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Astronomy of To-day - A Popular Introduction in Non-Technical Language
by Cecil G. Dolmage
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Prominences were at first never visible except during total eclipses of the sun. But in the year 1868, as we have already seen, a method of employing the spectroscope was devised, by means of which they could be observed and studied at any time, without the necessity of waiting for an eclipse.

A still further development of the spectroscope, the Spectroheliograph, an instrument invented almost simultaneously by Professor Hale and the French astronomer, M. Deslandres, permits of photographs being taken of the sun, with the light emanating from only one of its glowing gases at a time. For instance, we can thus obtain a record of what the glowing hydrogen alone is doing on the solar body at any particular moment. With this instrument it is also possible to obtain a series of photographs, showing what is taking place upon the sun at various levels. This is very useful in connection with the study of the spots; for we are, in consequence, enabled to gather more evidence on the subject of their actual form than is given us by their highly foreshortened appearances when observed directly in the telescope.

V. CORONA. (Latin, a Crown.)

This marvellous halo of pearly-white light, which displays itself to our view only during the total phase of an eclipse of the sun, is by no means a layer like those other envelopments of the sun of which we have just been treating. It appears, on the other hand, to be composed of filmy matter, radiating outwards in every direction, and fading away gradually into space. Its structure is noted to bear a strong resemblance to the tails of comets, or the streamers of the aurora borealis.

Our knowledge concerning the corona has, however, advanced very slowly. We have not, so far, been as fortunate with regard to it as with regard to the prominences; and, for all we can gather concerning it, we are still entirely dependent upon the changes and chances of total solar eclipses. All attempts, in fact, to apply the spectroscopic method, so as to observe the corona at leisure in full sunlight in the way in which the prominences can be observed, have up to the present met with failure.

The general form under which the corona appears to our eyes varies markedly at different eclipses. Sometimes its streamers are many, and radiate all round; at other times they are confined only to the middle portions of the sun, and are very elongated, with short feathery-looking wisps adorning the solar poles. It is noticed that this change of shape varies in close accordance with that 11-1/4 year period during which the sun spots wax and wane; the many-streamered regular type corresponding to the time of great sunspot activity, while the irregular type with the long streamers is present only when the spots are few (see Plate VII., p. 142). Streamers have often been noted to issue from those regions of the sun where active prominences are at the moment in existence; but it cannot be laid down that this is always the case.

No hypothesis has yet been formulated which will account for the structure of the corona, or for its variation in shape. The great difficulty with regard to theorising upon this subject, is the fact that we see so much of the corona under conditions of marked foreshortening. Assuming, what indeed seems natural, that the rays of which it is composed issue in every direction from the solar body, in a manner which may be roughly imitated by sticking pins all over a ball; it is plainly impossible to form any definite idea concerning streamers, which actually may owe most of the shape they present to us, to the mixing up of multitudes of rays at all kinds of angles to the line of sight. In a word, we have to try and form an opinion concerning an arrangement which, broadly speaking, is spherical, but which, on account of its distance, must needs appear to us as absolutely flat.

The most known about the composition of the corona is that it is made up of particles of matter, mingled with a glowing gas. It is an element in the composition of this gas which, as has been stated, is not found to tally with any known terrestrial element, and has, therefore, received the name of coronium for want of a better designation.

One definite conclusion appears to be reached with regard to the corona, i.e. that the matter of which it is composed, must be exceedingly rarefied; as it is not found, for instance, to retard appreciably the speed of comets, on occasions when these bodies pass very close to the sun. A calculation has indeed been made which would tend to show that the particles composing the coronal matter, are separated from each other by a distance of perhaps between two and three yards! The density of the corona is found not to increase inwards towards the sun. This is what has already been noted with regard to the layers lying beneath it. Powerful forces, acting in opposition to gravity, must hold sway here also.



The 11-1/4 year period, during which the sun spots vary in number and size, appears to govern the activities of the sun much in the same way that our year does the changing seasonal conditions of our earth. Not only, as we have seen, does the corona vary its shape in accordance with the said period, but the activity of the prominences, and of the faculae, follow suit. Further, this constant round of ebb and flow is not confined to the sun itself, but, strangely enough, affects the earth also. The displays of the aurora borealis, which we experience here, coincide closely with it, as does also the varying state of the earth's magnetism. The connection may be still better appreciated when a great spot, or group of spots, has made its appearance upon the sun. It has, for example, often been noted that when the solar rotation carries a spot, or group of spots, across the middle of the visible surface of the sun, our magnetic and electrical arrangements are disturbed for the time being. The magnetic needles in our observatories are, for instance, seen to oscillate violently, telegraphic communication is for a while upset, and magnificent displays of the aurora borealis illumine our night skies. Mr. E.W. Maunder, of Greenwich Observatory, who has made a very careful investigation of this subject, suspects that, when elongated coronal streamers are whirled round in our direction by the solar rotation, powerful magnetic impulses may be projected upon us at the moments when such streamers are pointing towards the earth.

Some interesting investigations with regard to sunspots have recently been published by Mrs. E.W. Maunder. In an able paper, communicated to the Royal Astronomical Society on May 10, 1907, she reviews the Greenwich Observatory statistics dealing with the number and extent of the spots which have appeared during the period from 1889 to 1901—a whole sunspot cycle. From a detailed study of the dates in question, she finds that the number of those spots which are formed on the side of the sun turned away from us, and die out upon the side turned towards us, is much greater than the number of those which are formed on the side turned towards us and die out upon the side turned away. It used, for instance, to be considered that the influence of a planet might produce sunspots; but these investigations make it look rather as if some influence on the part of the earth tends, on the contrary, to extinguish them. Mrs. Maunder, so far, prefers to call the influence thus traced an apparent influence only, for, as she very fairly points out, it seems difficult to attribute a real influence in this matter to the earth, which is so small a thing in comparison not only with the sun, but even with many individual spots.

The above investigation was to a certain degree anticipated by Mr. Henry Corder in 1895; but Mrs. Maunder's researches cover a much longer period, and the conclusions deduced are of a wider and more defined nature.

With regard to its chemical composition, the spectroscope shows us that thirty-nine of the elements which are found upon our earth are also to be found in the sun. Of these the best known are hydrogen, oxygen, helium, carbon, calcium, aluminium, iron, copper, zinc, silver, tin, and lead. Some elements of the metallic order have, however, not been found there, as, for instance, gold and mercury; while a few of the other class of element, such as nitrogen, chlorine, and sulphur, are also absent. It must not, indeed, be concluded that the elements apparently missing do not exist at all in the solar body. Gold and mercury have, in consequence of their great atomic weight, perhaps sunk away into the centre. Again, the fact that we cannot find traces of certain other elements, is no real proof of their entire absence. Some of them may, for instance, be resolved into even simpler forms, under the unusual conditions which exist in the sun; and so we are unable to trace them with the spectroscope, the experience of which rests on laboratory experiments conducted, at best, in conditions which obtain upon the earth.

[10] On November 15, 1907, Dr. A. Rambaut, Radcliffe Observer at Oxford University, noted a prominence which rose to a height of 324,600 miles.



CHAPTER XIV

THE INFERIOR PLANETS

Starting from the centre of the solar system, the first body we meet with is the planet Mercury. It circulates at an average distance from the sun of about thirty-six millions of miles. The next body to it is the planet Venus, at about sixty-seven millions of miles, namely, about double the distance of Mercury from the sun. Since our earth comes next again, astronomers call those planets which circulate within its orbit, i.e. Mercury and Venus, the Inferior Planets, while those which circulate outside it they call the Superior Planets.[11]

In studying the inferior planets, the circumstances in which we make our observations are so very similar with regard to each, that it is best to take them together. Let us begin by considering the various positions of an inferior planet, as seen from the earth, during the course of its journeys round the sun. When furthest from us it is at the other side of the sun, and cannot then be seen owing to the blaze of light. As it continues its journey it passes to the left of the sun, and is then sufficiently away from the glare to be plainly seen. It next draws in again towards the sun, and is once more lost to view in the blaze at the time of its passing nearest to us. Then it gradually comes out to view on the right hand, separates from the sun up to a certain distance as before, and again recedes beyond the sun, and is for the time being once more lost to view.

To these various positions technical names are given. When the inferior planet is on the far side of the sun from us, it is said to be in Superior Conjunction. When it has drawn as far as it can to the left hand, and is then as east as possible of the sun, it is said to be at its Greatest Eastern Elongation. Again, when it is passing nearest to us, it is said to be in Inferior Conjunction; and, finally, when it has drawn as far as it can to the right hand, it is spoken of as being at its Greatest Western Elongation (see Fig. 11, p. 148).

