Astronomy with an Opera-glass Part 4

"Tell me," says she, eagerly, "are they, too, inhabited like the planets, or are they not peopled? In short, what can we make of them?"

The Astronomer answers his charming questioner, as we should do to-day, that the fixed stars are so many suns. And he adds to this information a great deal of entertaining talk about the planets that may be supposed to circle around these distant suns, interspersing his conversation with explanations of "vortexes," and many quaint conceits, in which he is helped out by the ready wit of the Marchioness.

Finally, the impressionable mind of the lady is overwhelmed by the grandeur of the scenes that the Astronomer opens to her view, her head swims, infinity oppresses her, and she cries for mercy.

"You show me," she exclaims, "a perspective so interminably long that the eye can not see the end of it. I see plainly the inhabitants of the earth; then you cause me to perceive those of the moon and of the other planets belonging to our vortex (system), quite clearly, yet not so distinctly as those of the earth. After them come the inhabitants of planets in the other vortexes. I confess, they seem to me hidden deep in the background, and, however hard I try, I can barely glimpse them at all. In truth, are they not almost annihilated by the very expression which you are obliged to use in speaking of them? You have to call them inhabitants of one of the planets contained in one out of the infinity of vortexes. Surely we ourselves, to whom the same expression applies, are almost lost among so many millions of worlds. For my part, the earth begins to appear so frightfully little to me that henceforth I shall hardly consider any object worthy of eager pursuit. a.s.suredly, people who seek so earnestly their own aggrandizement, who lay schemes upon schemes, and give themselves so much trouble, know nothing of the vortexes! I am sure my increase of knowledge will redound to the credit of my idleness, and when people reproach me with indolence I shall reply: 'Ah! if you but knew the history of the fixed stars!'"

It is certainly true that a contemplation of the unthinkable vastness of the universe, in the midst of which we dwell upon a speck illuminated by a spark, is calculated to make all terrestrial affairs appear contemptibly insignificant. We can not wonder that men for ages regarded the earth as the center, and the heavens with their lights as tributary to it, for to have thought otherwise, in those times, would have been to see things from the point of view of a superior intelligence. It has taken a vast amount of experience and knowledge to convince men of the parvitude of themselves and their belongings. So, in all ages they have applied a terrestrial measure to the universe, and imagined they could behold human affairs reflected in the heavens and human interests setting the G.o.ds together by the ears.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAP. 14.]

This is clearly shown in the story of the constellations. The tremendous truth that on a starry night we look, in every direction, into an almost endless vista of suns beyond suns and systems upon systems, was too overwhelming for comprehension by the inventors of the constellations.

So they amused themselves, like imaginative children, as they were, by tracing the outlines of men and beasts formed by those pretty lights, the stars. They turned the starry heavens into a scroll filled with pictured stories of mythology. Four of the constellations with which we are going to deal in this chapter are particularly interesting on this account. They preserve in the stars, more lasting than parchment or stone, one of the oldest and most pleasing of all the romantic stories that have amused and inspired the minds of men--the story of Perseus and Andromeda--a better story than any that modern novelists have invented.

The four constellations to which I refer bear the names of Andromeda, Perseus, Ca.s.siopeia, and Cepheus, and are sometimes called, collectively, the Royal Family. In the autumn they occupy a conspicuous position in the sky, forming a group that remains unrivaled until the rising of Orion with his imperial _cortege_. The reader will find them in Map No. 14, occupying the northeastern quarter of the heavens.

This map represents the visible heavens at about midnight on September 1st, ten o'clock P. M. on October 1st, and eight o'clock P. M. on November 1st. At this time the constellations that were near the meridian in summer will be found sinking in the west, Hercules being low in the northwest, with the brilliant Lyra and the head of Draco suspended above it; Aquila, "the eagle of the winds," soars high in the southwest; while the Cross of Cygnus is just west of the zenith; and Sagittarius, with its wealth of star-dust, is disappearing under the horizon in the southwest.

Far down in the south the observer catches the gleam of a bright lone star of the first magnitude, though not one of the largest of that cla.s.s. It is Fomalhaut, in the mouth of the Southern Fish, Piscis Australis. A slight reddish tint will be perceived in the light of this beautiful star, whose brilliance is enhanced by the fact that it s.h.i.+nes without a rival in that region of the sky. Fomalhaut is one of the important "nautical stars," and its position was long ago carefully computed for the benefit of mariners. The constellation of Piscis Australis, which will be found in our second map, does not possess much to interest us except its splendid leading star. In consulting Map 15, the observer is supposed to be facing south, or slightly west of south, and he must remember that the upper part of the map reaches nearly to the zenith, while at the bottom it extends down to the horizon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAP 15.]

