’ll be bound Lord Rosse solved the riddle.

He did not for some time. He was able at last to think he could see stars; then by more patient watching he resolved the Nebula into sandheaps of stars--millions upon millions.

What! millions upon millions where other telescopes could not distinguish one star. What shape is Orion’s Nebula?

It is rather patchy, with innumerable streamers of light, as if wind were blowing the gauze stuff about in all directions. You might fancy in it the jaws and head of a monster, with an elephant’s proboscis.

What a nice little nose that must be.

One part rises like a conical cloud in the midst of the black sky. In the part which had appeared mottled Rosse found a blaze of stars.

Can all the Nebulæ be observed by the naked eye?

No, my lad, very few.

But after all they are only lots of stars got crowded together like, because they are so far from us.

Yet there are Nebulæ not to be resolved into stars even by Rosse’s six feet mirror. Just turn round to the Southern Cross. You see the two bright Pointers to the Cross, a part of the Centaur. Look now to the other side of the Cross, where there is a collection of stars scattered about. That is the _Argo_ or ship.

Ah! I can see a sort of light there. Is that the Argo Nebula?

Yes, and a very large one it is. Thousands of stars can be observed in it by the telescope; but beyond these is still the same filmy light, as irresolvable as ever.

There must be a lot of Nebulæ by the Cross, judging by the blaze of light.

There is a very fine one there, of a blue colour. One near Spica, of the Virgin, is quite round, and of enormous size. But there is a very odd Crab Nebula between Orion and the Bull’s eye. It branches out like the claws of a crab.

What an enormous Crab!

We have a Dumb-bell Nebula near the Lyre.

Oh! who could swing that about? Pray tell me some more about these queer creatures, father.

Many in the south are planetary Nebulæ, as they are in the midst of a cluster of stars. They are always of a pale blue colour. Some are double ones. About a dozen Nebulæ are annular, or ring-shaped. Some are double or treble ringed. Others have rings within rings, and star-like eyes in the darkness. A few have a long, parsnip form. There are solid Nebulæ, and hollow ones. One near Castor was found by Rosse to be arched like eyebrows above and below, with a curious, crab-like form in the middle.

I wonder what it would look like should a better telescope reach it!

Wonder, indeed! Some Nebulæ seen by Herschel get quite another shape with Rosse. The six-feet mirror gives another look to that by the three-feet one.

Then I can scarcely believe the present shapes, as a better instrument may resolve the thing into another creature altogether. But is there any other sort beside the globular and annular?

Yes; a good many are spiral, or corkscrew form.

Something like a shaving that a plane fetches off a plank, father.

But some of your celestial shavings have a wild look. Clever men have fancied that the star-dust is rolling up that way by a sort of gravitation into a regular form.

What of the two clouds in the heavens opposite to the Southern Cross, down in the south? They look uncommonly like monster Nebulæ.

And monsters indeed they are. In the larger one of them three hundred Nebulæ and globular clusters of stars have been distinguished, and fifty in the smaller one.

Then there is room enough in the Cloud for a whole universe?

Yes, when we find the larger Magellanic Cloud, or Nubecula Major, as it is called, taking up many times the space occupied by the sun in the sky. The Nubecula Minor, or Little cloud, is about one-fourth the size of the larger.

What do you mean by Nubecula?

A little cloud. They are called the Magellanic clouds because first noticed in the voyages of Magellan the Portuguese, three hundred years ago.

What a space they must take up in reality!

Especially if, as astronomers believe, the clusters of stars and patches of nebulous matter in the two clouds there are as far off from each other as from this earth.

What is known about the Coal-Sacks?

The larger Coal-Sack, or black empty space not far from the two clouds, is of a pear shape, and occupies a space of eight degrees long by five broad. Its darkness is only comparative, as two hundred stars have been noticed therein by a good telescope.

Are the Nebulæ of the Clouds peculiar?

One in the centre is very large, and has an odd dark space in its middle. It is also surrounded by a circle of ten other Nebulæ.

Like bright guards around a king.

Another consists of four starry centres, or nuclei, which are curiously united by a very faint nebulous matter.

Do, father, tell me more of these Nebulæ.

Then I will talk about some singular filaments, or threads of light, seen around the nebulæ, which have much puzzled astronomers. Those filaments about the Nebulæ of Orion and Argo are wonderfully strange.

They are the arms, I suppose, pointing into the dark space near, as much as to say,--‘You know nothing about us, or of what we can see around us, looking so black to you, and so bright to us.’

Not a bad idea, boy. When Sir John Herschel had a look at our southern hemisphere, he observed beyond the Nebulæ a few scattered, faint bits of light in the dark region, too fine for him to turn into Nebulæ by his glass, and looking like some more distant light blushing through the darkness.

They are like telegraphic messages, father.

About forty of these strange glimmerings of future universes yet to be revealed were seen by Sir John.

Well, dear father, you can’t go further than that. If it take 60,000 years for some of the stars to send us their light, just to say ‘How do you do?’ how long would it take for these faint, modest blushes of the distant sky?

How great, then, is God, my son, and how grateful should we be for His notice! Let us so please Him here, that after death our souls may fly to that heaven of joy He has prepared, wherever in the vast universes of His it may be.”

THE SUN AND PLANETS.

The planet Venus had been shining brilliantly evening after evening. “Why, father,” said the boy, “does Venus shift her place so rapidly among the stars?

Because she has to travel round the sun, as the world and other planets do.

And is the world really a planet, looking like a star to the people of Venus?

Yes; and not visible at all to those of the distant planets, which are all so much nearer to us than the nearest of the fixed stars. Some of the planets you could not see without the telescope, and you see none of the asteroids.

What are they?

Little planets, over eighty in number, perhaps the shattered parts of an exploded planet, travelling along the old road, and keeping a circle between Mars and Jupiter.

Then they are not like the comets, which run everywhere, getting in everybody’s way?

You are slandering the comets. These shadowy bodies, with tails of light, travel in longer ovals or ellipses than the planets. We see them when they turn round the sun, which is near one end of their orbit, but they disappear afterwards in the great distance of their curve.

Well, I _can_ see some use in the sun to us, but very little in the planets and other stars, and none in the comets.

You must not selfishly judge of the good of things by the use you can make of them. The extensive granite ranges were not made merely for man’s building materials, nor the stars for a gaze through a telescope. As the world existed many millions of years without man, so have the stars. In another world we may know more of the why and because of God’s creation.

May not the planets and other stars be inhabited by folks like ourselves?

Not quite, my son, replied Mr. Marple, though God can make intelligent beings to praise Him, who would be adapted to any atmosphere or condition of the stars.”

In the evening the captain lent James a book, from which he copied the following table of the Eight Planets--their distance from the sun, their times of revolution round the sun, and their size:--

Distance. Time. Diameter.
Miles. Miles.

Mercury 37,000,000 2 months 3100
Venus 69,000,000 7-1/2 ” 7900
Earth 93,000,000 1 year 7920
Mars 146,000,000 2 years 4000
Jupiter 494,000,000 12 ” 92,000
Saturn 906,000,000 30 ” 75,000
Herschel 1820,000,000 80 ” 36,000
Neptune 2850,000,000 164 ” 33,600

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ROBERTSON, PUBLISHER.

Geography of Australia and New Zealand. 3rd Edition.

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Astronomy for Young Australians.

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Geography for Young Australians. 4th edition.
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TWENTIETH THOUSAND!

Botany for Young Australians.

Early Days of Melbourne.

Western Victoria; an Educational Tour.

Early Days of England.

Bible Stories for Young Australians.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

End of Project Gutenberg's Astronomy for Young Australians, by James Bonwick