The continual variation in the distance of an interior planet from us, during its revolution around the sun, will of course be productive of great alterations in its apparent size. At superior conjunction it ought, being then farthest away, to show the smallest disc; while at inferior conjunction, being the nearest, it should look much larger. When at greatest elongation, whether eastern or western, it should naturally present an appearance midway in size between the two.



From the above considerations one would be inclined to assume that the best time for studying the surface of an interior planet with the telescope is when it is at inferior conjunction, or, nearest to us. But that this is not the case will at once appear if we consider that the sunlight is then falling upon the side away from us, leaving the side which is towards us unillumined. In superior conjunction, on the other hand, the light falls full upon the side of the planet facing us; but the disc is then so small-looking, and our view besides is so dazzled by the proximity of the sun, that observations are of little avail. In the elongations, however, the sunlight comes from the side, and so we see one half of the planet lit up; the right half at eastern elongation, and the left half at western elongation. Piecing together the results given us at these more favourable views, we are enabled, bit by bit, to gather some small knowledge concerning the surface of an inferior planet.

From these considerations it will be seen at once that the inferior planets show various phases comparable to the waxing and waning of our moon in its monthly round. Superior conjunction is, in fact, similar to full moon, and inferior conjunction to new moon; while the eastern and western elongations may be compared respectively to the moon's first and last quarters. It will be recollected how, when these phases were first seen by the early telescopic observers, the Copernican theory was felt to be immensely strengthened; for it had been pointed out that if this system were the correct one, the planets Venus and Mercury, were it possible to see them more distinctly, would of necessity present phases like these when viewed from the earth. It should here be noted that the telescope was not invented until nearly seventy years after the death of Copernicus.

The apparent swing of an inferior planet from side to side of the sun, at one time on the east side, then passing into and lost in the sun's rays to appear once more on the west side, is the explanation of what is meant when we speak of an evening or a morning star. An inferior planet is called an evening star when it is at its eastern elongation, that is to say, on the left-hand of the sun; for, being then on the eastern side, it will set after the sun sets, as both sink in their turn below the western horizon at the close of day. Similarly, when such a planet is at its western elongation, that is to say, to the right-hand of the sun, it will go in advance of him, and so will rise above the eastern horizon before the sun rises, receiving therefore the designation of morning star. In very early times, however, before any definite ideas had been come to with regard to the celestial motions, it was generally believed that the morning and evening stars were quite distinct bodies. Thus Venus, when a morning star, was known to the ancients under the name of Phosphorus, or Lucifer; whereas they called it Hesperus when it was an evening star.

Since an inferior planet circulates between us and the sun, one would be inclined to expect that such a body, each time it passed on the side nearest to the earth, should be seen as a black spot against the bright solar disc. Now this would most certainly be the case were the orbit of an inferior planet in the same plane with the orbit of the earth. But we have already seen how the orbits in the solar system, whether those of planets or of satellites, are by no means in the one plane; and that it is for this very reason that the moon is able to pass time after time in the direction of the sun, at the epoch known as new moon, and yet not to eclipse him save after the lapse of several such passages. Transits, then, as the passages of an inferior planet across the sun's disc are called, take place, for the same reason, only after certain regular lapses of time; and, as regards the circumstances of their occurrence, are on a par with eclipses of the sun. The latter, however, happen much more frequently, because the moon passes in the neighbourhood of the sun, roughly speaking, once a month, whereas Venus comes to each inferior conjunction at intervals so long apart as a year and a half, and Mercury only about every four months. From this it will be further gathered that transits of Mercury take place much oftener than transits of Venus.

Until recent years Transits of Venus were phenomena of great importance to astronomers, for they furnished the best means then available of calculating the distance of the sun from the earth. This was arrived at through comparing the amount of apparent displacement in the planet's path across the solar disc, when the transit was observed from widely separated stations on the earth's surface. The last transit of Venus took place in 1882, and there will not be another until the year 2004.

Transits of Mercury, on the other hand, are not of much scientific importance. They are of no interest as a popular spectacle; for the dimensions of the planet are so small, that it can be seen only with the aid of a telescope when it is in the act of crossing the sun's disc. The last transit of Mercury took place on November 14, 1907, and there will be another on November 6, 1914.

The first person known to have observed a transit of an inferior planet was the celebrated French philosopher, Gassendi. This was the transit of Mercury which took place on the 7th of December 1631.

The first time a transit of Venus was ever seen, so far as is known, was on the 24th of November 1639. The observer was a certain Jeremiah Horrox, curate of Hoole, near Preston, in Lancashire. The transit in question commenced shortly before sunset, and his observations in consequence were limited to only about half-an-hour. Horrox happened to have a great friend, one William Crabtree, of Manchester, whom he had advised by letter to be on the look out for the phenomenon. The weather in Crabtree's neighbourhood was cloudy, with the result that he only got a view of the transit for about ten minutes before the sun set.

That this transit was observed at all is due entirely to the remarkable ability of Horrox. According to the calculations of the great Kepler, no transit could take place that year (1639), as the planet would just pass clear of the lower edge of the sun. Horrox, however, not being satisfied with this, worked the question out for himself, and came to the conclusion that the planet would actually traverse the lower portion of the sun's disc. The event, as we have seen, proved him to be quite in the right. Horrox is said to have been a veritable prodigy of astronomical skill; and had he lived longer would, no doubt, have become very famous. Unfortunately he died about two years after his celebrated transit, in his twenty-second year only, according to the accounts. His friend Crabtree, who was then also a young man, is said to have been killed at the battle of Naseby in 1645.

There is an interesting phenomenon in connection with transits which is known as the "Black Drop." When an inferior planet has just made its way on to the face of the sun, it is usually seen to remain for a short time as if attached to the sun's edge by what looks like a dark ligament (see Fig. 12, p. 153). This gives to the planet for the time being an elongated appearance, something like that of a pear; but when the ligament, which all the while keeps getting thinner and thinner, has at last broken, the black body of the planet is seen to stand out round against the solar disc.



This appearance may be roughly compared to the manner in which a drop of liquid (or, preferably, of some glutinous substance) tends for a while to adhere to an object from which it is falling.

When the planet is in turn making its way off the face of the sun, the ligament is again seen to form and to attach it to the sun's edge before its due time.

The phenomenon of the black drop, or ligament, is entirely an illusion, and, broadly speaking, of an optical origin. Something very similar will be noticed if one brings one's thumb and forefinger slowly together against a very bright background.

This peculiar phenomenon has proved one of the greatest drawbacks to the proper observation of transits, for it is quite impossible to note the exact instant of the planet's entrance upon and departure from the solar disc in conditions such as these.

The black drop seems to bear a family resemblance, so to speak, to the phenomenon of Baily's beads. In the latter instance the lunar peaks, as they approach the sun's edge, appear to lengthen out in a similar manner and bridge the intervening space before their time, thus giving prominence to an effect which otherwise should scarcely be noticeable.

The last transit of Mercury, which, as has been already stated, took place on November 14, 1907, was not successfully observed by astronomers in England, on account of the cloudiness of the weather. In France, however, Professor Moye, of Montpellier, saw it under good conditions, and mentions that the black drop remained very conspicuous for fully a minute. The transit was also observed in the United States, the reports from which speak of the black drop as very "troublesome."

Before leaving the subject of transits it should be mentioned that it was in the capacity of commander of an expedition to Otaheite, in the Pacific, to observe the transit of Venus of June 3, 1769, that Captain Cook embarked upon the first of his celebrated voyages.

In studying the surfaces of Venus and Mercury with the telescope, observers are, needless to say, very much hindered by the proximity of the sun. Venus, when at the greatest elongations, certainly draws some distance out of the glare; but her surface is, even then, so dazzlingly bright, that the markings upon it are difficult to see. Mercury, on the other hand, is much duller in contrast, but the disc it shows in the telescope is exceedingly small; and, in addition, when that planet is left above the horizon for a short time after sunset, as necessarily happens after certain intervals, the mists near the earth's surface render observation of it very difficult.

Until about twenty-five years ago, it was generally believed that both these planets rotated on their axes in about twenty-four hours, a notion, no doubt, originally founded upon an unconscious desire to bring them into some conformity with our earth. But Schiaparelli, observing in Italy, and Percival Lowell, in the clear skies of Arizona and Mexico, have lately come to the conclusion that both planets rotate upon their axes in the same time as they revolve in their orbits,[12] the result being that they turn one face ever towards the sun in the same manner that the moon turns one face ever towards the earth—a curious state of things, which will be dealt with more fully when we come to treat of our satellite.