To the right, or west, of Fomalhaut, and higher up, is the constellation of Capricornus, very interesting on many accounts, though by no means a striking constellation to the una.s.sisted eye. The stars Alpha ([alpha]), called Giedi, and Beta ([beta]), called Dabih, will be readily recognized, and a keen eye will perceive that Alpha really consists of two stars. They are about six minutes of arc apart, and are of the third and the fourth magnitude respectively. These stars, which to the naked eye appear almost blended into one, really have no physical connection with each other, and are slowly drifting apart. The ancient astronomers make no mention of Giedi being composed of two stars, and the reason is plain, when it is known that in the time of Hipparchus, as Flammarion has pointed out, their distance apart was not more than two thirds as great as it is at present, so that the naked eye could not have detected the fact that there were two of them; and it was not until the seventeenth century that they got far enough asunder to begin to be separated by eyes of unusual power. With an ordinary opera-gla.s.s they are thrown well apart, and present a very pretty sight. Considering the manner in which these stars are separating, the fact that both of them have several faint companions, which our powerful telescopes reveal, becomes all the more interesting. A suggestion of Sir John Herschel, concerning one of these faint companions, that it s.h.i.+nes by reflected light, adds to the interest, for if the suggestion is well founded the little star must, of course, be actually a planet, and granting that, then some of the other faint points of light seen there are probably planets too. It must be said that the probabilities are against Herschel's suggestion. The faint stars more likely s.h.i.+ne with their own light. Even so, however, these two systems, which apparently have met and are pa.s.sing one another, at a distance small as compared with the s.p.a.ce that separates them from us, possess a peculiar interest, like two celestial fleets that have spoken one another in the midst of the ocean of s.p.a.ce.

The star Beta, or Dabih, is also a double star. The companion is of a beautiful blue color, generally described as "sky-blue." It is of the seventh magnitude, while the larger star is of magnitude three and a half. The latter is golden-yellow. The blue of the small star can be seen with either an opera- or a field-gla.s.s, but it requires careful looking and a clear and steady atmosphere. I recollect discovering the color of this star with a field-gla.s.s, and exclaiming to myself, "Why, the little one is as blue as a bluebell!" before I knew that that was its hue as seen with a telescope. Trying my opera-gla.s.s upon it I found that the color was even more distinct, although the small star was then more or less enveloped in the yellow rays of the large one. The distance between the two stars in Dabih is nearly the same as that between the components of [epsilon] Lyrae, and the comparative difficulty of separating them is an instructive example of the effect of a large star in concealing a small one close beside it. The two stars in [epsilon]

Lyrae are of nearly equal brightness, and are very easily separated and distinguished, but in [beta] Capricorni, or Dabih, one star is about twenty times as bright as the other, and consequently the fainter star is almost concealed in the glare of its more brilliant neighbor.

With the most powerful gla.s.s at your disposal, sweep from the star Zeta ([zeta]) eastward a distance somewhat greater than that separating Alpha and Beta, and you will find a fifth-magnitude star beside a little nebulous spot. This is the cl.u.s.ter known as 30 M, one of those sun-swarms that overwhelm the mind of the contemplative observer with astonishment, and especially remarkable in this case for the apparent vacancy of the heavens immediately surrounding the cl.u.s.ter, as if all the stars in that neighborhood had been drawn into the great a.s.semblage, leaving a void around it. Of course, with the instrument that our observer is supposed to be using, merely the _existence_ of this solar throng can be detected; but, if he sees that it is there, he may be led to provide himself with a telescope capable of revealing its glories.

Admiral Smyth remarks that, "although Capricorn is not a striking object, it has been the very pet of all constellations with astrologers," and he quotes from an old almanac of the year 1386, that "whoso is borne in Capcorn schal be ryche and wel lufyd." The mythological account of the constellation is that it represents the goat into which Pan was turned in order to escape from the giant Typhon, who once on a time scared all the G.o.ds out of their wits, and caused them to change themselves into animals, even Jupiter a.s.suming the form of a ram.

According to some authorities, Piscis Australis represents the fish into which Venus changed herself on that interesting occasion.