The marked difference in the brightness between the two planets has already been alluded to. The surface of Venus is, indeed, about five times as bright as that of Mercury. The actual brightness of Mercury is about equivalent to that of our moon, and astronomers are, therefore, inclined to think that it may resemble her in having a very rugged surface and practically no atmosphere. This probable lack of atmosphere is further corroborated by two circumstances. One of these is that when Mercury is just about to transit the face of the sun, no ring of diffused light is seen to encircle its disc as would be the case if it possessed an atmosphere. Such a lack of atmosphere is, indeed, only to be expected from what is known as the Kinetic Theory of Gases. According to this theory, which is based upon the behaviour of various kinds of gas, it is found that these elements tend to escape into space from the surface of bodies whose force of gravitation is weak. Hydrogen gas, for example, tends to fly away from our earth, as any one may see for himself when a balloon rises into the air. The gravitation of the earth seems, however, powerful enough to hold down other gases, as, for instance, those of which the air is chiefly composed, namely, oxygen and nitrogen. In due accordance with the Kinetic theory, we find the moon and Mercury, which are much about the same size, destitute of atmospheres. Mars, too, whose diameter is only about double that of the moon, has very little atmosphere. We find, on the other hand, that Venus, which is about the same size as our earth, clearly possesses an atmosphere, as just before the planet is in transit across the sun, the outline of its dark body is seen to be surrounded by a bright ring of light.

The results of telescopic observation show that more markings are visible on Mercury than on Venus. The intense brilliancy of Venus is, indeed, about the same as that of our white clouds when the sun is shining directly upon them. It has, therefore, been supposed that the planet is thickly enveloped in cloud, and that we do not ever see any part of its surface, except perchance the summit of some lofty mountain projecting through the fleecy mass.

With regard to the great brilliancy of Venus, it may be mentioned that she has frequently been seen in England, with the naked eye in full sunshine, when at the time of her greatest brightness. The writer has seen her thus at noonday. Needless to say, the sky at the moment was intensely blue and clear.

The orbit of Mercury is very oval, and much more so than that of any other planet. The consequence is that, when Mercury is nearest to the sun, the heat which it receives is twice as great as when it is farthest away. The orbit of Venus, on the other hand, is in marked contrast with that of Mercury, and is, besides, more nearly of a circular shape than that of any of the other planets. Venus, therefore, always keeps about the same distance from the sun, and so the heat which she receives during the course of her year can only be subject to very slight variations.

[11] In employing the terms Inferior and Superior the writer bows to astronomical custom, though he cannot help feeling that, in the circumstances, Interior and Exterior would be much more appropriate.

[12] This question is, however, uncertain, for some very recent spectroscopic observations of Venus seem to show a rotation period of about twenty-four hours.



CHAPTER XV

THE EARTH

We have already seen (in Chapter I.) how, in very early times, men naturally enough considered the earth to be a flat plane extending to a very great distance in every direction; but that, as years went on, certain of the Greek philosophers suspected it to be a sphere. One or two of the latter are, indeed, said to have further believed in its rotation about an axis, and even in its revolution around the sun; but, as the ideas in question were founded upon fancy, rather than upon any direct evidence, they did not generally attract attention. The small effect, therefore, which these theories had upon astronomy, may well be gathered from the fact that in the Ptolemaic system the earth was considered as fixed and at the centre of things; and this belief, as we have seen, continued unaltered down to the days of Copernicus. It was, indeed, quite impossible to be certain of the real shape of the earth or the reality of its motions until knowledge became more extended and scientific instruments much greater in precision.

We will now consider in detail a few of the more obvious arguments which can be put forward to show that our earth is a sphere.

If, for instance, the earth were a plane surface, a ship sailing away from us over the sea would appear to grow smaller and smaller as it receded into the distance, becoming eventually a tiny speck, and fading gradually from our view. This, however, is not at all what actually takes place. As we watch a vessel receding, its hull appears bit by bit to slip gently down over the horizon, leaving the masts alone visible. Then, in their turn, the masts are seen to slip down in the same manner, until eventually every trace of the vessel is gone. On the other hand, when a ship comes into view, the masts are the first portions to appear. They gradually rise up from below the horizon, and the hull follows in its turn, until the whole vessel is visible. Again, when one is upon a ship at sea, a set of masts will often be seen sticking up alone above the horizon, and these may shorten and gradually disappear from view without the body of the ship to which they belong becoming visible at all. Since one knows from experience that there is no edge at the horizon over which a vessel can drop down, the appearance which we have been describing can only be explained by supposing that the surface of the earth is always curving gradually in every direction.

The distance at which what is known as the horizon lies away from us depends entirely upon the height above the earth's surface where we happen at the moment to be. A ship which has appeared to sink below the horizon for a person standing on the beach, will be found to come back again into view if he at once ascends a high hill. Experiment shows that the horizon line lies at about three miles away for a person standing at the water's edge. The curving of the earth's surface is found, indeed, to be at the rate of eight inches in every mile. Now it can be ascertained, by calculation, that a body curving at this rate in every direction must be a globe about 8000 miles in diameter.

Again, the fact that, if not stopped by such insuperable obstacles as the polar ice and snow, those who travel continually in any one direction upon the earth's surface always find themselves back again at the regions from which they originally set out, is additional ground for concluding that the earth is a globe.

We can find still further evidence. For instance, in an eclipse of the moon the earth's shadow, when seen creeping across the moon's face, is noted to be always circular in shape. One cannot imagine how such a thing could take place unless the earth were a sphere.

Also, it is found from observation that the sun, the planets, and the satellites are, all of them, round. This roundness cannot be the roundness of a flat plate, for instance, for then the objects in question would sometimes present their thin sides to our view. It happens, also, that upon the discs which these bodies show, we see certain markings shifting along continually in one direction, to disappear at one side and to reappear again at the other. Such bodies must, indeed, be spheres in rotation.

The crescent and other phases, shown by the moon and the inferior planets, should further impress the truth of the matter upon us, as such appearances can only be caused by the sunlight falling from various directions upon the surfaces of spherical bodies.

Another proof, perhaps indeed the weightiest of all, is the continuous manner in which the stars overhead give place to others as one travels about the surface of the earth. When in northern regions the Pole Star and its neighbours—the stars composing the Plough, for instance—are over our heads. As one journeys south these gradually sink towards the northern horizon, while other stars take their place, and yet others are uncovered to view from the south. The regularity with which these changes occur shows that every point on the earth's surface faces a different direction of the sky, and such an arrangement would only be possible if the earth were a sphere. The celebrated Greek philosopher, Aristotle, is known to have believed in the globular shape of the earth, and it was by this very argument that he had convinced himself that it was so.

The idea of the sphericity of the earth does not appear, however, to have been generally accepted until the voyages of the great navigators showed that it could be sailed round.

The next point we have to consider is the rotation of the earth about its axis. From the earliest times men noticed that the sky and everything in it appeared to revolve around the earth in one fixed direction, namely, towards what is called the West, and that it made one complete revolution in the period of time which we know as twenty-four hours. The stars were seen to come up, one after another, from below the eastern horizon, to mount the sky, and then to sink in turn below the western horizon. The sun was seen to perform exactly the same journey, and the moon, too, whenever she was visible. One or two of the ancient Greek philosophers perceived that this might be explained, either by a movement of the entire heavens around the earth, or by a turning motion on the part of the earth itself. Of these diverse explanations, that which supposed an actual movement of the heavens appealed to them the most, for they could hardly conceive that the earth should continually rotate and men not be aware of its movement. The question may be compared to what we experience when borne along in a railway train. We see the telegraph posts and the trees and buildings near the line fly past us one after another in the contrary direction. Either these must be moving, or we must be moving; and as we happen to know that it is, indeed, we who are moving, there can be no question therefore about the matter. But it would not be at all so easy to be sure of this movement were one unable to see the objects close at hand displacing themselves. For instance, if one is shut up in a railway carriage at night with the blinds down, there is really nothing to show that one is moving, except the jolting of the train. And even then it is hard to be sure in which direction one is actually travelling.

The way we are situated upon the earth is therefore as follows. There are no other bodies sufficiently near to be seen flying past us in turn; our earth spins without a jolt; we and all things around us, including the atmosphere itself, are borne along together with precisely the same impetus, just as all the objects scattered about a railway carriage share in the forward movement of the train. Such being the case, what wonder that we are unconscious of the earth's rotation, of which we should know nothing at all, were it not for that slow displacement of the distant objects in the heavens, as we are borne past them in turn.

If the night sky be watched, it will be soon found that its apparent turning movement seems to take place around a certain point, which appears as if fixed. This point is known as the north pole of the heavens; and a rather bright star, which is situated very close to this hub of movement, is in consequence called the Pole Star. For the dwellers in southern latitudes there is also a point in their sky which appears to remain similarly fixed, and this is known as the south pole of the heavens. Since, however, the heavens do not turn round at all, but the earth does, it will easily be seen that these apparently stationary regions in the sky are really the points towards which the axis of the earth is directed. The positions on the earth's surface itself, known as the North and South Poles, are merely the places where the earth's axis, if there were actually such a thing, would be expected to jut out. The north pole of the earth will thus be situated exactly beneath the north pole of the heavens, and the south pole of the earth exactly beneath the south pole of the heavens.

We have seen that the earth rotates upon its imaginary axis once in about every twenty-four hours. This means that everything upon the surface of the earth is carried round once during that time. The measurement around the earth's equator is about 24,000 miles; and, therefore, an object situated at the equator must be carried round through a distance of about 24,000 miles in each twenty-four hours. Everything at the equator is thus moving along at the rapid rate of about 1000 miles an hour, or between sixteen and seventeen times as fast as an express train. If, however, one were to take measurements around the earth parallel to the equator, one would find these measurements becoming less and less, according as the poles were approached. It is plain, therefore, that the speed with which any point moves, in consequence of the earth's rotation, will be greatest at the equator, and less and less in the direction of the poles; while at the poles themselves there will be practically no movement, and objects there situated will merely turn round.

The considerations above set forth, with regard to the different speeds at which different portions of a rotating globe will necessarily be moving, is the foundation of an interesting experiment, which gives us further evidence of the rotation of our earth. The measurement around the earth at any distance below the surface, say, for instance, at the depth of a mile, will clearly be less than a similar measurement at the surface itself. The speed of a point at the bottom of a mine, which results from the actual rotation of the earth, must therefore be less than the speed of a point at the surface overhead. This can be definitely proved by dropping a heavy object down a mine shaft. The object, which starts with the greater speed of the surface, will, when it reaches the bottom of the mine, be found, as might be indeed expected, to be a little ahead (i.e. to the east) of the point which originally lay exactly underneath it. The distance by which the object gains upon this point is, however, very small. In our latitudes it amounts to about an inch in a fall of 500 feet.

The great speed at which, as we have seen, the equatorial regions of the earth are moving, should result in giving to the matter there situated a certain tendency to fly outwards. Sir Isaac Newton was the first to appreciate this point, and he concluded from it that the earth must be bulged a little all round the equator. This is, indeed, found to be the case, the diameter at the equator being nearly twenty-seven miles greater than it is from pole to pole. The reader will, no doubt, be here reminded of the familiar comparison in geographies between the shape of the earth and that of an orange.

In this connection it is interesting to consider that, were the earth to rotate seventeen times as fast as it does (i.e. in one hour twenty-five minutes, instead of twenty-four hours), bodies at the equator would have such a strong tendency to fly outwards that the force of terrestrial gravity acting upon them would just be counterpoised, and they would virtually have no weight. And, further, were the earth to rotate a little faster still, objects lying loose upon its surface would be shot off into space.

The earth is, therefore, what is technically known as an oblate spheroid; that is, a body of spherical shape flattened at the poles. It follows of course from this, that objects at the polar regions are slightly nearer to the earth's centre than objects at the equatorial regions. We have already seen that gravitation acts from the central parts of a body, and that its force is greater the nearer are those central parts. The result of this upon our earth will plainly be that objects in the polar regions will be pulled with a slightly stronger pull, and will therefore weigh a trifle more than objects in the equatorial regions. This is, indeed, found by actual experiment to be the case. As an example of the difference in question, Professor Young, in his Manual of Astronomy, points out that a man who weighs 190 pounds at the equator would weigh 191 at the pole. In such an experiment the weighing would, however, have to be made with a spring balance, and not with scales; for, in the latter case, the "weights" used would alter in their weight in exactly the same degree as the objects to be weighed.

It used to be thought that the earth was composed of a relatively thin crust, with a molten interior. Scientific men now believe, on the other hand, that such a condition cannot after all prevail, and that the earth must be more or less solid all through, except perhaps in certain isolated places where collections of molten matter may exist.

The atmosphere, or air which we breathe, is in the form of a layer of limited depth which closely envelops the earth. Actually, it is a mixture of several gases, the most important being nitrogen and oxygen, which between them practically make up the air, for the proportion of the other gases, the chief of which is carbonic acid gas, is exceedingly small.

It is hard to picture our earth, as we know it, without this atmosphere. Deprived of it, men at once would die; but even if they could be made to go on living without it by any miraculous means, they would be like unto deaf beings, for they would never hear any sound. What we call sounds are merely vibrations set up in the air, which travel along and strike upon the drum of the ear.

The atmosphere is densest near the surface of the earth, and becomes less and less dense away from it, as a result of diminishing pressure of air from above. The greater portion of it is accumulated within four or five miles of the earth's surface.

It is impossible to determine exactly at what distance from the earth's surface the air ceases altogether, for it grows continually more and more rarefied. There are, however, two distinct methods of ascertaining the distance beyond which it can be said practically not to exist. One of these methods we get from twilight. Twilight is, in fact, merely light reflected to us from those upper regions of the air, which still continue to be illuminated by the sun after it has disappeared from our view below the horizon. The time during which twilight lasts, shows us that the atmosphere must be at least fifty miles high.

But the most satisfactory method of ascertaining the height to which the atmosphere extends is from the observation of meteors. It is found that these bodies become ignited, by the friction of passing into the atmosphere, at a height of about 100 miles above the surface of the earth. We thus gather that the atmosphere has a certain degree of density even at this height. It may, indeed, extend as far as about 150 miles.

The layer of atmosphere surrounding our earth acts somewhat in the manner of the glass covering of a greenhouse, bottling in the sun's rays, and thus storing up their warmth for our benefit. Were this not so, the heat which we get from the sun would, after falling upon the earth, be quickly radiated again into space.

It is owing to the unsteadiness of the air that stars are seen to twinkle. A night when this takes place, though it may please the average person, is worse than useless to the astronomer, for the unsteadiness is greatly magnified in the telescope. This twinkling is, no doubt, in a great measure responsible for the conventional "points" with which Art has elected to embellish stars, and which, of course, have no existence in fact.

The phenomena of Refraction,[13] namely, that bending which rays of light undergo, when passing slant-wise from a rare into a dense transparent medium, are very marked with regard to the atmosphere. The denser the medium into which such rays pass, the greater is this bending found to be. Since the layer of air around us becomes denser and denser towards the surface of the earth, it will readily be granted that the rays of light reaching our eyes from a celestial object, will suffer the greater bending the lower the object happens to be in the sky. Celestial objects, unless situated directly overhead, are thus not seen in their true places, and when nearest to the horizon are most out of place. The bending alluded to is upwards. Thus the sun and the moon, for instance, when we see them resting upon the horizon, are actually entirely beneath it.

When the sun, too, is sinking towards the horizon, the lower edge of its disc will, for the above reason, look somewhat more raised than the upper. The result is a certain appearance of flattening; which may plainly be seen by any one who watches the orb at setting.

In observations to determine the exact positions of celestial objects correction has to be made for the effects of refraction, according to the apparent elevation of these objects in the sky. Such effects are least when the objects in question are directly overhead, for then the rays of light, coming from them to the eye, enter the atmosphere perpendicularly, and not at any slant.

A very curious effect, due to refraction, has occasionally been observed during a total eclipse of the moon. To produce an eclipse of this kind, the earth must, of course, lie directly between the sun and the moon. Therefore, when we see the shadow creeping over the moon's surface, the sun should actually be well below the horizon. But when a lunar eclipse happens to come on just about sunset, the sun, although really sunk below the horizon, appears still above it through refraction, and the eclipsed moon, situated, of course, exactly opposite to it in the sky, is also lifted up above the horizon by the same cause. Pliny, writing in the first century of the Christian era, describes an eclipse of this kind, and refers to it as a "prodigy." The phenomenon is known as a "horizontal eclipse." It was, no doubt, partly owing to it that the ancients took so long to decide that an eclipse of the moon was really caused by the shadow cast by the earth. Plutarch, indeed, remarks that it was easy enough to understand that a solar eclipse was caused by the interposition of the moon, but that one could not imagine by the interposition of what body the moon itself could be eclipsed.

In that apparent movement of the heavens about the earth, which men now know to be caused by the mere rotation of the earth itself, a slight change is observed to be continually taking place. The stars, indeed, are always found to be gradually drawing westward, i.e. towards the sun, and losing themselves one after the other in the blaze of his light, only to reappear, however, on the other side of him after a certain lapse of time. This is equivalent to saying that the sun itself seems always creeping slowly eastward in the heaven. The rate at which this appears to take place is such that the sun finds itself back again to its original position, with regard to the starry background, at the end of a year's time. In other words, the sun seems to make a complete tour of the heavens in the course of a year. Here, however, we have another illusion, just as the daily movement of the sky around the earth was an illusion. The truth indeed is, that this apparent movement of the sun eastward among the stars during a year, arises merely from a continuous displacement of his position caused by an actual motion of the earth itself around him in that very time. In a word, it is the earth which really moves around the sun, and not the sun around the earth.