Directly above Piscis Australis, and to the east or left of Capricorn, the map shows the constellation of Aquarius, or the Water-Bearer. Some say this commemorates Ganymede, the cup-bearer of the G.o.ds. It is represented in old star-maps by the figure of a young man pouring water from an urn. The star Alpha ([alpha]) marks his right shoulder, and Beta ([beta]) his left, and Gamma ([gamma]), Zeta ([zeta]), Eta ([eta]), and Pi ([pi]) indicate his right hand and the urn. From this group a current of small stars will be recognized, sweeping downward with a curve toward the east, and ending at Fomalhaut; this represents the water poured from the urn, which the Southern Fish appears to be drinking. In fact, according to the pictures in the old maps, the fish succeeds in swallowing the stream completely, and it vanishes from the sky in the act of entering his distended mouth! It is worthy of remark that in Greek, Latin, and Arabic this constellation bears names all of which signify "a man pouring water." The ancient Egyptians imagined that the setting of Aquarius caused the rising of the Nile, as he sank his huge urn in the river to fill it. Alpha Aquarii was called by the Arabs Sadalmelik, which is interpreted to mean the "king's lucky star," but whether it proved itself a lucky star in war or in love, and what particular king enjoyed its benign influence and recorded his grat.i.tude in its name, we are not informed. Thus, at every step, we find how shreds of history and bits of superst.i.tion are entangled among the stars. Surely, humanity has been reflected in the heavens as lastingly as it has impressed itself upon the earth.

Starting from the group of stars just described as forming the Water-Bearer's urn, follow with a gla.s.s the winding stream of small stars that represent the water. Several very pretty and striking a.s.semblages of stars will be encountered in its course. The star Tau ([tau]) is double and presents a beautiful contrast of color, one star being white and the other reddish-orange--two solar systems, it may be, apparently neighbors as seen from the earth, in one of which daylight is white and in the other red!

Point a good gla.s.s upon the star marked Nu ([nu]), and you will see, somewhat less than a degree and a half to the west of it, what appears to be a faint star of between the seventh and eighth magnitudes. You will have to look sharp to see it. It is with your mind's eye that you must gaze, in order to perceive the wonder here hidden in the depths of s.p.a.ce. That faint speck is a nebula, unrivaled for interest by many of the larger and more conspicuous objects of that kind. Lord Rosse's great telescope has shown that in form it resembles the planet Saturn; in other words, that it consists apparently of a ball surrounded by a ring.

But the spectroscope proves that it is a gaseous ma.s.s, and the micrometer--supposing its distance to be equal to that of the stars, and we have no reason to think it less--that it must be large enough to fill the whole s.p.a.ce included within the orbit of Neptune! Here, then, as has been said, we seem to behold a genesis in the heavens. If Laplace's nebular hypothesis, or any of the modifications of that hypothesis, represents the process of formation of a solar system, then we may fairly conclude that such a process is now actually in operation in this nebula in Aquarius, where a vast ring of nebulous matter appears to have separated off from the spherical ma.s.s within it. This may not be the true explanation of what we see there, but, whatever the explanation is, there can be no question of the high significance of this nebula, whose shape proclaims unmistakably the operation of great metamorphic forces there. Of course, with his insignificant optical means, our observer can see nothing of the strange form of this object, the detection of which requires the aid of the most powerful telescopes, but it is much to know where that unfinished creation lies, and to see it, even though diminished by distance to a mere speck of light.

Turn your gla.s.s upon the star shown in the map just above Mu ([mu]) and Epsilon ([epsilon]). You will find an attractive arrangement of small stars in its neighborhood. The star marked 104 is double to the naked eye, and the row of stars below it is well worth looking at. The star Delta ([delta]) indicates the place where, in 1756, Tobias Mayer narrowly escaped making a discovery that would have antic.i.p.ated that which a quarter of a century later made the name of Sir William Herschel world-renowned. The planet Ura.n.u.s pa.s.sed near Delta in 1756, and Tobias Mayer saw it, but it moved so slowly that he took it for a fixed star, never suspecting that his eyes had rested upon a member of the solar system whose existence was, up to that time, unknown to the inhabitants of Adam's planet.

Above Aquarius you will find the constellation Pegasus. It is conspicuously marked by four stars of about the second magnitude, which s.h.i.+ne at the corners of a large square, called the Great Square of Pegasus. This figure is some fifteen degrees square, and at once attracts the eye, there being few stars visible within the quadrilateral, and no large ones in the immediate neighborhood to distract attention from it. One of the four stars, however, as will be seen by consulting Map 15, does not belong to Pegasus, but to the constellation Andromeda. Mythologically, this constellation represents the celebrated winged horse of antiquity:

"Now heaven his further wandering flight confines, Where, splendid with his numerous stars, he s.h.i.+nes."