The stress laid upon this fundamental point by Copernicus, marks the separation of the modern from the ancient view. Not that Copernicus, indeed, had obtained any real proof that the earth is merely a planet revolving around the sun; but it seemed to his profound intellect that a movement of this kind on the part of our globe was the more likely explanation of the celestial riddle. The idea was not new; for, as we have already seen, certain of the ancient Greeks (Aristarchus of Samos, for example) had held such a view; but their notions on the subject were very fanciful, and unsupported by any good argument.

What Copernicus, however, really seems to have done was to insist upon the idea that the sun occupied the centre, as being more consonant with common sense. No doubt, he was led to take up this position by the fact that the sun appeared entirely of a different character from the other members of the system. The one body in the scheme, which performed the important function of dispenser of light and heat, would indeed be more likely to occupy a position apart from the rest; and what position more appropriate for its purposes than the centre!

But here Copernicus only partially solved the difficult question. He unfortunately still clung to an ancient belief, which as yet remained unquestioned; i.e. the great virtue, one might almost say, the divineness, of circular motion. The ancients had been hag-ridden, so to speak, by the circle; and it appeared to them that such a perfectly formed curve was alone fitted for the celestial motions. Ptolemy employed it throughout his system. According to him the "planets" (which included, under the ancient view, both the sun and the moon), moved around the earth in circles; but, as their changing positions in the sky could not be altogether accounted for in this way, it was further supposed that they performed additional circular movements, around peculiarly placed centres, during the course of their orbital revolutions. Thus the Ptolemaic system grew to be extremely complicated; for astronomers did not hesitate to add new circular movements whenever the celestial positions calculated for the planets were found not to tally with the positions observed. In this manner, indeed, they succeeded in doctoring the theory, so that it fairly satisfied the observations made with the rough instruments of pre-telescopic times.

Although Copernicus performed the immense service to astronomy of boldly directing general attention to the central position of the sun, he unfortunately took over for the new scheme the circular machinery of the Ptolemaic system. It therefore remained for the famous Kepler, who lived about a century after him, to find the complete solution. Just as Copernicus, for instance, had broken free from tradition with regard to the place of the sun; so did Kepler, in turn, break free from the spell of circular motion, and thus set the coping-stone to the new astronomical edifice. This astronomer showed, in fact, that if the paths of the planets around the sun, and of the moon around the earth, were not circles, but ellipses, the movements of these bodies about the sky could be correctly accounted for. The extreme simplicity of such an arrangement was far more acceptable than the bewildering intricacy of movement required by the Ptolemaic theory. The Copernican system, as amended by Kepler, therefore carried the day; and was further strengthened, as we have already seen, by the telescopic observations of Galileo and the researches of Newton into the effects of gravitation.

And here a word on the circle, now fallen from its high estate. The ancients were in error in supposing that it stood entirely apart—the curve of curves. As a matter of fact it is merely a special kind of ellipse. To put it paradoxically, it is an ellipse which has no ellipticity, an oval without any ovalness!

Notwithstanding all this, astronomy had to wait yet a long time for a definite proof of the revolution of the earth around the sun. The leading argument advanced by Aristotle, against the reality of any movement of the earth, still held good up to about seventy years ago. That philosopher had pointed out that the earth could not move about in space to any great extent, or the stars would be found to alter their apparent places in the sky, a thing which had never been observed to happen. Centuries ran on, and instruments became more and more perfect, yet no displacements of stars were noted. In accepting the Copernican theory men were therefore obliged to suppose these objects as immeasurably distant. At length, however, between the years 1835 and 1840, it was discovered by the Prussian astronomer, Bessel, that a star known as 61 Cygni—that is to say, the star marked in celestial atlases as No. 61 in the constellation of the Swan—appeared, during the course of a year, to perform a tiny circle in the heavens, such as would result from a movement on our own part around the sun. Since then about forty-three stars have been found to show minute displacements of a similar kind, which cannot be accounted for upon any other supposition than that of a continuous revolution of the earth around the sun. The triumph of the Copernican system is now at last supreme.

If the axis of the earth stood "straight up," so to speak, while the earth revolved in its orbit, the sun would plainly keep always on a level with the equator. This is equivalent to stating that, in such circumstances, a person at the equator would see it rise each morning exactly in the east, pass through the zenith, that is, the point directly overhead of him, at midday, and set in the evening due in the west. As this would go on unchangingly at the equator every day throughout the year, it should be clear that, at any particular place upon the earth, the sun would in these conditions always be seen to move in an unvarying manner across the sky at a certain altitude depending upon the latitude of the place. Thus the more north one went upon the earth's surface, the more southerly in the sky would the sun's path lie; while at the north pole itself, the sun would always run round and round the horizon. Similarly, the more south one went from the equator the more northerly would the path of the sun lie, while at the south pole it would be seen to skirt the horizon in the same manner as at the north pole. The result of such an arrangement would be, that each place upon the earth would always have one unvarying climate; in which case there would not exist any of those beneficial changes of season to which we owe so much.

The changes of season, which we fortunately experience, are due, however, to the fact that the sun does not appear to move across the sky each day at one unvarying altitude, but is continually altering the position of its path; so that at one period of the year it passes across the sky low down, and remains above the horizon for a short time only, while at another it moves high up across the heavens, and is above the horizon for a much longer time. Actually, the sun seems little by little to creep up the sky during one half of the year, namely, from mid-winter to mid-summer, and then, just as gradually, to slip down it again during the other half, namely, from mid-summer to mid-winter. It will therefore be clear that every region of the earth is much more thoroughly warmed during one portion of the year than during another, i.e. when the sun's path is high in the heavens than when it is low down.

Once more we find appearances exactly the contrary from the truth. The earth is in this case the real cause of the deception, just as it was in the other cases. The sun does not actually creep slowly up the sky, and then slowly dip down it again, but, owing to the earth's axis being set aslant, different regions of the earth's surface are presented to the sun at different times. Thus, in one portion of its orbit, the northerly regions of the earth are presented to the sun, and in the other portion the southerly. It follows of course from this, that when it is summer in the northern hemisphere it is winter in the southern, and vice versa (see Fig. 13, p. 176).



The fact that, in consequence of this slant of the earth's axis, the sun is for part of the year on the north side of the equator and part of the year on the south side, leads to a very peculiar result. The path of the moon around the earth is nearly on the same plane with the earth's path around the sun. The moon, therefore, always keeps to the same regions of the sky as the sun. The slant of the earth's axis thus regularly displaces the position of both the sun and the moon to the north and south sides of the equator respectively in the manner we have been describing. Were the earth, however, a perfect sphere, such change of position would not produce any effect. We have shown, however, that the earth is not a perfect sphere, but that it is bulged out all round the equator. The result is that this bulged-out portion swings slowly under the pulls of solar and lunar gravitation, in response to the displacements of the sun and moon to the north and to the south of it. This slow swing of the equatorial regions results, of course, in a certain slow change of the direction of the earth's axis, so that the north pole does not go on pointing continually to the same region of the sky. The change in the direction of the axis is, however, so extremely slight, that it shows up only after the lapse of ages. The north pole of the heavens, that is, the region of the sky towards which the north pole of the earth's axis points, displaces therefore extremely slowly, tracing out a wide circle, and arriving back again to the same position in the sky only after a period of about 25,000 years. At present the north pole of the heavens is quite close to a bright star in the tail of the constellation of the Little Bear, which is consequently known as the Pole Star; but in early Greek times it was at least ten times as far away from this star as it is now. After some 12,000 years the pole will point to the constellation of Lyra, and Vega, the most brilliant star in that constellation, will then be considered as the pole star. This slow twisting of the earth's axis is technically known as Precession, or the Precession of the Equinoxes (see Plate XIX., p. 292).

The slow displacement of the celestial pole appears to have attracted the attention of men in very early times, but it was not until the second century B.C. that precession was established as a fact by the celebrated Greek astronomer, Hipparchus. For the ancients this strange cyclical movement had a mystic significance; and they looked towards the end of the period as the end, so to speak, of a "dispensation," after which the life of the universe would begin anew:—

"Magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo. Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; . . . . . . Alter erit tum Tiphys, et altera quae vehat Argo Delectos heroas; erunt etiam altera bella, Atque iterum ad Trojam magnus mittetur Achilles."

We have seen that the orbit of the earth is an ellipse, and that the sun is situated at what is called the focus, a point not in the middle of the ellipse, but rather towards one of its ends. Therefore, during the course of the year the distance of the earth from the sun varies. The sun, in consequence of this, is about 3,000,000 miles nearer to us in our northern winter than it is in our northern summer, a statement which sounds somewhat paradoxical. This variation in distance, large as it appears in figures, can, however, not be productive of much alteration in the amount of solar heat which we receive, for during the first week in January, when the distance is least, the sun only looks about one-eighteenth broader than at the commencement of July, when the distance is greatest. The great disparity in temperature between winter and summer depends, as we have seen, upon causes of quite another kind, and varies between such wide limits that the effects of this slight alteration in the distance of the sun from the earth may be neglected for practical purposes.

The Tides are caused by the gravitational pull of the sun and moon upon the water of the earth's surface. Of the two, the moon, being so much the nearer, exerts the stronger pull, and therefore may be regarded as the chief cause of the tides. This pull always draws that portion of the water, which happens to be right underneath the moon at the time, into a heap; and there is also a second heaping of water at the same moment at the contrary side of the earth, the reasons for which can be shown mathematically, but cannot be conveniently dealt with here.

As the earth rotates on its axis each portion of its surface passes beneath the moon, and is swelled up by this pull; the watery portions being, however, the only ones to yield visibly. A similar swelling up, as we have seen, takes place at the point exactly away from the moon. Thus each portion of our globe is borne by the rotation through two "tide-areas" every day, and this is the reason why there are two tides during every twenty-four hours.

The crest of the watery swelling is known as high tide. The journey of the moon around the earth takes about a month, and this brings her past each place in turn by about fifty minutes later each day, which is the reason why high tide is usually about twenty-five minutes later each time.

The moon is, however, not the sole cause of the tides, but the sun, as we have said, has a part in the matter also. When it is new moon the gravitational attractions of both sun and moon are clearly acting together from precisely the same direction, and, therefore, the tide will be pulled up higher than at other times. At full moon, too, the same thing happens; for, although the bodies are now acting from opposite directions, they do not neutralise each other's pulls as one might imagine, since the sun, in the same manner as the moon, produces a tide both under it and also at the opposite side of the earth. Thus both these tides are actually increased in height. The exceptionally high tides which we experience at new and full moons are known as Spring Tides, in contradistinction to the minimum high tides, which are known as Neap Tides.

The ancients appear to have had some idea of the cause of the tides. It is said that as early as 1000 B.C. the Chinese noticed that the moon exerted an influence upon the waters of the sea. The Greeks and Romans, too, had noticed the same thing; and Caesar tells us that when he was embarking his troops for Britain the tide was high because the moon was full. Pliny went even further than this, in recognising a similar connection between the waters and the sun.

From casual observation one is inclined to suppose that the high tide always rises many feet. But that this is not the case is evidenced by the fact that the tides in the midst of the great oceans are only from three to four feet high. However, in the seas and straits around our Isles, for instance, the tides rise very many feet indeed, but this is merely owing to the extra heaping up which the large volumes of water undergo in forcing their passage through narrow channels.

As the earth, in rotating, is continually passing through these tide-areas, one might expect that the friction thus set up would tend to slow down the rotation itself. Such a slowing down, or "tidal drag," as it is called, is indeed continually going on; but the effects produced are so exceedingly minute that it will take many millions of years to make the rotation appreciably slower, and so to lengthen the day.

Recently it has been proved that the axis of the earth is subject to a very small displacement, or rather, "wobbling," in the course of a period of somewhat over a year. As a consequence of this, the pole shifts its place through a circle of, roughly, a few yards in width during the time in question. This movement is, perhaps, the combined result of two causes. One of these is the change of place during the year of large masses of material upon our earth; such as occurs, for instance, when ice and snow melt, or when atmospheric and ocean currents transport from place to place great bodies of air and water. The other cause is supposed to be the fact that the earth is not absolutely rigid, and so yields to certain strains upon it. In the course of investigation of this latter point the interesting conclusion has been reached by the famous American astronomer, Professor Simon Newcomb, that our globe as a whole is a little more rigid than steel.

We will bring this chapter to a close by alluding briefly to two strange appearances which are sometimes seen in our night skies. These are known respectively as the Zodiacal Light and the Gegenschein.

The Zodiacal Light is a faint cone-shaped illumination which is seen to extend upwards from the western horizon after evening twilight has ended, and from the eastern horizon before morning twilight has begun. It appears to rise into the sky from about the position where the sun would be at that time. The proper season of the year for observing it during the evening is in the spring, while in autumn it is best seen in the early morning. In our latitudes its light is not strong enough to render it visible when the moon is full, but in the tropics it is reported to be very bright, and easily seen in full moonlight. One theory regards it as the reflection of light from swarms of meteors revolving round the sun; another supposes it to be a very rarefied extension of the corona.

The Gegenschein (German for "counter-glow") is a faint oval patch of light, seen in the sky exactly opposite to the place of the sun. It is usually treated of in connection with the zodiacal light, and one theory regards it similarly as of meteoric origin. Another theory, however—that of Mr. Evershed—considers it a sort of tail to the earth (like a comet's tail) composed of hydrogen and helium—the two lightest gases we know—driven off from our planet in the direction contrary to the sun.

[13] Every one knows the simple experiment in which a coin lying at the bottom of an empty basin, and hidden from the eye by its side, becomes visible when a certain quantity of water has been poured in. This is an example of refraction. The rays of light coming from the coin ought not to reach the eye, on account of the basin's side being in the way; yet by the action of the water they are refracted, or bent over its edge, in such a manner that they do.



CHAPTER XVI

THE MOON

What we call the moon's "phases" are merely the various ways in which we see the sun shining upon her surface during the course of her monthly revolutions around the earth (see Fig. 14, p. 184). When she passes in the neighbourhood of the sun all his light falls upon that side which is turned away from us, and so the side which is turned towards us is unillumined, and therefore invisible. When in this position the moon is spoken of as new.

As she continues her motion around the earth, she draws gradually to the east of the sun's place in the sky. The sunlight then comes somewhat from the side; and so we see a small portion of the right side of the lunar disc illuminated. This is the phase known as the crescent moon.

As she moves on in her orbit more and more of her illuminated surface is brought into view; and so the crescent of light becomes broader and broader, until we get what is called half-moon, or first quarter, when we see exactly one-half of her surface lit up by the sun's rays. As she draws still further round yet more of her illuminated surface is brought into view, until three-quarters of the disc appear lighted up. She is then said to be gibbous.

Eventually she moves round so that she faces the sun completely, and the whole of her disc appears illuminated. She is then spoken of as full. When in this position it is clear that she is on the contrary side of the earth to the sun, and therefore rises about the same time that he is setting. She is now, in fact, at her furthest from the sun.



After this, the motion of the moon in her orbit carries her on back again in the direction of the sun. She thus goes through her phases as before, only these of course are in the reverse order. The full phase is seen to give place to the gibbous, and this in turn to the half-moon and to the crescent; after which her motion carries her into the neighbourhood of the sun, and she is once more new, and lost to our sight in the solar glare. Following this she draws away to the east of the sun again, and the old order of phases repeat themselves as before.

The early Babylonians imagined that the moon had a bright and a dark side, and that her phases were caused by the bright side coming more and more into view during her movement around the sky. The Greeks, notably Aristotle, set to work to examine the question from a mathematical standpoint, and came to the conclusion that the crescent and other appearances were such as would necessarily result if the moon were a dark body of spherical shape illumined merely by the light of the sun.

Although the true explanation of the moon's phases has thus been known for centuries, it is unfortunately not unusual to see pictures—advertisement posters, for instance—in which stars appear within the horns of a crescent moon! Can it be that there are to-day educated persons who believe that the moon is a thing which grows to a certain size and then wastes away again; who, in fact, do not know that the entire body of the moon is there all the while?

When the moon shows a very thin crescent, we are able dimly to see her still dark portion standing out against the sky. This appearance is popularly known as the "old moon in the new moon's arms." The dark part of her surface must, indeed, be to some degree illumined, or we should not be able to see it at all. Whence then comes the light which illumines it, since it clearly cannot come from the sun? The riddle is easily solved, if we consider what kind of view of our earth an observer situated on this darkened part of the moon would at that moment get. He would, as a matter of fact, just then see nearly the whole disc of the earth brightly lit up by sunlight. The lunar landscape all around would, therefore, be bathed in what to him would be "earthlight," which of course takes the place there of what we call moonlight. If, then, we recollect how much greater in size the earth is than the moon, it should not surprise us that this earthlight will be many times brighter than moonlight. It is considered, indeed, to be some twenty times brighter. It is thus not at all astonishing that we can see the dark portion of the moon illumined merely by sunlight reflected upon it from our earth.

The ancients were greatly exercised in their minds to account for this "earthlight," or "earthshine," as it is also called. Posidonius (135-51 B.C.) tried to explain it by supposing that the moon was partially transparent, and that some sunlight consequently filtered through from the other side. It was not, however, until the fifteenth century that the correct solution was arrived at.