The star Alpha ([alpha]) is called Markab; Beta ([beta]) is Scheat, and Gamma ([gamma]) is Algenib; the fourth star in the square, belonging to Andromeda, is called Alpheratz. Although Pegasus presents a striking appearance to the una.s.sisted eye, on account of its great square, it contains little to attract the observer with an opera-gla.s.s. It will prove interesting, however, to sweep with the gla.s.s carefully over the s.p.a.ce within the square, which is comparatively barren to the naked eye, but in which many small stars will be revealed, of whose existence the naked-eye observer would be unaware. The star marked Pi ([pi]) is an interesting double, which can be separated by a good eye without artificial aid, and which, with an opera-gla.s.s, presents a fine appearance.

And now we come to Map No. 16, representing the constellations Cetus, Pisces, Aries, and the Triangles. In consulting it the observer is supposed to face the southeast. Cetus is a very large constellation, and from the peculiar conformation of its princ.i.p.al stars it can be readily recognized. The head is to the east, the star Alpha ([alpha]), called Menkar, being in the nose of this imaginary inhabitant of the sky-depths. The constellation is supposed to represent the monster that, according to fable, was sent by Neptune to devour the fair Andromeda, but whose bloodthirsty design was happily and gallantly frustrated by Perseus, as we shall learn from starry mythology further on.

Although bearing the name Cetus, the Whale, the pictures of the constellation in the old maps do not present us with the form of a whale, but that of a most extraordinary scaly creature with enormous jaws filled with large teeth, a forked tongue, fore-paws armed with gigantic claws, and a long, crooked, and dangerous-looking tail. Indeed, Aratus does not call it a "whale," but a "sea-monster," and Dr. Seiss would have us believe that it was intended to represent the leviathan, whose terrible prowess is celebrated in the book of Job.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAP 16.]

By far the most interesting object in Cetus is the star Mira. This is a famous variable--a sun that sometimes s.h.i.+nes a thousand-fold more brilliantly than at others! It changes from the second magnitude to the ninth or tenth, its period from maximum to maximum being about eleven months. During about five months of that time it is completely invisible to the naked eye; then it begins to appear again, slowly increasing in brightness for some three months, until it s.h.i.+nes as a star of the second magnitude, being then as bright as, if not brighter than, the most brilliant stars in the constellation. It retains this brilliance for about two weeks, and then begins to fade again, and, within three months, once more disappears. There are various irregularities in its changes, which render its exact period somewhat uncertain, and it does not always attain the same degree of brightness at its maximum. For instance, in 1779, Mira was almost equal in brilliance to a first-magnitude star, but frequently at its greatest brightness it is hardly equal to an ordinary star of the second magnitude. By the aid of our little map you will readily be able to find it. You will perceive that it has a slightly reddish tint. Watch it from one of its maxima, and you will see it gradually fade from sight until, at last, only the blackness of the empty sky appears where, a few months before, a conspicuous star was visible. Keep watch of that spot, and in due course you will perceive Mira s.h.i.+ning there again--a mere speck, but slowly brightening--and in three months more the wonderful star will blaze again with renewed splendor.

Knowing that our own sun is a variable star--though variable only to a slight degree, its variability being due to the spots that appear upon its surface in a period of about eleven years--we possess some light that may be cast upon the mystery of Mira's variations. It seems not improbable that, in the case of Mira, the surface of the star at the maximum of spottedness is covered to an enormously greater extent than occurs during our own sun-spot maxima, so that the light of the star, instead of being merely dimmed to an almost imperceptible extent, as with our sun, is almost blotted out. When the star blazes with unwonted splendor, as in 1779, we may fairly a.s.sume that the pent-up forces of this peris.h.i.+ng sun have burst forth, as in a desperate struggle against extinction. But nothing can prevail against the slow, remorseless, unswerving progress of that obscuration, which comes from the leaking away of the solar heat, and which const.i.tutes what we may call the death of a sun. And that word seems peculiarly appropriate to describe the end of a body which, during its period of visible existence, not only presents the highest type of physical activity, but is the parent and supporter of all forms of life upon the planets that surround it.