Perhaps the most remarkable thing which one notices about the moon is that she always turns the same side towards us, and so we never see her other side. One might be led from this to jump to the conclusion that she does not rotate upon an axis, as do the other bodies which we see; but, paradoxical as it may appear, the fact that she turns one face always towards the earth, is actually a proof that she does rotate upon an axis. The rotation, however, takes place with such slowness, that she turns round but once during the time in which she revolves around the earth (see Fig. 15). In order to understand the matter clearly, let the reader place an object in the centre of a room and walk around it once, keeping his face turned towards it the whole time, While he is doing this, it is evident that he will face every one of the four walls of the room in succession. Now in order to face each of the four walls of a room in succession one would be obliged to turn oneself entirely round. Therefore, during the act of walking round an object with his face turned directly towards it, a person at the same time turns his body once entirely round.

In the long, long past the moon must have turned round much faster than this. Her rate of rotation has no doubt been slowed down by the action of some force. It will be recollected how, in the course of the previous chapter, we found that the tides were tending, though exceedingly gradually, to slow down the rotation of the earth upon its axis. But, on account of the earth's much greater mass, the force of gravitation exercised by it upon the surface of the moon is, of course, much more powerful than that which the moon exercises upon the surface of the earth. The tendency to tidal action on the moon itself must, therefore, be much in excess of anything which we here experience. It is, in consequence, probable that such a tidal drag, extending over a very long period of time, has resulted in slowing down the moon's rotation to its present rate.

The fact that we never see but one side of the moon has given rise from time to time to fantastic speculations with regard to the other side. Some, indeed, have wished to imagine that our satellite is shaped like an egg, the more pointed end being directed away from us. We are here, of course, faced with a riddle, which is all the more tantalising from its appearing for ever insoluble to men, chained as they are to the earth. However, it seems going too far to suppose that any abnormal conditions necessarily exist at the other side of the moon. As a matter of fact, indeed, small portions of that side are brought into our view from time to time in consequence of slight irregularities in the moon's movement; and these portions differ in no way from those which we ordinarily see. On the whole, we obtain a view of about 60 per cent. of the entire lunar surface; that is to say, a good deal more than one-half.

The actual diameter of the moon is about 2163 miles, which is somewhat more than one-quarter the diameter of the earth. For a satellite, therefore, she seems very large compared with her primary, the earth; when we consider that Jupiter's greatest satellite, although nearly twice as broad as our moon, has a diameter only one twenty-fifth that of Jupiter. Furthermore, the moon moves around the earth comparatively slowly, making only about thirteen revolutions during the entire year. Seen from space, therefore, she would not give the impression of a circling body, as other satellites do. Her revolutions are, indeed, relatively so very slow that she would appear rather like a smaller planet accompanying the earth in its orbit. In view of all this, some astronomers are inclined to regard the earth and moon rather as a "double planet" than as a system of planet and satellite.

When the moon is full she attracts more attention perhaps than in any of her other phases. The moon, in order to be full, must needs be in that region of the heavens exactly opposite to the sun. The sun appears to go once entirely round the sky in the course of a year, and the moon performs the same journey in the space of about a month. The moon, when full, having got half-way round this journey, occupies, therefore, that region of the sky which the sun itself will occupy half a year later. Thus in winter the full moon will be found roughly to occupy the sun's summer position in the sky, and in summer the sun's winter position. It therefore follows that the full moon in winter time is high up in the heavens, while in summer time it is low down. We thus get the greatest amount of full moonlight when it is the most needed.

The great French astronomer, Laplace, being struck by the fact that the "lesser light" did not rule the night to anything like the same extent that the "greater light" ruled the day, set to work to examine the conditions under which it might have been made to do so. The result of his speculations showed that if the moon were removed to such a distance that she took a year instead of a month to revolve around the earth; and if she were started off in her orbit at full moon, she would always continue to remain full—a great advantage for us. Whewell, however, pointed out that in order to get the moon to move with the requisite degree of slowness, she would have to revolve so far from the earth that she would only look one-sixteenth as large as she does at present, which rather militates against the advantage Laplace had in mind! Finally, however, it was shown by M. Liouville, in 1845, that the position of a perennial full moon, such as Laplace dreamed of, would be unstable—that is to say, the body in question could not for long remain undisturbed in the situation suggested (see Fig. 16, p. 191).



There is a well-known phenomenon called harvest moon, concerning the nature of which there seems to be much popular confusion. An idea in fact appears to prevail among a good many people that the moon is a harvest moon when, at rising, it looks bigger and redder than usual. Such an appearance has, however, nothing at all to say to the matter; for the moon always looks larger when low down in the sky, and, furthermore, it usually looks red in the later months of the year, when there is more mist and fog about than there is in summer. What astronomers actually term the harvest moon is, indeed, something entirely different from this. About the month of September the slant at which the full moon comes up from below the horizon happens to be such that, during several evenings together, she rises almost at the same hour, instead of some fifty minutes later, as is usually the case. As the harvest is being gathered in about that time, it has come to be popularly considered that this is a provision of nature, according to which the sunlight is, during several evenings, replaced without delay by more or less full-moonlight, in order that harvesters may continue their work straight on into the night, and not be obliged to break off after sunset to wait until the moon rises. The same phenomenon is almost exactly repeated a month later, but by reason of the pursuits then carried on it is known as the "hunter's moon."

In this connection should be mentioned that curious phenomenon above alluded to, and which seems to attract universal notice, namely, that the moon looks much larger when near the horizon—at its rising, for instance, than when higher up in the sky. This seeming enlargement is, however, by no means confined to the moon. That the sun also looks much larger when low down in the sky than when high up, seems to strike even the most casual watcher of a sunset. The same kind of effect will, indeed, be noted if close attention be paid to the stars themselves. A constellation, for instance, appears more spread out when low down in the sky than when high up. This enlargement of celestial objects when in the neighbourhood of the horizon is, however, only apparent and not real. It must be entirely an illusion; for the most careful measurements of the discs of the sun and of the moon fail to show that the bodies are any larger when near the horizon than when high up in the sky. In fact, if there be any difference in measurements with regard to the moon, it will be found to be the other way round; for her disc, when carefully measured, is actually the slightest degree greater when high in the sky, than when low down. The reason for this is that, on account of the rotundity of the earth's surface, she is a trifle nearer the observer when overhead of him.

This apparent enlargement of celestial objects, when low down in the sky, is granted on all sides to be an illusion; but although the question has been discussed with animation time out of mind, none of the explanations proposed can be said to have received unreserved acceptance. The one which usually figures in text-books is that we unconsciously compare the sun and moon, when low down in the sky, with the terrestrial objects in the same field of view, and are therefore inclined to exaggerate the size of these orbs. Some persons, on the other hand, imagine the illusion to have its source in the structure of the human eye; while others, again, put it down to the atmosphere, maintaining that the celestial objects in question loom large in the thickened air near the horizon, in the same way that they do when viewed through fog or mist.

The writer[14] ventures, however, to think that the illusion has its origin in our notion of the shape of the celestial vault. One would be inclined, indeed, to suppose that this vault ought to appear to us as the half of a hollow sphere; but he maintains that it does not so appear, as a consequence of the manner in which the eyes of men are set quite close together in their heads. If one looks, for instance, high up in the sky, the horizon cannot come within the field of view, and so there is nothing to make one think that the expanse then gazed upon is other than quite flat—let us say like the ceiling of a room. But, as the eyes are lowered, a portion of the encircling horizon comes gradually into the field of view, and the region of the sky then gazed upon tends in consequence to assume a hollowed-out form. From this it would seem that our idea of the shape of the celestial vault is, that it is flattened down over our heads and hollowed out all around in the neighbourhood of the horizon (see Fig. 17, p. 195). Now, as a consequence of their very great distance, all the objects in the heavens necessarily appear to us to move as if they were placed on the background of the vault; the result being that the mind is obliged to conceive them as expanded or contracted, in its unconscious attempts to make them always fill their due proportion of space in the various parts of this abnormally shaped sky.

From such considerations the writer concludes that the apparent enlargement in question is merely the natural consequence of the idea we have of the shape of the celestial vault—an idea gradually built up in childhood, to become later on what is called "second nature." And in support of this contention, he would point to the fact that the enlargement is not by any means confined to the sun and moon, but is every whit as marked in the case of the constellations. To one who has not noticed this before, it is really quite a revelation to compare the appearance of one of the large constellations (Orion, for instance) when high up in the sky and when low down. The widening apart of the various stars composing the group, when in the latter position, is very noticeable indeed.



Further, if a person were to stand in the centre of a large dome, he would be exactly situated as if he were beneath the vaulted heaven, and one would consequently expect him to suffer the same illusion as to the shape of the dome. Objects fixed upon its background would therefore appear to him under the same conditions as objects in the sky, and the illusions as to their apparent enlargement should hold good here also.