We might even go so far as to say that possibly Mira presents to us an example of what our sun will be in the course of time, as the dead and barren moon shows us, as in a magician's gla.s.s, the approaching fate of the earth. Fortunately, human life is a mere span in comparison with the aeons of cosmic existence, and so we need have no fear that either we or our descendants for thousands of generations shall have to play the tragic _role_ of Campbell's "Last Man," and endeavor to keep up a stout heart amid the crash of time by meanly boasting to the peris.h.i.+ng sun, whose rays have nurtured us, that, though his proud race is ended, we have confident antic.i.p.ations of immortality. I trust that, when man makes his exit from this terrestrial stage, it will not be in the contemptible act of kicking a fallen benefactor.

There are several other variable stars in Cetus, but none possessing much interest for us. The observer should look at the group of stars in the head, where he will find some interesting combinations, and also at Chi, which is the little star shown in the map near Zeta ([zeta]). This is a double that will serve as a very good test of eye and instrument, the smaller companion-star being of only seven and a half magnitude.

Directly above Cetus is the long, straggling constellation of Pisces, the Fishes. The Northern Fish is represented by the group of stars near Andromeda and the Triangles. A long band or ribbon, supposed to bind the fish together, trends thence first southeast and then west until it joins a group of stars under Pegasus, which represents the Western Fish, not to be confounded with the Southern Fish described near the beginning of this chapter, which is a separate constellation. Fable has, however, somewhat confounded these fishes; for while, as I have remarked above, the Southern Fish is said to represent Venus after she had turned herself into a fish to escape from the giant Typhon, the two fishes of the constellation we are now dealing with are also fabled to represent Venus and her interesting son Cupid under the same disguise a.s.sumed on precisely the same occasion. If Typhon, however, was so great a brute that even Cupid's arrows were of no avail against him, we should, perhaps, excuse mythology for duplicating the record of so wondrous an event.

You will find it very interesting to take your gla.s.s and, beginning with the attractive little group in the Northern Fish, follow the windings of the ribbon, with its wealth of tiny stars, to the Western Fish. When you have arrived at that point, sweep well over the sky in that neighborhood, and particularly around and under the stars Iota ([iota]), Theta ([theta]), Lambda ([lambda]), and Kappa ([kappa]). If you are using a powerful gla.s.s, you will be surprised and delighted by what you see. Below the star Omega ([omega]), and to the left of Lambda, is the place which the sun occupies at the time of the spring equinox--in other words, one of the two crossing-places of the equinoctial or the equator of the heavens, and the ecliptic, or the sun's path. The prime meridian of the heavens pa.s.ses through this point. You can trace out this great circle, from which astronomical longitudes are reckoned, by drawing an imaginary line from the equinoctial point just indicated through [alpha]

in Andromeda and [beta] in Ca.s.siopeia to the pole-star.

To the left of Pisces, and above the head of Cetus, is the constellation Aries, or the Ram. Two pretty bright stars, four degrees apart, one of which has a fainter star near it, mark it out plainly to the eye. These stars are in the head of the Ram. The brightest one, Alpha ([alpha]), is called Hamal; Beta ([beta]) is named Sheratan; and its fainter neighbor is Mesarthim. According to fable, this constellation represents the ram that wore the golden fleece, which was the object of the celebrated expedition of the Argonauts. There is not much in the constellation to interest us, except its historical importance, as it was more than two thousand years ago the leading constellation of the zodiac, and still stands first in the list of the zodiacal signs. Owing to the precession of the equinoxes, however, the vernal equinoctial point, which was formerly in this constellation, has now advanced into the constellation Pisces, as we saw above. Gamma ([gamma]), Arietis, is interesting as the first telescopic double star ever discovered. Its duplicity was detected by Dr. Hooke while watching the pa.s.sage of a comet near the star in 1664. Singularly enough, the brightest star in the constellation, now bearing the letter [alpha], originally did not belong to the constellation. Tycho Brahe finally placed it in the head of Aries.

The little constellation of the Triangles, just above Aries, is worth only a pa.s.sing notice. Insignificant as it appears, this little group is a very ancient constellation. It received its name, Deltoton, from the Greek letter [Delta].

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAP 17.]