Some years ago a Belgian astronomer, M. Stroobant, in an investigation of the matter at issue, chanced to make a series of experiments under the very conditions just detailed. To various portions of the inner surface of a large dome he attached pairs of electric lights; and on placing himself at the centre of the building, he noticed that, in every case, those pairs which were high up appeared closer together than those which were low down! He does not, however, seem to have sought for the cause in the vaulted expanse. On the contrary, he attributed the effect to something connected with our upright stature, to some physiological reason which regularly makes us estimate objects as larger when in front than when overhead.

In connection with this matter, it may be noted that it always appears extremely difficult to estimate with the eye the exact height above the horizon at which any object (say a star) happens to be. Even skilled observers find themselves in error in attempting to do so. This seems to bear out the writer's contention that the form under which the celestial vault really appears to us is a peculiar one, and tends to give rise to false judgments.

Before leaving this question, it should also be mentioned that nothing perhaps is more deceptive than the size which objects in the sky appear to present. The full moon looks so like a huge plate, that it astonishes one to find that a threepenny bit held at arm's length will a long way more than cover its disc.



The moon is just too far off to allow us to see the actual detail on her surface with the naked eye. When thus viewed she merely displays a patchy appearance,[15] and the imaginary forms which her darker markings suggest to the fancy are popularly expressed by the term "Man in the Moon." An examination of her surface with very moderate optical aid is, however, quite a revelation, and the view we then get is not easily comparable to what we see with the unaided eye.

Even with an ordinary opera-glass, an observer will be able to note a good deal of detail upon the lunar disc. If it be his first observation of the kind, he cannot fail to be struck by the fact to which we have just made allusion, namely, the great change which the moon appears to undergo when viewed with magnifying power. "Cain and his Dog," the "Man in the Moon gathering sticks," or whatever indeed his fancy was wont to conjure up from the lights and shades upon the shining surface, have now completely disappeared; and he sees instead a silvery globe marked here and there with extensive dark areas, and pitted all over with crater-like formations (see Plate VIII., p. 196). The dark areas retain even to the present day their ancient name of "seas," for Galileo and the early telescopic observers believed them to be such, and they are still catalogued under the mystic appellations given to them in the long ago; as, for instance, "Sea of Showers," "Bay of Rainbows," "Lake of Dreams."[16] The improved telescopes of later times showed, however, that they were not really seas (there is no water on the moon), but merely areas of darker material.

The crater-like formations above alluded to are the "lunar mountains." A person examining the moon for the first time with telescopic aid, will perhaps not at once grasp the fact that his view of lunar mountains must needs be what is called a "bird's-eye" one, namely, a view from above, like that from a balloon and that he cannot, of course, expect to see them from the side, as he does the mountains upon the earth. But once he has realised this novel point of view, he will no doubt marvel at the formations which lie scattered as it were at his feet. The type of lunar mountain is indeed in striking contrast to the terrestrial type. On our earth the range-formation is supreme; on the moon the crater-formation is the rule, and is so-called from analogy to our volcanoes. A typical lunar crater may be described as a circular wall, enclosing a central plain, or "floor," which is often much depressed below the level of the surface outside. These so-called "craters," or "ring-mountains," as they are also termed, are often of gigantic proportions. For instance, the central plain of one of them, known as Ptolemaeus,[17] is about 115 miles across, while that of Plato is about 60. The walls of craters often rise to great heights; which, in proportion to the small size of the moon, are very much in excess of our highest terrestrial elevations. Nevertheless, a person posted at the centre of one of the larger craters might be surprised to find that he could not see the encompassing crater-walls, which would in every direction be below his horizon. This would arise not alone from the great breadth of the crater itself, but also from the fact that the curving of the moon's surface is very sharp compared with that of our earth.



We have mentioned Ptolemaeus as among the very large craters, or ring-mountains, on the moon. Its encompassing walls rise to nearly 13,000 feet, and it has the further distinction of being almost in the centre of the lunar disc. There are, however, several others much wider, but they are by no means in such a conspicuous position. For instance, Schickard, close to the south-eastern border, is nearly 130 miles in diameter, and its wall rises in one point to over 10,000 feet. Grimaldi, almost exactly at the east point, is nearly as large as Schickard. Another crater, Clavius, situated near the south point, is about 140 miles across; while its neighbour Bailly—named after a famous French astronomer of the eighteenth century—is 180, and the largest of those which we can see (see Plate IX., p. 198).

Many of the lunar craters encroach upon one another; in fact there is not really room for them all upon the visible hemisphere of the moon. About 30,000 have been mapped; but this is only a small portion, for according to the American astronomer, Professor W.H. Pickering, there are more than 200,000 in all.

Notwithstanding the fact that the crater is the type of mountain associated in the mind with the moon, it must not be imagined that upon our satellite there are no mountains at all of the terrestrial type. There are indeed many isolated peaks, but strangely enough they are nearly always to be found in the centres of craters. Some of these peaks are of great altitude, that in the centre of the crater Copernicus being over 11,000 feet high. A few mountain ranges also exist; the best known of which are styled, the Lunar Alps and Lunar Apennines (see Plate X., p. 200).

Since the mass of the moon is only about one-eightieth that of the earth, it will be understood that the force of gravity which she exercises is much less. It is calculated that, at her surface, this is only about one-sixth of what we experience. A man transported to the moon would thus be able to jump six times as high as he can here. A building could therefore be six times as tall as upon our earth, without causing any more strain upon its foundations. It should not, then, be any subject for wonder, that the highest peaks in the Lunar Apennines attain to such heights as 22,000 feet. Such a height, upon a comparatively small body like the moon, for her volume is only one-fiftieth that of the earth, is relatively very much in excess of the 29,000 feet of Himalayan structure, Mount Everest, the boast of our planet, 8000 miles across!

High as are the Lunar Apennines, the highest peaks on the moon are yet not found among them. There is, for instance, on the extreme southern edge of the lunar disc, a range known as the Leibnitz Mountains; several peaks of which rise to a height of nearly 30,000 feet, one peak in particular being said to attain to 36,000 feet (see Plate IX., p. 198).



But the reader will surely ask the question: "How is it possible to determine the actual height of a lunar mountain, if one cannot go upon the moon to measure it?" The answer is, that we can calculate its height from noting the length of the shadow which it casts. Any one will allow that the length of a shadow cast by the sun depends upon two things: firstly, upon the height of the object which causes the shadow, and secondly, upon the elevation of the sun at the moment in the sky. The most casual observer of nature upon our earth can scarcely have failed to notice that shadows are shortest at noonday, when the sun is at its highest in the sky; and that they lengthen out as the sun declines towards its setting. Here, then, we have the clue. To ascertain, therefore, the height of a lunar mountain, we have first to consider at what elevation the sun is at that moment above the horizon of the place where the mountain in question is situated. Then, having measured the actual length in miles of the shadow extended before us, all that is left is to ask ourselves the question: "What height must an object be whose shadow cast by the sun, when at that elevation in the sky, will extend to this length?"

There is no trace whatever of water upon the moon. The opinion, indeed, which seems generally held, is that water has never existed upon its surface. Erosions, sedimentary deposits, and all those marks which point to a former occupation by water are notably absent.

Similarly there appears to be no atmosphere on the moon; or, at any rate, such an excessively rare one, as to be quite inappreciable. Of this there are several proofs. For instance, in a solar eclipse the moon's disc always stands out quite clear-cut against that of the sun. Again during occultations, stars disappear behind the moon with a suddenness, which could not be the case were there any appreciable atmosphere. Lastly, we see no traces of twilight upon the lunar surface, nor any softening at the edges of shadows; both which effects would be apparent if there were an atmosphere.

The moon's surface is rough and rocky, and displays no marks of the "weathering" that would necessarily follow, had it possessed anything of an atmosphere in the past. This makes us rather inclined to doubt that it ever had one at all. Supposing, however, that it did possess an atmosphere in the past, it is interesting to inquire what may have become of it. In the first place it might have gradually disappeared, in consequence of the gases which composed it uniting chemically with the materials of which the lunar body is constructed; or, again, its constituent gases may have escaped into space, in accordance with the principles of that kinetic theory of which we have already spoken. The latter solution seems, indeed, the most reasonable of the two, for the force of gravity at the lunar surface appears too weak to hold down any known gases. This argument seems also to dispose of the question of absence of water; for Dr. George Johnstone Stoney, in a careful investigation of the subject, has shown that the liquid in question, when in the form of vapour, will escape from a planet if its mass is less than one-fourth that of our earth. And the mass of the moon is very much less than this; indeed only the one-eightieth, as we have already stated.

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