The reader must now be introduced to the "Royal Family." Although the story of Perseus and Andromeda is, of course, well known to nearly all readers, yet, on account of the great beauty and brilliancy of the group of constellations that perpetuate the memory of it among the stars, it is worth recalling here. It will be remembered that, as Perseus was returning through the air from his conquest of the Gorgon Medusa, he saw the beautiful Andromeda chained to a rock on the sea-coast, waiting to be devoured by a sea-monster. The poor girl's only offense was that her mother, Ca.s.siopeia, had boasted for her that she was fairer than the sea-beauty, Atergatis, and for this Neptune had decreed that all the land of the Ethiopians should be drowned and destroyed unless Andromeda was delivered up as a sacrifice to the dreadful sea-monster. When Perseus, dropping down to learn why this maiden was chained to the rocks, heard from Andromeda's lips the story of her woes, he laughed with joy. Here was an adventure just to his liking, and besides, unlike his previous adventures, it involved the fate of a beautiful woman with whom he was already in love. Could he save her? Well, wouldn't he! The sea-monster might frighten a kingdom full of Ethiops, but it could not shake the nerves of a hero from Greece. He whispered words of encouragement to Andromeda, who could scarce believe the good news that a champion had come to defend her after all her friends and royal relations had deserted her. Neither could she feel much confidence in her young champion's powers when suddenly her horrified gaze met the awful leviathan of the deep advancing to his feast! But Perseus, with a warning to Andromeda not to look at what he was about to do, sprang with his winged sandals up into the air. And then, as Charles Kingsley has so beautifully told the story--

"On came the great sea-monster, coasting along like a huge black galley, lazily breasting the ripple, and stopping at times by creek or headland to watch for the laughter of girls at their bleaching, or cattle pawing on the sand-hills, or boys bathing on the beach. His great sides were fringed with cl.u.s.tering sh.e.l.ls and sea-weeds, and the water gurgled in and out of his wide jaws as he rolled along, dripping and glistening in the beams of the morning sun. At last he saw Andromeda, and shot forward to take his prey, while the waves foamed white behind him, and before him the fish fled leaping.

"Then down from the height of the air fell Perseus like a shooting-star--down to the crest of the waves, while Andromeda hid her face as he shouted. And then there was silence for a while.

"At last she looked up trembling, and saw Perseus springing toward her; and, instead of the monster, a long, black rock, with the sea rippling quietly round it."

Perseus had turned the monster into stone by holding the blood-freezing head of Medusa before his eyes; and it was fear lest Andromeda herself might see the Gorgon's head, and suffer the fate of all who looked upon it, that had led him to forbid her watching him when he attacked her enemy. Afterward he married her, and Ca.s.siopeia, Andromeda's mother, and Cepheus, her father, gave their daughter's rescuer a royal welcome, and all the Ethiops rose up and blessed him for ridding the land of the monster. And now, if we choose, we can, any fair night, see the princ.i.p.al characters of this old romance s.h.i.+ning in starry garb in the sky. Aratus saw them there in his day, more than two hundred years before Christ, and has left this description in his "Skies," as translated by Poste:

"Nor shall blank silence whelm the hara.s.sed house Of Cepheus; the high heavens know their name, For Zeus is in their line at few removes.

Cepheus himself by She-bear Cynosure, Iasid king stands with uplifted arms.

From his belt thou castest not a glance To see the first spire of the mighty Dragon.

"Eastward from him, heaven-troubled queen, with scanty stars But l.u.s.trous in the full-mooned night, sits Ca.s.siopeia.

Not numerous nor double-rowed The gems that deck her form, But like a key which through an inward-fastened Folding-door men thrust to knock aside the bolts, They s.h.i.+ne in single zigzag row.

She, too, o'er narrow shoulders stretching Uplifted hands, seems wailing for her child.

"For there, a woful statue-form, is seen Andromeda, parted from her mother's side. Long I trow Thou wilt not seek her in the nightly sky, So bright her head, so bright Her shoulders, feet, and girdle.

Yet even there she has her arms extended, And shackled even in heaven; uplifted, Outspread eternally are those fair hands.

"Her feet point to her bridegroom Perseus, on whose shoulder they rest.

He in the north-wind stands gigantic, His right hand stretched toward the throne Where sits the mother of his bride. As one bent on some high deed, Dust-stained he strides over the floor of heaven."

The makers of old star-maps seem to have vied in the effort to represent with effect the figures of Andromeda, Perseus, and Ca.s.siopeia among the stars, and it must be admitted that some of them succeeded in giving no small degree of life and spirit to their sketches.

The starry riches of these constellations are well matched with their high mythological repute. Lying in and near the Milky-Way, they are particularly interesting to the observer with an opera-gla.s.s. Besides, they include several of the most celebrated wonders of the firmament.